The Devil's Boneyard Page 5

  He had never ridden the Waco trail before, never had any occasion to since his arrival in Buzzard’s Bluff. For that reason, he was surprised to come to a healthy creek with a cabin and several outbuildings perched on the bank approximately ten miles past the spot where he had rested his horses. It was the first place the tracks he followed left the road. Evidently, the two men he chased were more familiar with the territory than he was. He speculated that they might have had this cabin in mind all along and pushed the horses hard to reach it before stopping. He was struck with a feeling of caution. Maybe there was a reason they came to this place, which he could now see was some sort of trading post. When he came to a path leading from the road to the cabin, he stopped to look it over before approaching it. There were no horses at the hitching rail in front of the porch. And even had there been, he knew the two he followed had come and gone. For he could see their tracks coming back up the path to return to the road. He decided to take the time to stop briefly in case he might learn something that would help his cause.

  He was halfway down the path before he noticed a woman sitting in a rocking chair on one side of the narrow porch. She had been hidden from his sight by what looked like a mulberry bush in front of the porch. Smoking a corncob pipe, she casually watched him as he approached. “Evenin’,” he called out as he pulled up by the rail.

  “Evenin’,” she returned and he realized she was not a young woman. “I reckon you’d be chasin’ them two fellers that was here a while ago.”

  “I might be at that,” he replied.

  “One of ’em was gunshot,” she said. “Was you the one that shot him?”

  “I don’t know. Two or three of us shot at him. I don’t know whose shot was the one that hit him.”

  She paused to knock the ashes from her pipe. “They come here so’s I could doctor his shoulder. I cut the bullet outta his shoulder and give him a poultice to put on it. What are you chasin’ ’em for? Are you a lawman?”

  “I’m chasin’ ’em ’cause they stole my horse,” Ben answered.

  She considered that for a moment before calling out. “Cletus! He said they stole his horse.”

  A grizzled old man stepped out on the porch from where he had been standing just inside the door. He was holding a shotgun. “Is that a fact?” he asked. “Which one of them horses was yours?”

  “The dun,” Ben answered. “He goes by the name of Cousin, and he’s the reason I wanna catch up with those two. They also attempted to kill the sheriff in Buzzard’s Bluff and that’s almost as bad as stealin’ my horse.”

  “Mack Bragg?” Cletus asked.

  “That’s right,” Ben replied. “They wounded him, but he ain’t hurt bad. How big a head start have they got on me?”

  Cletus ignored his question, still holding his shotgun at the ready. “They said there might be a crazy gunman after ’em. Said he kilt one of ’em’s brother and now he’s after them.”

  “I reckon I’m the crazy gunman,” Ben declared, reached in his pocket and pulled out his badge. “I’m a Texas Ranger, and they’re right, you gotta be crazy to be a Ranger.”

  “They left that Ranger part out,” Cletus said and propped his shotgun against the wall. “They left here a little over an hour ago. They were here long enough for Jenny to doctor that one feller’s shoulder and rest their horses.” He paused, then said, “Reckon I shoulda said they rested your horse.”

  “I don’t reckon they did any talkin’ about where they were headin’,” Ben said.

  “Not directly to me,” Cletus said, “but I heard ’em a couple of times sayin’ somethin’ to each other about goin to church.” When Ben questioned that, Cletus looked at his wife and asked, “You heard ’em sayin’ somethin’ about goin’ to church when they was gettin’ on their horses, didn’t you? Goin’ to church in Waco, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t recollect for sure,” Jenny answered. “Maybe it was more like they was goin’ to the church.”

  Ben figured that highly unlikely and just figured it was the weakness of two old minds. They weren’t much help, but at least they were able to point him to Waco. Their little store looked to be in petty shabby condition, and he felt the urge to give them a little help, since they seemed willing to help him. “When I left Buzzard’s Bluff, I didn’t take time to get some supplies I might be needin’ before I get home again. You got any coffee beans and maybe some flour? And I’m gonna need some salt.”

