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  “Hell, no!” He roared and jumped to his feet, almost stumbling over the stool. “I shoulda knowed you didn’t know nothin’ about doctorin’.” He looked at Mickey, who had a smile of amusement on his face. “Pour me a drink of that likker,” he ordered.

  “You’ll thank me when that nose stops hurtin’,” she said and returned to the table she had been occupying with two drifters when Deacon and his friends came in.

  Standing up to the bar then, holding a bar towel under his damaged nose, he managed to tilt his glass under the cloth to down the whiskey. When he was calm at last, he asked Mickey if any of the other boys had been in that night. “Not so far,” Mickey said while he studied the results of Charlene’s work. “You three are the only Double-D boys I’ve seen.” After a moment, he remarked, “That feller packs a helluva punch, don’t he?”

  “Anybody does when the other feller ain’t lookin’,” Deacon protested. “It’da been a helluva lot different it I’da seen him comin’.”

  “Maybe so,” Mickey said, “but I believe it’d be a good idea to try to catch that feller when he ain’t lookin’.”

  “I want him facin’ me right out in the middle of the street,” Deacon claimed. “But he won’t stand up to me fair and square, same as when Bob and Ed called him out, he wouldn’t face up to ’em. That’s why we gotta catch him outta that saloon.”

  “He’s outta the saloon right now,” Bonnie informed them, having heard Deacon’s comment as she came back in from outside. “He just walked by and he’s standin’ out in the middle of the street holding some guns and talkin’ to Sheriff Bragg.” When they all showed immediate interest in what she said, she opened the door again and stood in the doorway. “Him and the sheriff are goin’ in the jailhouse. You’d better hurry if you’re thinkin’ about shootin’ him!” All three of the Double-D men ran to the door, as well as Wilson Bishop, who had joined them when he heard what was going on. They got there just in time to still see Ben Savage’s broad back as he entered the office door.

  “Dammit to hell!” Deacon blurted when he saw the golden opportunity presented to him. Without hesitating, he reached for his pistol, only then realizing his holster was empty and he grimaced in frustration when he remembered that Savage had taken their pistols. And in fact, he was turning them over to the sheriff at that moment. Looking quickly around him for a weapon from some source, he was frantic to act quickly before his target disappeared into the sheriff’s office. But no one of them was armed. “Quick!” he exclaimed. “Our rifles on the horses! We can get them before he comes back outta there.”

  “Hold on, there, Deacon!” Wilson Bishop interjected, suddenly realizing what was actually about to happen. “You can’t shoot that man from this saloon. Daniel Dalton would raise holy hell, if you tie the Double-D and the Golden Rail to the shooting. Damn it, man, you just said, yourself, that it has to be an unknown shooter to keep the sheriff out of it. That damn city council will be trying to close this place down.”

  “I ain’t gonna miss this chance to put that lily-livered lowlife in the ground,” Deacon swore. “You’re right, I ought not shoot him from the saloon, but I can sure as hell shoot him from down behind the hotel. Come on, boys,” he said to Marty and Shorty. “Let’s get out of here and get our rifles off the saddles while he’s in there talkin’ to the sheriff. If we hurry up, we can get outta sight behind the hotel and shoot him down right in the middle of the street.” They followed him out the door, desperate to get their rifles before Ben came back out. “Hurry!” Deacon prodded. “We gotta be outta sight when we shoot.”

  Forgetting his painful nose in his haste to dry-gulch Ben when he walked unsuspecting out of Mack Bragg’s office, Deacon took the two porch steps in one leap. Shorty and Marty, caught up in his determination to kill, were right behind him. All three arrived at their horses at almost the same time, and all three were struck dumb at the moment of discovery—their rifle slings were all empty! Beside himself with rage, Deacon uttered a moan between clenched teeth that erupted into a howl of complete frustration.

  Inside Mack Bragg’s office, the sheriff paused for a moment to listen. “What was that?” he asked. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah,” Ben answered, unconcerned. “Sounded kinda like a coyote howlin’, didn’t it?” He grinned and said, “Maybe it’s the Lost Coyote tellin’ me to get back to work.” They stopped their conversation to listen, but there were no other sounds except that of horses galloping away. He had to smile even more when he realized that Deacon and his two friends just found out their rifles were missing. He had recognized the three horses when he walked by the Golden Rail, having watched the three ride away from the Lost Coyote. Thinking it a wise precaution, he took the opportunity to ease the three rifles out of the saddle scabbards and turn them over to Mack with their pistols.

