The Devil's Boneyard Page 4
“Now?” Pete blurted.
“As good a time as any,” Malcolm replied.
“Hold on a minute!” Ormond exclaimed. “Let’s make sure we don’t set ourselves up in a turkey shoot, where we’d be the turkeys. It’s broad daylight, and we ain’t got our horses ready to go. They ain’t hardly had as much time to rest as they need. Every jasper in town might be takin’ shots at us. It’d be just like it was in Giddings when he shot William.”
Malcolm cooled down enough to hear what his brother was telling him. Still, he was not willing to pass up the chance to take his vengeance now, while Bragg was in his office. Seeing his indecision, Ormond insisted, “We have to be ready to ride like hell as soon as we kill him. Damn it, I wanna be sure I’m alive after we take care of him.” Malcolm nodded rapidly while biting his lower lip in his frustration, knowing Ormond was right. It turned out to be a moot point, anyway, for while they discussed it, Bragg came out of his office, climbed on his horse, and rode past them on his way toward the stable.
“Damn!” Malcolm swore, afraid they might not get another chance like the one just missed. His next thought was to go to the stable and corner Bragg there, but even if they were able to do the job there in the stable, there would be the time factor involved in packing up the two packhorses and saddling their mounts before they could get away.
Pete got up from his chair and walked to the end of the narrow porch to watch Bragg ride up the street. “He ain’t goin’ to the stable,” he suddenly announced. “He’s goin’ in that other saloon up the street.”
* * *
“Howdy, Sheriff,” Tiny Davis called out from behind the bar when Mack walked into the Lost Coyote. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Nothin’ right now, Tiny, I’m fixin’ to go down to the hotel to dinner. I just got back from church. Thought I’d be one of the ones to welcome Ronald Gillespie and his wife, Marva, to our little town. He laid down a powerful sermon. It was a little too long to suit me, though. I was sittin’ next to Rachel, and we thought Gillespie was gonna starve us to death before he finally let ol’ Satan loose. I was afraid for a while he was gonna preach us right through dinnertime at the hotel. We still got time, though, so I was gonna take my horse to the stable. Then I thought I’d ask Rachel if she was gonna go eat and I’d walk her to the hotel.” He looked over at Ben, standing at the end of the bar. “How ’bout you, Ben? You wanna go get some dinner?”
“Nope,” Ben replied. “I just got back from there. Rachel’s in the office. I’ll get her for you.” He left Mack to pass the time of day with Tiny. In a couple of minutes, he returned with Rachel right behind him.
“I’m surprised you didn’t stop at the hotel when we were down at that end of the street,” Rachel said. “You said you were starving.”
“So did you. That’s why I stopped to see if you’d like an escort to the hotel,” Bragg said.
“Well, I appreciate the offer,” she responded, “but I’m just gonna make myself some coffee and biscuits and call that dinner. You’re welcome to join me for that, if you like.”
“I reckon not,” Bragg replied. “Thanks for the offer, but after Reverend Gillespie’s sermon this mornin’, I’m gonna need some meat and beans.” He turned to leave just as the three strangers Rachel had seen earlier walked in the door.
As a matter of habit, Ben took an extra-long look at the three, especially interested when he recognized Pete Russell as the man he had escorted out of the dining room less than an hour earlier. This looks like trouble, he thought.
Bragg, on the other hand, was concentrating on something to fill his stomach, so he gave the three strangers a wide berth and started to walk around them, heading for the door. Malcolm stepped in front of him, however. “Say, ain’t you the sheriff?”
“That’s right, I’m Sheriff Bragg. What can I do for you?”
Malcolm found himself face-to-face with the man he had sworn to kill and all the previous talk he had just had with Ormond and Pete about being smart in his revenge left his mind blank. The only thing in his mind now was the fact that he was looking his brother’s killer in the eye. He could feel a slight twitching in the fingers of his right hand and the tensing of the muscles in his arm. Puzzled by the strange behavior of the man staring blankly at him, Mack Bragg started to step around him when Malcolm found his voice. “Five years ago, you shot my brother down.” That was all that was said before he made his move.
