The Devil's Boneyard Read online

  “Glad to hear you say that,” Ormond replied, “cause we’ll be runnin’ outta money.”

  “We got enough to stay in the hotel and stable the horses for a couple of nights,” Malcolm said. “I wanna watch that bank for a day or two, so we can decide what’s the best time to open our accounts.”

  His remarks brought a chuckle from Pete, and Ormond commented. “Looks to me like the best place to watch it is from the Texas Rose Saloon. It’s right across the street from the bank.”

  “Might as well make that our first stop,” Malcolm said. “I could use a little drink to cut the dust.” They guided their horses to the Texas Rose and tied them at the rail.

  “Howdy, gents,” Saul Morris greeted them. “What’s your pleasure?” They ordered a shot of rye each and tossed them back before engaging the bartender in conversation. “Don’t recall seein’ you boys in the Texas Rose before. Just passin’ through?”

  “That’s right,” Malcolm answered. “Ain’t been here in a long time. Thought it was time to take a look and see how the town is growin’. So, I reckon we’ll take a room in the hotel for a couple of nights, so we can take a good look.”

  “Hell,” Saul asked, “why go to the hotel? We got rooms here that are just as nice as the hotel and cheaper, too. And you’re a helluva lot closer to the whiskey and the women.”

  “I don’t know,” Malcolm replied. “Whaddaya think, boys? Wanna take him up on it?”

  “All right with me,” Ormond said. Pete just shrugged, not really caring.

  “We’ll take a look at the rooms,” Malcolm said.

  “Sadie!” Saul yelled, and in a few minutes, a tired-looking woman of uncertain age stuck her head out the kitchen door. “These fellers wanna take a look at the rooms upstairs.”

  “Well, tell ’em to go on upstairs and look,” Sadie responded. “Ain’t nobody in ’em.” She paused to take a look at the three. “The empty rooms ain’t locked.” She took a harder look at Pete. “I can take you upstairs and show you my room, but it’ll cost you three dollars,” she added with a sly smile.

  “We’ll keep that in mind,” Malcolm spoke for Pete. As Sadie suggested, they went upstairs and checked out the rooms and decided they were better than they expected. The price was reasonable enough, so they got their saddlebags and war bags off the horses and carried them upstairs. When Saul was giving them their room keys, Malcolm asked casually, “You know, there is a feller I’d like to see, come to think of it. Mack Bragg used to be a deputy sheriff here. Is he still in town?”

  “Nah,” Saul replied. “He left here more than four years ago.”

  “Is that a fact?” Malcolm responded. “Well, that’s a shame. Where’d he go?”

  “I swear, I don’t have no idea,” Saul answered. “He just moved on somewhere.” He failed to notice the frown on Malcolm’s face when he gave Ormond a quick look.

  “I need to buy some boots,” Malcolm said. “Where’s the best place for that?

  “Well, there’s a couple of stores in town that sell shoes and boots,” Saul said. “If it was me, though, I’d take a look in Bill Tilton’s saddle and harness shop. He makes a fine pair of boots. I got on a pair of ’em, myself.” He pulled up a trouser leg to show him. “’Course, he’s got ridin’ boots, too, which I reckon is what you’re lookin’ for.”

  “Much obliged,” Malcolm said. “That’s where I’ll go in the mornin’. Right now, I expect we’d best get our horses to the stable, then we’ll see about some supper.”

  * * *

  After supper in the hotel dining room, the three drifters returned to the Texas Rose to take advantage of whatever pleasures were available. They were encouraged when they discovered that poor, tired old Sadie was not the only woman in the entertainment department. When these ladies compared notes the following morning, they could have easily identified which one of the three had been in prison for five years.

  Breakfast in the hotel was followed by a visit to the harness shop to look at Bill Tilton’s handmade boots. As luck would have it, he had a pair that were Malcolm’s size, and Malcolm tried them on. Ormond and Pete grinned as he walked around Tilton’s shop for a couple of minutes to get the feel of the boots. “How much you want for these boots?” Malcolm asked. “’Cause I ain’t takin’ ’em off.” When Tilton told him the asking price, Malcolm came back. “Fifty dollars? Hell, I can buy a good pair of boots at the store for half that price.”