  “Yes, sir, I can fix you up with all them things. And I can grind them coffee beans for you,” Cletus said. By the time Ben was ready to go, he had run up a nice little order for them. When he turned the red roan back up the path, both Cletus and Jenny were telling him to come back to see them next time he was up that way.

  If he could trust Cletus and Jenny’s memories, he could now assume Ormond and Pete were on this road because they intended to go to Waco, instead of just running in any direction. The part about the church was hard to believe, however. He figured the two men must have talked about going someplace that the old couple mistook for “church.” It was still about thirty-five miles to Waco, but it wasn’t the first time he had tracked men solely on their hoofprints on a common road to keep him on track. If they led him straight into the town of Waco, there would be too many tracks to determine which were theirs. His job was going to become a door-to-door search and depend a large part on blind luck. It had been quite some time, but the last time he had been to Waco, it was already a sizable town. At that time, he was sure there was more than one church there, but he wasn’t concerned with counting churches at the time.

  It was not long before he had to admit darkness was setting in and he should bed his horses down for the night. He relieved the horses of their burdens and hobbled them in a good grazing area. “Might as well eat something, myself, since it’s been a while since that big Sunday dinner at the hotel.” He looked through the sacks he had gotten at Cletus’s store. After setting his little coffeepot on a hastily built fire, he took a look in the sack of flour he had just purchased. Thinking he might make his version of pan biscuits to go with his bacon, he continued staring at it when it appeared the flour was moving. Even as dark as it now was, he knew full well what caused that quivering, he reached in with his fingers and stirred it up, agitating the residents within. “I swear,” he muttered, “it’s a wonder ol’ Cletus didn’t charge me for the meat.” He decided he didn’t want to bother sifting all the weevils out, so he rolled the bag back up and left them undisturbed. Then he got some hardtack out of his packs to have with his bacon and coffee. Sleep wasn’t long in coming.

  * * *

  When still about ten miles short of Waco, the tracks led off the road by a busy stream bordered by a line of oak trees. When he followed them, he found a campsite where a fire had been built. It was obvious the two outlaws were no longer worried about being chased, if they stopped to rest their horses when Waco was only ten more miles. “I reckon I should do the same for you, Red,” he said to the roan as he stepped down from the saddle. Just to make sure he had found their camp, he checked the ashes and found them still warm.

  By the time he reached Waco, his earlier presumption proved to be accurate even before he entered the town itself. For Ormond and Pete’s tracks were soon lost in the many tracks of horses, oxen, and wagon wheels entering the busy town on the west bank of the Brazos River. Some years back, the leading citizens of Waco organized a program to build the first bridge across the Brazos, and completion of the bridge brought new prosperity to the town. Settlers moving west could now cross the river in Waco, many of them remaining in the area. The town continued to grow, and the last time Ben had been in town, there were two stables, one on each end of town. Depending on a blind search and dumb luck, he decided to check with the stables first on the chance his two outlaws decided to board their horses. If they were as well fixed for cash as their recently departed partner had been, they might well decide to do so. With that in mind, he pulled the roan to a stop at the first sta
ble he came to.

  “How do?” Thomas Holms greeted him when he stepped down. Then waited for Ben to state his business.

  Ben decided he might get a lot more cooperation from the honest folk in town if he made use of his status as a ranger. So he showed Holms his badge and said, “I’m hopin’ you can give me a little information on two outlaws I’m trailin’.” Thomas looked receptive, so Ben continued. “The men I’m after should have hit town earlier today. They’re ridin’ a dun and a black Morgan. One of the men has his arm in a sling.”

  Holms shook his head. “No, sir, they didn’t stop here. I ain’t had nobody stop in here since about noon, and I reckon I sure as hell woulda remembered those two.”

  “So I ain’t likely to find two horses like those two in your stable if I was to take a look?”

  “You’re sure as hell welcome to take a look. I’ve got a couple of dun horses, but I don’t have a Morgan in here right now,” Holms said.