Watching closely, ever since the three suspicious-looking strangers walked into the saloon, only Ben Savage noticed the slight tensing in Malcolm Hazzard’s arm and Ben’s six-gun was already out when Malcolm pulled his pistol. The muzzle never cleared his holster before he was struck in the chest by Ben’s first shot, followed by his second to the gut. The shots ignited a chaotic exchange of gunshots. As Malcolm collapsed to the floor, both Ormond and Pete drew their weapons and fired wildly as Mack dived behind a table, his gun in hand now and firing in the direction of Ormond and Pete. Another shot from Ben clipped Pete’s shoulder as he and Ormond backed out the door, firing as fast as they could.
Concerned now with the safety of his people, Ben looked around at the toppled tables where the few customers who were in at that time of day had taken cover when the bullets were flying. “Rachel!” he called out.
“Over here!” He heard the muffled voice behind the bar. After a quick look at the door to make sure they were gone, he looked over behind the bar where he found Rachel shoved up under the bar behind Tiny, who was protecting her with his huge body. Seeing they were all right, he called out, “Mack?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Mack answered from behind a table, “just shook up a little bit. I ain’t lyin’, I sure as hell didn’t see that comin’.” He got up from the table and looked down at the body. “I ain’t ever seen the man before.”
“You don’t know who he is?” Ben asked.
“No, I don’t . . .” He started, then stopped as he put it all together in his mind. “Wait, he said I killed his brother five years ago. Five years ago, I was a deputy sheriff in Giddings, Texas, when four men tried to hold up the train in the station. I wasn’t at the station, but I threw a couple of shots at them when they made a run for it through the center of town. One of ’em hit this fellow’s brother and this one got his horse shot out from under him. The railroad men captured him. His name’s Malcolm Hazzard.”
Ben looked down at the body and commented, “He musta just got outta prison, by the look of those new clothes he’s wearin.” He looked up at Bragg then. “Instead of standin’ here gawkin’ at him, I expect you wanna get after the other two. I’ll give you a hand.”
“I appreciate it,” Bragg said, then paused when he looked at his hand to discover blood running out of his shirtsleeve. “I think I’m shot.” He looked up at Ben in disbelief. “I think I’m shot,” he repeated.
“You sure are,” Rachel said and hurried over to help. There was a hole in the sleeve of his coat, just over his elbow. “Take your coat off,” she instructed him. Then she turned to the two women standing there gawking at the bloody shirtsleeve when his coat was off. “Clarice, go get a pan of water and some cloth.” Clarice, the older of the two saloon girls, went at once to do her bidding. Back to Bragg then, she asked, “You didn’t even know you were shot?”
“No, I sure didn’t,” he answered. “It all happened so fast, with bullets flyin’ all around me. I reckon when I dived over behind that table, I was too excited to know what hit me, between knockin’ the table over and takin’ a bullet. I’m startin’ to feel it now.” He stared at the crease in his upper arm after Rachel rolled his sleeve up over it. “I’d best get after those two.”
“Not till I stop that bleeding,” Rachel insisted. She took one of the cloths Clarice brought and soaked it in the pan of water. “Sorry we don’t have time to heat the water,” she said as she cleaned most of the blood away. It continued to bleed, so she wrapped the wound nice and tight. “Maybe that’ll hold you till you can see Doc Tatum.�
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Bragg, with Ben close behind him, headed for the door, almost colliding with Tuck Tucker, who had heard the shooting. “Two fellers ran toward the stable!” Tuck blurted. “I ran back to my shop to fetch my shotgun!” When they immediately started running toward the stable, he followed.
They were met at the stable door by Henry Barnes, who was still somewhat shaken by the events of the last few minutes. “They’re gone!” Henry exclaimed. “Saddled up, threw some stuff on one packhorse and took off. Rode out the north road.” His report was for the sheriff, but his eyes were on Ben. “You’re too late to catch ’em.”
“It’s my fault,” Bragg said. “We lost too much time fussin’ with my wound.”
“Probably a good idea to stop that bleedin’,” Ben commented. “You thinkin’ about roundin’ up a posse to go after ’em?”
“If you are, I’ll ride with ya,” Tuck volunteered.