  “Not like those boots, you can’t,” Tilton said. “I have to charge for all the work I did on that fancy desert cactus design and the handwork on that leather.” He glanced down at the work boots Malcolm had just taken off. In addition to the obviously new clothes, Tilton formed a picture of a newly released prison inmate. He had to wonder if they were planning to take the boots without paying a cent.

  “He’s right,” Ormond remarked. “That really ain’t too bad a price. Things have gone up since you’ve been away.”

  To Tilton’s surprise, Malcolm pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket and counted out fifty dollars. “I used to know a feller here who was the deputy sheriff, name of Mack Bragg, but he’s gone from here now.”

  “Mack Bragg,” Tilton repeated. “He ain’t a deputy no more. He’s the sheriff in a little town called Buzzard’s Bluff.” He blurted it out before he thought better of giving out that information.

  Malcolm sensed Tilton’s sudden wariness. “Yeah, that’s right. He wrote me a letter and told me he was in Buzzard’s Bluff and said to come see him. Only problem is, I don’t have no idea where Buzzard’s Bluff is and the son of a gun forgot to tell me that in the letter.” He looked over at Ormond and shook his head. “That’s just like ol’ Mack, ain’t it?” Both Ormond and Pete laughed with him. “I swear, I’d like to see him again, but I ain’t got time to hunt all over Texas for a little town I never heard of.”

  “Buzzard’s Bluff’s on the Navasota River, west of Madisonville,” Tilton said, having been paid for the boots and no longer afraid he might be betraying Mack Bragg.

  “Well, I’ll be . . .” Malcolm started, then just shook his head as he looked at Ormond in disbelief. They must have been no more than half a day’s ride from Buzzard’s Bluff when they left Huntsville. He knew Pete and Ormond were thinking the same thing.

  Outside the saddle and harness shop, they stood on the side of the street and discussed their situation. Frustrated at first to think they had traveled this far south of Buzzard’s Bluff, Malcolm soon saw the positive aspects of the mistake. “We had to come here to find out where that son of a gun was, so it was worth it for that. But we also found a prime-lookin’ bank that’s just waitin’ for us to call. And it’s far enough away from where we’re headin’ to discourage any posse they raise to come after us. After the way the railroad treated us here, the bank oughta be willin’ to make it worth our while.” He almost laughed when he thought of Warden Wheeler and what he would think of his model prisoner now. Everything’s working out to make sure Mack Bragg is a dead man, he thought. “Yes, sir,” he boasted, “we had to come down here to find Mack Bragg.”

  “That’s right,” Pete said, “and we had to come down here to get them fancy boots you got on.” That brought a laugh from all three.

  “Let’s go back to the Texas Rose and set in them chairs out front, so we can watch the goings-on at that bank,” Malcolm said.

  The rest of the morning and a part of the afternoon was spent watching the activity at the bank. Satisfied with the peaceful setting of the town, they decided to strike the bank that afternoon. They settled on where they would tie the horses for the best possible route of escape, remembering the rifle fire from one of the stores that ended William’s life. Malcolm and Ormond would enter the bank, Pete would stand with the horses and provide cover fire when the brothers came out of the bank. “Let one of them do-gooder storekeepers stick his head out this time. He’s gonna get a little surprise,” Malcolm declared.

  CHAPTER 2

  “One of these mornings I’m
gonna come in here and find my stove cold and no coffee ready,” Annie Grey remarked to the big man seated at the kitchen table, holding a cup of coffee between his hands. “And when I do, I’m gonna come roust you outta the bed for sure.”

