The Devil's Boneyard Page 6

  “Do you see two men like that in here?” the bartender asked sarcastically.

  “No, but I can’t see who’s upstairs with one of your classy ladies,” Ben answered.

  “Ain’t nobody you’re lookin’ for upstairs,” the bartender said. “I wouldn’t tell you if there was.”

  “What if I told you I’m a Texas Ranger and those men are wanted for attempted murder?”

  “Then I damn-sure wouldn’t tell you,” the bartender declared. “That’ll be fifty cents for that rye whiskey.”

  “The price of whiskey is pretty high in this part of town, ain’t it?” Ben asked, expecting to pay a quarter.

  “That’s the price we charge lawmen who come in here to hassle our customers,” the bartender responded defiantly. By this time, much of the conversation at the crowded bar died away when the customers nearby became interested in what was being said between the wiry little bartender and the big stranger.

  Aware of that, Ben turned and looked directly at a man farther down the bar who was dressed in a morning coat with vest and tie. He had been in casual conversation with two of the other drinkers before pausing to listen to Ben’s questions. “How about you, Mr. John?” Ben asked. “Were you too busy to notice if those men went upstairs?”

  He stared at Ben, a wry smile on his face, and asked, “How do you know I’m Brady John?”

  “I figured you’d better be when I saw you reach over the bar and pour yourself a drink of whiskey that’s priced higher than it oughta be.”

  “That’s just the rye whiskey,” John said in defense of his price, for the benefit of the customers close enough to hear. “Rye costs me more. And our policy here at the Hog’s Breath is not to give out any information on any of our customers, especially to those who come in here carrying a rifle. So I believe that’ll about take care of your business with this saloon.” He looked at the bartender then and said, “Buddy, he’s a pretty big man, better get Peewee to show this damn lawman to the door.”

  Upon hearing the order, Buddy grinned, but made no move to leave the bar. Instead, he threw his head back and yelled out, “Peewee!” As if responding to a rehearsed procedure. The customers standing near the bar parted to form an alley. And in a few seconds, the path was virtually filled by one of the biggest men Ben had ever seen. At least, Ben thought he was a man. At the moment, however, he resembled possibly a crossbreed between a bull and an ape. “Peewee.” Buddy nodded toward Ben and ordered, “Mr. John said to throw this feller out the door.”

  This immediately brought a foolish smile to the monster’s face, revealing teeth with large gaps between them, and he came at once toward Ben, eager to do his master’s bidding. All conversation in the crowded saloon stopped then and the customers pushed forward to watch the fun. How the hell did it come to this? Ben thought, as he watched the grinning menace advancing toward him, his hands outstretched as if to grab him by the throat. Trying to decide his best chance to keep from being handled like a sack of potatoes, Ben stood ready, his rifle in both hands. If he just keeps his hands raised, he thought moments before Peewee lunged for him. There was no time left for conscious thought after that. His reflexes took over and he dropped into a low crouch to dip under the outstretched arms that left the monster’s rib cage unprotected. With all the force he could summon, he jammed his rifle butt into Peewee’s ribs.

  The huge man doubled over with a loud grunt as the air was forced from his lungs. Still, he tried to reach out for Ben, even with the pain it caused. Given no choice, Ben dodged the outstretched arm and laid the rifle butt hard against Peewee’s face as hard as he could swing it. The dazed giant took two more uncertain steps before crashing to the floor before a stunned audience of spectators. Seeing his monster disabled, Brady John pulled his coat aside and reached for the .44 he wore. Before he could pull it, Ben spun around to face him, his six-gun already aimed. Angry now for having been subjected to John’s attempt to have him manhandled, he snapped, “Go ahead and pull it! It’ll be a pleasure to accommodate you.” John immediately released the pistol and held both hands up, palms out.

  Ben looked down at the fallen man. Blood was running down the side of his face, and he was heaving as he tried to recover his breath. He almost felt sorry for the beast, but nothing but contempt for the man who would use him as one. With his six-gun in his hand, he backed slowly to the door. When he got to the table where the four prostitutes had been sitting, he found them all standing. As he passed by them on his way to the door, the one who had talked to him before, spoke. “If you ever come back in here again when you ain’t lookin’ to kick somebody’s behind, ask for Deloris. I would dearly love to entertain you.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” he replied.

  Outside, he was met by a young man wearing a badge. “Are you Ben Savage? The young man asked. When Ben said that he was, the young man said, “I’m Deputy Sheriff Wayne Price. Sheriff Murphy told me I might find you here.” He motioned toward the door of the saloon. “You run into some trouble in there?”

  “Yeah, but nothin’ that couldn’t be handled.

  “I’ll go inside and take a quick look,” Wayne said. “Walt told me what you were in town for. Let me know if I can help you.”