“I know you would,” Bragg said, accustomed to the gnome-like little man’s show of bravado. “I don’t know that it would be worth it. I don’t think those two will ever be back to Buzzard’s Bluff. And we got the man who tried to kill me.” He turned to look at Ben. “I’ve got you to thank for that. I reckon I owe you for that. He took me completely by surprise.” Back to Henry again, he asked, “They on fresh horses?” Henry said they were. “Not much sense in even tryin’ to round up a posse to go after ’em.”
“I expect you’re right,” Ben agreed. “I don’t think they’ll be back.” It was his honest opinion. He didn’t expect to see them making another attempt on Bragg’s life. He looked at Henry, who still seemed to be shaken up about it. “You said they took fresh horses, right?”
Henry nodded but hesitated before answering. “One of ’em was your dun.”
Henry’s simple statement delivered a blow to Ben’s mind. “They took Cousin?” He demanded. The thought was almost staggering. “They took my horse?” He asked again. “How the hell did you let that happen?”
Henry shrank back against the stable door, afraid the big man was going to explode. “I couldn’t do nothin’ to stop ’em, Ben. They held a gun on me the whole time while they took their pick of the horses in the corral. They was desperate. One of ’em was shot and they didn’t even take time to try to fix him up. I was afraid they was gonna shoot me. They took your horse and Cecil Howard’s black Morgan and one of the packhorses they brought with ’em.”
I wish to hell we hadn’t taken time to take care of Mack’s wound, Ben thought. We might have gotten here soon enough to stop them. Everything changed with Henry’s confession. Satisfied before to let the two would-be assassins run, since he foresaw no additional harm for the town, there was no choice in the matter now. Stealing Cousin was the same to him as the kidnapping of a member of his family. “I’m gonna need a horse,” he said to Henry. “And I mean a good horse.”
“Take my red roan,” Henry offered. “He’s a good horse for a man your size, and he won’t let you down.” He shook his head slowly. “I reckon that’s the least I can do. I’m sorry about this, Ben.”
Angry at him moments before, Ben realized he had no right to be. “It ain’t your fault, Henry. You didn’t have any choice in the matter. I ’preciate the use of your horse. I’ll treat him just the same as I treat Cousin. Did they take my saddle?”
“No, they took their saddles,” Henry answered.
“Well, I guess that’s good,” Ben remarked. “At least my fanny will feel at home. I’m gonna go back to the Coyote and get some things I’ll need. Then I’ll be right back here for the horse.”
“He’ll be ready,” Henry promised, “saddled and waitin’.”
Mack Bragg and Tuck Tucker were silent witnesses to the conversation just exchanged between Ben and Henry. Finally, Bragg asked, “You gonna want some help to go after those two?”
“No, I spent twelve years trailin’ no-good saddle trash like these two without any help. I’d best go alone. Thanks for the offer, but you have to take care of the town of Buzzard’s Bluff. And I don’t know how long this is gonna take.”
Since Ben appeared to be quite firm in his preference to ride alone, Tuck felt confident that if he volunteered, his help would also be refused, so he spoke up. “I can close my shop up and go with you to hunt those jaspers down. By Ned, we’ll run ’em to ground in no time.”
Even in this moment of concern for Cousin, Ben couldn’t help being amused by the typical boastful talk from the red-headed little man. “You’re probably right, Tuck, but you’d be more useful in town, since the sheriff is wounded. And these two jaspers might double back on me and come back here. I figured you’d be willin’, though.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Bragg shaking his head. “All right, time’s a-wastin’,” he said to Henry. “I’ll be back for your horse in a few minutes.”
When they returned to the Lost Coyote, they found Merle Baker had already arrived to take care of the body. “This fellow was carrying a big roll of money, Mack,” he said to the sheriff. “I’ll bet he’s wanted somewhere.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Bragg replied. “I’ll look through my files and see if I’ve got any paper on him and his two friends.”
Ben went straight through the barroom and into the back hall to his room. Rachel paused long enough to remind Bragg, “You need to go see Doc Tatum and let him take a look at that wound. I know it doesn’t look too bad, but you don’t want to get it infected.” She followed Ben through the back door then.