  “It’s the only way I can be sure I get a decent cup of coffee to start the day,” Ben Savage joked. “Besides, I have to make sure you get cranked up proper.” The good-natured bantering between the cook and her employer didn’t vary much day after day. The very first morning Ben had awakened in the saloon he had inherited from his old Ranger friend, Jim Vickers, found him wide awake at five-thirty. His long years of waking up before sunup, while on the trail of some wanted individual, had ingrained the habit in his mind. It had now become a ritual that he looked forward to each morning. First, Annie would arrive at six, or a little before, and he usually had the fire going in her stove and a fresh pot of coffee made. Then about the time she had her stove hot enough to bake biscuits, her husband, Johnny, showed up for breakfast. It would be closer to seven when Ben’s partner in the business, Rachel Baskin, would join the morning meeting. It would be later, still, before Tiny Davis, the bartender, and Clarice and Ruby showed up.

  There wasn’t much to discuss at the Lost Coyote on this Sunday morning. Things were pretty peaceful in the little town of Buzzard’s Bluff and had been for quite some time. The only thing new to discuss was the first worship service of the new Methodist Church, scheduled for this day. The early arrivals at Annie Grey’s breakfast table were unaware of the occasion until Rachel appeared in the kitchen and reminded them. “I’m thinking about attending the town’s first church service,” she announced. “I think it would be nice to try to show a little welcome to Reverend Gillespie and his wife. Anybody wanna go with me?” She concentrated her gaze on Ben’s face. The broad smile on her face was wicked enough to give away the reaction she anticipated.

  “I was just thinkin’ about that, myself,” he japed. “And I’m mighty pleased to know you’re goin’ to represent the Coyote. But I’m afraid I’ll have to stay and watch the saloon. Our hired help is liable to steal us blind if both owners are away. If you need somebody to escort you, I expect Tuck Tucker will be showin’ up here for breakfast in a little while. I’ll bet Tuck would like to go with you—give him a chance to check on the preacher’s knowledge of the scripture.” He couldn’t hide the smile a picture of the fiery little red-headed gnome brought to mind, but when he looked up at Annie, he saw a deep frown on her face. “What’s the matter, Annie, does it bother you if I’m japin’ about the church? I apologize, if it does.”

  “No,” she shook her head and spooned out some scrambled eggs on Rachel’s plate. “Your silly gabbing don’t bother me none. I just feel like something ain’t right.” Her remark caused Rachel to give her a close look, wondering if Annie was having another one of her “bad feelings.” It was a topic often discussed between Ben and Rachel. And while they both agreed it was just coincidence that Annie’s feelings of dread were most often followed by some threat of danger, still it was hard to explain. Annie never claimed any special warnings, herself, and would most likely deny any such notion others might have of her.

  If you put any stock in what Tuck Tucker had to say about the energetic little woman, you might agree that she’s as normal as night following day, maybe just touched in the head a little. “But, hell,” Tuck would declare, “who of us ain’t, one way or another?”

  Rachel’s curiosity about Annie’s uneasy feelings was quickly forgotten when Tuck and Henry Barnes came in. They were usual breakfast customers, both men single. Henry, owner of the stable, asked Rachel if she still wanted him to hitch up her buggy this morning. “You said you was gonna need it this mornin’,” Henry said. “But I didn’t know if you wanted it this early or not.”

  “I’m gonna need it,” she told him, “but not till a little later. I’m gonna go to church this morning, and church doesn’t start till eleven.”

  “That’s right,” Henry remarked. “Reverend Gillespie is openin’ his doors this mornin’. I’ll have your rig hitched up and ready to go.” He looked around the table then, grinning. “Maybe I oughta hitch up a wagon, instead, and you could haul a whole load of sinners with you.”

  Ham Greeley arrived just in time to hear Henry’s remark. “I don’t know about that,” he said, “I built that church buildin’ to handle ordinary sinners. Preacher Gillespie didn’t tell me to build it strong enough to hold up under the strain you people would put on it.”

  “He’s got a point there,” Ben said. “Better just hitch up the buggy. I’ll come get it when Rachel’s ready to go.”

  “Why, thank you, partner, I’d appreciate that,” Rachel said to him. The cheerful banter continued with no further thought of Annie’s uneasy feeling.