  Ben felt sure the man was telling him the truth. “I’ll take your word for it. I ’preciate your help. If somebody like that shows up, I’d appreciate it if you’d let the sheriff know.” He climbed back up into the saddle and headed toward the other stable.

  Looking at the horses tied up at the stores and saloons he passed, he saw no sign of the ones he sought. Near the middle of the main street, he came to the sheriff’s office. He rode on past, but he thought it a wise move to alert the sheriff in his capacity as a Texas Ranger and let him know what had brought him to Waco. The sheriff could be a source of information on where he should look for the fugitives. With that thought in mind, he reached in his pocket, pulled out his badge again, and pinned it on his vest.

  When he reached the other stable, he didn’t see anyone around, so he dismounted and walked over to the corral and looked at the horses. There was no sign of Cousin, so he went into the stable to see if there were any in the stalls. “Somethin’ I can do for you?” He turned around to find the owner standing in the alleyway behind him.

  “Yes, sir,” Ben answered and pulled his coat aside to reveal his badge. “I’m Ben Savage, Texas Ranger.” Then he told him the same thing he had told Thomas Holms on the other end of town and received the same response.

  “No, sir, I’m sorry I can’t help you, Savage. My name’s Bob Graham. I’d surely help you if I could, but there ain’t been nobody here like them two.”

  “Much obliged, Mr. Graham. I might be back to board my horses, but I don’t know for sure right now.” He left the stable then and went back to the sheriff’s office.

  Walt Murphy took a serious look at the big man tying his horse at the hitching rail in front of his office. A stranger, Walt was certain he had never seen him before. He walked outside to meet him. “Howdy. What can I do for you?”

  “Howdy,” Ben returned. “Are you the sheriff?”

  “I am. Walt Murphy, what can I do for you?” he asked again.

  “Ben Savage, Walt,” he answered. “I’m a Texas Ranger, F-Company, outta Austin. I trailed two men to Waco. They’re wanted for attempted murder and horse thievin’ in Buzzard’s Bluff. I just thought I’d check with you first before I started looking for ’em here. And I’d appreciate any help you might wanna give me, since I don’t know your town that well.”

  Walt extended his hand. “I’ll be glad to help you any way I can. Give me a description of these two. Maybe I’ve already seen ’em.” After Ben gave him their descriptions, the sheriff said, “Well, I’m sure I haven’t seen those two, but you say they just hit town today, right?”

  “That’s right,” Ben replied. “And I’ve got reason to believe they might be carryin’ a good bit of money. At least the one shot in Buzzard’s Bluff was, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a notice came out on three men involved in a robbery somewhere. My point is, they’ve got money to spend, so where in Waco would an outlaw likely go to spend that money?”

  “I expect the first place I’d look, if I was you, would be in the Reservation.” Seeing the puzzled expression on Ben’s face, Walt explained. “That’s a section of town where most of the prostitution and dance halls are. It’s a regular red-light district, but we keep a pretty good eye on it, so it don’t get too outta hand.”

  “The Reservation, huh?” Ben replied. “Sounds like the place to start, all right. Where is it?”

  Sheriff Murphy told him where the Reservation was and the most likely saloons to check on. “I’d start with the Hog’s Breath Saloon. That’s the biggest and the one that attracts the most customers. Brady John’s the owner’s name. I’ll take a look around this part of town for you.” When Ben started to leave, Walt asked one more question. “If you’re ridin’ outta Austin, how’d you get onto these jaspers so quick?”

  “I’m based in Buzzard’s Bluff,” Ben told him, “and I got on their tails so quick because that dun geldin’ one of ’em’s ridin’ belongs to me. The son of a gun stole my horse outta the stable when they made a run for it.”

  Walt couldn’t help a chuckle upon hearing that. “I reckon you are anxious to catch up with ’em. If you wanna go ahead and take a little tour of the Reservation, I’ll talk to some of the spots they coulda landed in on this part of town. I’ll see if my deputy’s seen anything when he gets back.”