  Feeling the need to verify what he suspected, the sheriff walked to the door and looked out. “Yep,” he confirmed, “that was the three horses that were tied in front of the Golden Rail.” He walked back inside, slowly shaking his head. “Ben, I reckon you know what you’re doin’, but I’ve gotta tell you, you’re playin’ a dangerous game. I know what you’re gonna say, and I agree with you. You have every right to throw troublemakers out of your place of business.” He cocked his head in a show of indecision. “But confiscatin’ their firearms, I ain’t sure you’re standin’ on legal ground there. Maybe forbiddin’ ’em from wearin’ them in the Lost Coyote woulda been more in line with what most business owners woulda done. ’Course, you bein’ a former Texas Ranger, I know you understand the law as well as I do.” He looked Ben in the eye. “And that’s the reason I go along with everything you’ve done, so far. And you did tell those three they could have their weapons back tomorrow, so I reckon it ain’t complete confiscation.” He paused for a long moment before continuing. “I swear, I forgot what I was fixin’ to say.” He paused again but couldn’t recall what he had intended. “Anyway, I just hope you know you’re paintin’ a great big target on your back, and you’ve got yourself a passel of enemies in one helluva short time in this town.”

  “Mack, I appreciate what you’re tellin’ me, and I don’t deny anything you said. But I can’t see how any of this can be my fault. The way I see it is that all I’m guilty of is inheriting a saloon and not changin’ one thing about the way it operates. It wouldn’t be fair to Rachel and Annie and Tiny, or Ruby and Clarice, if I let Daniel Dalton run us out of business.”

  “I expect you’re right about that,” Bragg replied. “No argument from me, but it ain’t gonna help them any, if you get yourself shot, either. That’s all I’m sayin’, so watch your back.”

  “I’ll do that,” Ben said. “Now, I’d best be gettin’ back to the saloon, or they’ll think you locked me up for stealin’ firearms.”

  Outside, he paused to inhale the night air. All the dust from the daily travel up and down the street had settled, leaving a fresh, clear evening, set to receive a new moon. Even though he could think to enjoy the evening, he couldn’t help thinking what a clear target he was, walking down the middle of the street. Maybe it was a damn good idea he had, to take those rifles when he had the chance. The thought ran across his mind that being a Texas Ranger might not have been as dangerous as owning a saloon.

  When he walked back in the Lost Coyote, he saw that Tuck Tucker had come in and was already in a card game with his usual opponent, Ham Greeley. They had engaged Frank Jacobs and Ron Corbett in the game to make it a four-hand. Tuck was busy telling Frank and Ron how he and Ben had saved a young couple on the way back from Houston. He interrupted his story when he saw Ben walk in but only long enough to tell Ben he was fixing to come after him if he hadn’t showed up pretty soon.

  “You want something to drink?” Tiny asked when Ben walked over to the bar to join him and Rachel. He declined the offer of a drink.

  “You want a cup of coffee?” Rachel asked. “There’s some left in a pot I made a little while before you went to the sheriff’s
office.”

  “No, thanks anyway. I don’t really want anything right now. Might have a drink later.” It occurred to him at that moment that he had been many years without family. And now, he guessed this was his little family. It felt like it, anyway.

  * * *

  Deacon Moss, Marty Jackson, and Shorty Dove rode into the barnyard at the Double-D after a hard hour’s ride and pulled their saddles off before releasing the tired mounts to go to water. Buster Pate was at the barn, and he walked out to meet them. “You boys are back pretty early, I figured...” He interrupted himself to ask, “What in the hell happened to you, Deacon?” Deacon didn’t answer him and continued into the stable to put his saddle away.

  “Better not bother him about it,” Marty said to Buster. “Things just didn’t go to suit Deacon tonight. Didn’t go to suit any of us, I reckon. And I’m pretty sure Mr. Dalton ain’t gonna like it a bit.” He went on to tell Buster all about their mission to raise hell in the Lost Coyote and how the whole thing turned upside down.