  * * *

  About ten-thirty, Ben walked up the street to the stable to get Rachel’s buggy. He pulled it around behind the saloon and tied it to the back step. Annie kept her horse back of the saloon, and Ben was taking a look at the little sorrel to see what kind of shape it was in when Rachel came out the back door. “Well, now don’t you look nice,” he remarked. “You’ll represent the Lost Coyote well.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she responded with a little curtsy. “I don’t know if the proper ladies might think I’m representing the devil, though. They might not let me in.”

  “You might remind them that jealousy is a sin they might wanna think about,” Ben replied.

  “While I’m all hitched up, I might take a little ride after church,” she said. “It’s been so long since I’ve driven this horse, I’m afraid she mighta forgotten what she’s supposed to do.”

  Ben understood why she said it. Her drive to the church was only to the south end of the main street. Ham Greeley and his two helpers had built the church on a piece of land directly across the road from Dr. John Tatum’s house and office. “If you want me to, I’ll saddle Cousin and ride along with you after church, if you’re thinkin’ about takin’ a long ride.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I doubt I’ll go far enough to bother saddling your horse.” She paused, then continued, “If I go at all.” She appreciated his concern for her safety, but things had been so peaceful in Buzzard’s Bluff, she didn’t think it necessary.

  He was sincere in his offer to escort her but glad she didn’t accept. Cousin needed some exercise, but he didn’t want to be hampered by the slow pace of Rachel’s buggy. He assisted her when she climbed up in her buggy, then he stood back and watched her drive away.

  She drove the little mare between the saloon and Tuck Tucker’s harness shop, out to the street, and turned right toward the south. Passing their competitor, the Golden Rail Saloon, she saw no activity there. The only sign of life on a Sunday morning was the drunk slumped over in a chair out front, a typical sight. Approaching the hotel, which was the last building before reaching the new church, she met three riders coming into town. They weren’t anyone she had seen before and obviously not cowhands by their dress. She avoided meeting their stares as they blatantly looked her over, and Annie’s look of dread immediately popped back into her mind. Hopefully, they were heading to the Golden Rail, where most of the drifters and outlaws still congregated.

  “That’s a right pretty little woman drivin’ that buggy all by herself,” Pete Russell commented as he turned around in the saddle to continue ogling Rachel. “She’s turnin’ up that path to the church.”

  Ormond chuckled. “Maybe we oughta stop there, Malcolm, and you could do some of that preachin’ you got so good at in prison.”

  “Yeah,” Pete said, “and we could make ’em think their prayers had been answered, if we was to throw in some of the bank’s money when they passed the plate.”

  “I think the bank would druther have us spend that money on whiskey and women, instead of on them pitiful church folks,” Malcolm commented. He unconsciously took a glance behind him as if to make sure there was still no sign of a posse. This, in spite of the fact they had run th
eir horses almost to death to ensure there was no possibility of being overtaken. It had been a good score. They rode away from Giddings with over twenty-two thousand dollars. It had been necessary to shoot the bank manager when he attempted to resist, but it served to inspire the tellers to gather up the money as quickly as they could empty the drawers. So now, they were going to have to wait for their horses to rest before settling with Mack Bragg. It always paid to have a good horse under you and it was almost certain they would need a fast departure when the business with the sheriff was done. After talking it over with Ormond and Pete, Malcolm made the decision. “We’ll take the horses to that stable up at the end of the street, so they can get watered and fed, and load ’em up again when we’re ready to take care of Mack Bragg. That’ll give us time to spot Bragg and figure out the best way to take him down, so we don’t run into no trouble gettin’ the hell outta here.”

  They continued along the street, holding their weary horses to a slow walk, all three men with their eyes locked on the sheriff’s office and jail as they approached it. Ready to shoot in the event he might suddenly recognize them from the attempted train robbery, they believed it highly unlikely since they had been wearing masks. Remembering how fast it had all blown up around them, they knew they could not recognize Bragg if they saw him. He would have to be identified to be sure. For that reason, Malcolm, halfway wished the sheriff would come walking out of his office as they passed by.

  “The Golden Rail,” Ormond announced when they rode by. “Maybe we could stop in there while we’re waitin’ for our horses to rest up.”