When she found the door to his room open, she stood in the doorway and rapped on the wall. “I had a feeling,” she said when he turned around, his saddlebags in one hand and his rifle in the other. “You and Mack going after those two?”
“No, just me,” he answered and started looking around for his war bag. When he spotted it on the floor beside the bed, he laid the rifle on the bed and picked up the bag. Thinking to change the subject, he said, “You never took that buggy ride you were gonna take after church. If you had, you wouldn’t have had to crawl under the bar to keep from gettin’ shot.”
She ignored his effort to sidetrack her and continued to lecture him. “Ben, you know you’re no longer in the Rangers. That’s Mack’s job to go after outlaws. Your business is here in Buzzard’s Bluff. Let the sheriff handle the sheriff’s business.”
“The sheriff’s place is here to protect the town, so that’s what he’s gonna do. You don’t understand, Rachel. Those bastards took my horse. I don’t give a damn about puttin’ those two in jail. I’m goin’ after my horse.” He gave her a grin. “I’ve known Cousin longer’n I’ve known you and everybody else here in the Coyote. If it was one of you, I’d go after you, too.” He paused to grin again. “At least, I’d think about it. If it was Tuck, I’d just let him talk his way out of it.” He threw his saddlebags over his shoulder and picked up his war bag in one hand and his rifle in the other. When he walked through the door, he said, “Lock the door for me, will you? And by the way, according to Captain Randolph Mitchell, I am still an official Texas Ranger on special assignment.”
“Well, if you go out there and get yourself killed, don’t come back here looking for sympathy,” she said before she thought it through.
“I expect, if that happens, I can guarantee you I won’t come back here lookin’ for sympathy.”
“Damn it, you know what I meant,” she responded. “You be careful. I’ve gotten used to having you around.” She followed him back up the hall to the saloon. “And Annie’s gonna wanna know why there’s no fire in her stove in the morning.”
“Maybe you could handle that for me tomorrow,” he joked, as he went in the door.
Seeing him carrying his gear, Tuck declared, “I’ll kinda keep an eye on things till you get back.”
“’Preciate it, Tuck. I know Rachel does, too,” Ben said.
“How long you gonna be gone?” Tuck asked.
“Till I catch up with my horse, I reckon,” Ben answered and went out the front door to the street.
CHAPTER 4
The first decision he was required to make came up less than a quarter of a mile out of town, when he reached the fork that turned off toward Waco, which was about seventy miles northwest of Buzzard’s Bluff. Although he figured the fork toward Waco was more than likely the road they took, he pulled the roan up to make sure. The trail that continued on straight north only led to a couple of small ranches and would not likely be their objective. When he reined the roan to a stop, he found it unnecessary to dismount, for he could plainly see the tracks confirming his assumption. So, he gave the roan a touch of his heels and they were off at an easy lope.
The tracks he followed were the only new ones on the road, and from the spacing of them, he could see the horses were being pushed hard. The thought of the two outlaws overworking Cousin was weighing heavily on his mind, and he was hampered by his reluctance to overwork Henry’s red roan. So, there was no thought of overtaking the two outlaws. They would have to stop sometime to rest the horses. He was just hoping he was not too far behind them to catch them when they stopped. He continued on, holding the roan to a pace he could maintain for a long time.
After riding for what he figured to be close to twenty-five miles, during which he crossed several streams that would have been suitable to rest the horses, he became more and more worried about Cousin. Still, the tracks he followed never veered from the wagon road. Finally, he made the decision to stop when he came to a small stream, feeling he had pushed the roan far enough. “It’ll just take us a little longer, Red,” he addressed the horse, “but as long as they leave tracks, we’ll catch ’em.”
During his twelve years in the law enforcement business, he had learned to have patience when on the trail of an outlaw. But this was the first time he had been on a mission to rescue his horse, and he was having a great deal of trouble trying to be patient. On other occasions, he would most likely have used the opportunity to build a little fire and make himself a cup of coffee. This time, there was no desire to do so—he just sat and waited until the horses appeared to be rested enough to continue. Then he was back in the saddle.