  When Marty finished, Buster asked, “And now the three of you have gotta go back to the sheriff’s office to get your guns?”

  “That’s a fact,” Shorty answered him, “and I’m tellin’ you, ol’ Deacon is as hot as a boil in the middle of your fanny. He ain’t said a word all the way back from town, did he, Marty?”

  “Not a word,” Marty answered, “and we near ’bout wore our horses out to keep up with him.”

  Buster remarked, “Mr. Dalton ain’t gonna be happy about this. He was dependin’ on Deacon to draw that feller out. I wouldn’t wanna be in any of your boots when he finds out. You goin’ to tell him now?”

  “I figure that’s Deacon’s job, but if it was up to me, I’d wait till mornin’ before I owned up to it,” Shorty said.

  When Deacon came back out of the stable, they quickly went silent until Marty asked, “Are you gonna report to Mr. Dalton tonight?”

  Still steaming, Deacon didn’t answer at once. He was still making that decision in his mind. “I don’t know,” he finally spoke. “I don’t see as how it’ll do Mr. Dalton any good to tell him tonight. It won’t make any difference in what happened, if we wait till in the mornin’.” He turned and headed for the bunkhouse, leaving them to stare after him.

  “There ain’t no doubt in my mind,” Shorty commented. “He’s goin’ after that Savage feller. Deacon ain’t gonna bother about a fair shoot-out. He just wants to kill him any chance he can get. I just hope the boss don’t come down hard on me and Marty ’cause it was Deacon’s show right from the start. He called all the shots.”

  Marty didn’t say anything, but he was as concerned as Shorty when he thought about Daniel Dalton’s likely reaction to this latest confrontation with Ben Savage. He secretly wished that Dalton would send Deacon to do his dirty work alone, instead of involving him and Shorty. He had never actually killed a man, and he was not really sure how he would respond if it happened that he found himself face-to-face with Ben Savage. At this stage in his young life, he had to admit that it may have been a mistake to join the Double-D’s crew of outlaw cowhands. But the Double-D was all he had, and he was reluctant to let it go. So he saw no alternative other than to continue to imitate the bold-talking swagger of the rest of the men.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Mornin’, Maria,” Spade Gunter said when she opened the kitchen door. “I think Mr. Dalton wants to talk to Deacon this mornin’. He said to report to him when he got back, and Deacon didn’t wanna bother him last night.”

  Maria nodded. “Sí, he has asked already this morning if you have come.” Staring at the bruised and swollen face of Deacon, she stepped back to let them in the kitchen but made no comment. “Wait here, I go tell him.” In a few minutes, she returned to tell them Dalton would see them in the study, then stepped aside to let them pass through to the hallway.

  “Well?” That was all they were greeted with from the owner of the Double-D and the Golden Rail, although his heavy frown indicated his immediate displeasure upon seeing Deacon’s face. Overnight, the heavy bruising, combined with the flattened effect on the bridge of Deacon’s nose, made his injury appear even worse. Without hearing the first word of Deacon’s report, Dalton could read the result in the faces of both men. He was still irate over Ed Hatcher’s miserable failure to eliminate the roadblock Ben Savage presented in his intention to run Rachel Baskin out of business. And now he expected to hear of another failure.

  “Yes, sir,” Spade responded respectfully. “Things didn’t go like Deacon and the other boys wanted ’em to.”

  “Let him tell it,” Dalton interrupted. His accusing gaze having never left the battered face of Deacon Moss, he said, “Tell me the man who did that to your face is dead.” He already assumed the man to be Ben Savage.

  The normally bold and cocksure Deacon sputtered painfully as he sought to explain his failure to carry out Dalton’s wishes. “I surely wish I could, Mr. Dalton,” he started humbly, “but some things didn’t work out like they shoulda.” When Dalton’s eyes narrowed under heavy dark eyebrows, like a thunderstorm building, Deacon hastened to assure him. “It ain’t done, though, not by a long shot. He got the jump on me this time, but it wasn’t because of anything I done wrong. It was all bad luck, but luck ain’t gonna go his way every time. I can take that man down and won’t nobody blame me after what he done to my nose. He’ll have to fight me, or be branded a low-down coward. I was gonna get him last night, but I didn’t have a gun. None of us did, Marty or Shorty neither. That’s the only reason he ain’t dead.”