  “’Preciate it, Sheriff,” Ben responded. He was glad to get his help. He untied the roan and headed to the Reservation, his packhorse following along behind.

  Walt Murphy stood in front of his office and watched until Ben turned at the corner of the street, then he walked over to the railroad depot and went in the telegraph office. “Hey, Floyd, I need to have you wire the Ranger headquarters, F-Company, in Austin. I need some information on a fellow as soon as I can get it.” He had some doubts as to why the Rangers would station a man in the little town of Buzzard’s Bluff, so he dictated a telegram to inquire about a Ranger, Ben Savage. “And, Floyd, as soon as you get an answer, send somebody to find me.”

  “Will do, Sheriff, but I don’t know how long that’ll be.”

  Walt walked back to his office then, thinking about the big man claiming to be a Texas Ranger. “Maybe he’ll run into Peewee,” he said aloud and laughed when he pictured it.

  CHAPTER 5

  The hitching rail was fairly crowded at the Hog’s Breath Saloon. The sheriff was right when he said it would be easy to find. There was a big picture of a hog’s head painted over the door. Before tying his horses at the rail, however, Ben took a quick look at those already tied there to make sure Cousin wasn’t one of them. Then he rode down the street to make sure his horse wasn’t in front of any of the other saloons before he returned to the Hog’s Breath. He paused to think about it, then decided to pull his rifle out of the saddle sling.

  It wasn’t hard to guess what the Hog’s Breath’s main source of business was when he walked inside. The saloon was crowded, but even so, there were four soiled doves sitting around a table right at the front door, while others mingled with the boisterous crowd of men. One of the women at the table looked up at Ben and said, “Hey, sweetie, I’ve been waitin’ for you to come in. You lookin’ for some gentle company, or are you a bronc buster?”

  He couldn’t help thinking about Clarice and Ruby back at the Lost Coyote. They could surely show these women some class. It struck him as odd then that he never really thought about Ruby and Clarice as whores. “I’m lookin’ for two fellows that mighta come by here earlier today. One of ’em’s nursin’ a shoulder wound, might have his arm in a sling. You see anybody like that?” Even as he was asking the question, he realized he was wasting his time. It struck him then, that if he found the two men he searched for, it would strictly be luck. There were too many places to disappear, too many saloons, too many whorehouses, too many dance halls. When the prostitute answered his question, she confirmed his thoughts.

  She looked at one of the other women seated at the table. “He wants to know if we’ve seen two fellers and one of ’em’s wearin’ a bandage on his shoulder,” she announced, fo
llowed by a loud cackle of contempt. Back at Ben then, she said. “Hellfire, sweetie, I’ve seen a man with his whole head bandaged and another’n with a wooden leg. Both of ’em paid to go upstairs with me. What’s your problem? Don’t you like girls?” He didn’t bother to answer, just turned away and walked toward the bar. Behind him, he heard one of the women say, “Well, ain’t he the high-and-mighty one? Maybe he’ll talk to Peewee.” Her comment was followed by a chorus of chuckles from her three female companions.

  Finding a space, he moved up to the bar and waited until the bartender finished pouring drinks for a couple of cowhands and moved down to him. “Whaddaya drinkin’?” the bartender asked.

  He was a rather small man with a bald head. Ben figured he might be the man the woman referred to as Peewee. “I could use a shot of whiskey right now,” Ben answered. “Rye, if you’ve got it.” The bartender reached for a bottle and poured a shot. “Where would I find Brady John?” Ben asked.

  “Whaddaya wanna talk to him about?” the bartender asked.

  “Well, I reckon that would be between me and him. I just wanna ask him a question.”

  “Brady don’t like to answer no questions. I answer most of the questions in here. Brady ain’t got time to talk to every drifter comin’ in here lookin’ for a job or a handout.”

  Ben considered that for a few seconds before responding. The bartender would logically be the one most qualified to know if his two fugitives had come in. “All right,” he said. “I’ll ask you. Have two men come in the saloon in the last couple of hours, one of ’em with his arm bandaged up?”