  “What do you mean, you didn’t have a gun?” Dalton interrupted. “Why didn’t you have your guns with you?”

  Deacon’s heart sank. He hadn’t meant to mention that part of their folly. “The sheriff’s got ’em. He took ’em away from the three of us, so we couldn’t use ’em last night.” That sounded better than the actual fact—that Savage took the guns away from them and gave them to the sheriff. “He said we could have our guns back today, so we have to go get ’em.”

  The look of disgust on Dalton’s face was sign enough to express his feelings on the matter, but he preferred to express them, so there would be no misunderstanding. “Do you know why I pay you higher wages than any of the other ranches in this part of Texas, and hire you year-round? I’ll tell you why. It’s because I thought I hired men who could do more than nursemaid a herd of cattle. Spade will tell you that.” He paused to glance at his foreman. “At least I’m assuming he has.”

  “Yes, sir, boss,” Spade immediately piped up. “I told ’em, all right.”

  Dalton continued. Looking Deacon square in the eyes, he said. “This thing between you and Ben Savage, it looks to me like this is a personal problem. And I don’t hire a man who’s got personal problems, so you go take care of yours, or don’t come back to the Double-D. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes, sir, I do,” Deacon replied at once and turned toward the door.

  Spade hesitated long enough to ask, “What about Shorty and Marty? You want me to send them in to town to get their guns back?”

  The look of disgust returned to Dalton’s face. “Yeah, I reckon so. We’re already short a couple of men or I’d tell you to fire them.” Spade nodded and started to follow Deacon out the door. “And Spade,” Dalton stopped him, “I think I’d best ride into Buzzard’s Bluff this morning. I’d better check on a few things, myself.”

  “Yes, sir,” Spade said. “I’ll have your horse ready. Are you wantin’ anybody to go with you?”

  “No, I think I’ll go in alone.” He thought it might be better if he was not accompanied by the men who had been making trouble for the merchants of Buzzard’s Bluff of late. His last visit to town, when he accompanied the sheriff to go talk to Ben Savage, had not ended that well. In addition, he thought maybe it was time he was seen by more of the merchants as the owner of the Golden Rail and not only referred to as the owner of the Double-D.

  After Spade left, he called for Maria to lay
out his riding clothes, then went to his wife’s room to tell her that he was going into town. When he looked inside her door, Estelle was asleep in her chair by the window. Good, he thought, and closed the door quietly. He went back to his room where Maria was waiting to help him into his boots and leather coat. As he was leaving, she told him she would make the señora a pot of tea. He went out to the stable where Spade had his favorite black Morgan saddled and waiting.

  * * *

  Deacon, Marty, and Shorty had not been gone longer than fifteen minutes when Mack Bragg looked out his office window and saw Daniel Dalton pull up in front of the jail. “Oh, hell,” he murmured, “here comes trouble.” He walked back to his desk and sat down. In an effort to present himself as a person of authority, he took out some wanted posters and pretended to be looking through them. “Well, good mornin’, Mr. Dalton,” he greeted him when he came in the door. “What brings you in to town this mornin’? If it’s about those weapons, I just turned them over to your men not thirty minutes ago.”

  “Good morning, Sheriff,” Dalton returned. “No, I didn’t stop in about the weapons. I think you did the proper thing when you confiscated their weapons, if they were threatening anyone.” He walked over and sat down in a chair facing Bragg. “I just thought it my place to stop by to let you know that I have been hearing of too many reports on the ill-behavior of my ranch hands. And I wanted to let you know that I’m telling the men to behave themselves in town. There seem to have been several instances of trouble in the Lost Coyote, so I’ve told my men to stay out of that saloon. After all, I own the Golden Rail, I need their money spent there. That way, we keep the money going round and round between the ranch and the saloon. Right, Sheriff?” He paused and smiled to let Bragg know he was making a joke. “I wish I could say that would put a stop to all the mischief caused by a rowdy cowhand who’s had too much whiskey to let him use good sense. But you understand that might be out of my control.”