  “’Preciate it, Deputy. I’ll head back to the jail as soon as I take another look around this street.” He climbed back on the roan and rode the length of the street one more time, looking for Cousin and a black Morgan. When that failed to produce any sign of his horse, he headed back toward the sheriff’s office.

  Walt Murphy was waiting for him at his office, having gotten an almost immediate reply from the telegram he had sent, as well as a report on Ben’s visit to the Hog’s Breath from his deputy. Before he could speak, Ben beat him to it. “You coulda told me a helluva lot more about what to expect at the Hog’s Breath,” he charged. “Was that your special little reception for every law officer that comes to town, or is that reserved for Rangers only?”

  “I apologize,” Walt said, “but that was the first place to look. Every outlaw that hits town usually heads straight for the Hog’s Breath. Wayne will tell you that.” He glanced at his deputy and received an affirmative nod. “And to tell you the truth, I thought you looked like you could handle most anything. Wayne told me about your little meetin’ with Peewee, so it looks like I was right about that. No hard feelin’s?”

  “I reckon,” Ben allowed reluctantly, still thinking he had rather have done the job on Brady John than the poor dumb beast Brady sicced on him.

  “Good,” Walt declared. Then, looking at his deputy again, he said, “Wayne, go on back to the Hog’s Breath and make sure Brady John ain’t gettin’ hisself all worked up about the whuppin’ Peewee just took.” Wayne responded, and once he was out the door, Walt got back to Ben. “Now, I reckon I need to apologize again. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure I bought your story. I mean, the part about bein’ stationed in Buzzard’s Bluff. So I wired Austin for confirmation. They got back to me right away, confirmin’ everything you told me, plus, they gave me some more news you oughta be interested in hearin’. Three men robbed the Bank of Lee County in Giddings and escaped with over twenty-two thousand dollars. Austin thought we oughta be on the alert, in case they come up this way. And I’m thinkin’ the three men you’re interested in could be the three that robbed the bank. You said that one you killed was totin’ plenty of money.”

  Walt was right. That was very interesting to Ben, and like him, he considered it possible that Malcolm Hazzard, his brother, and their friend could have very well been the men who robbed that bank. But the important thing, as far as he was concerned, was still the recovery of his horse. And at this point, he was less than optimistic about finding the two men who had stolen Cousin. He pressed Walt for more likely places the pair might show up, but he was sure they would have been sighted by now, if they, in fact, stopped in Waco. “If they’re still here,” Walt said, “they’re camped somewhere outside of town. And if they’re totin’ all that bank mon
ey, campin’ out in the bushes ain’t likely what they’d do. They’d most likely check in the hotel, so I’ll check on that right away. But I expect they might already be on the way to Dallas.”

  It seemed to Ben that the sheriff was anxious to send him somewhere else to search for the two outlaws. Then he remembered Cletus and Jenny Priest saying the outlaws said something about going to the church. “Where’s the church?”

  Walt hesitated before answering. “About four miles east of here,” he replied. “You’ve heard about the church, huh? I think people try to make more out of it than what it is. It’s kind of a combination saloon and tradin’ post. Sometimes it’s a hangout for all kinds of drifters, cowhands ridin’ the grub line, outlaws on the run, all kinds.”

  “Why do they call it the church?”

  “’Cause that’s what it was,” Walt said. “A group of religious folks was part of a wagon train headin’ west. Some of ’em decided that was good farmland east of Waco, so they stopped right there and built ’em a church. They lasted about three years before somebody brought some smallpox into the community and that eventually killed about half of ’em. And them that could, moved on west. I think the smallpox story keeps most folks away from there, except some men down on their luck.” He paused to shake his head. “No, I expect these boys you’re lookin’ for ain’t likely lookin’ to hole up in a place like the church. I’m bettin’ they’re headin’ to Dallas.”

  “How can I find the church?” Ben asked, feeling that was where Ormond and Pete had gone in spite of Walt’s downplaying the importance of it.

  “Well, I know you saw the bridge across the Brazos when you rode in town. Hell, you can’t miss it. Just cross the bridge and follow that road for four miles. It goes right by the church. You’ll see it, settin’ on a little rise by a creek. Your boys could be there, I reckon, but you might find some other boys on the run. So it ain’t the kinda place where you walk in and say, ‘Howdy, boys, I’m a Texas Ranger’. It could cost you your life.”

  Having been a Texas Ranger for twelve years, Ben couldn’t understand why he had never heard of such a place. “Why is it allowed to be there? Only four miles from town, how is it possible that no one has informed the Rangers or the Marshal Service?”

  “Because they take care of their own. The big boss of it is Reuben Drum. He needs Waco for the stock he sells, and he keeps a pretty tight rein on anybody that uses his church. He’s come down hard on a few wild ones who raised hell here in town. It’s kind of an arrangement that none of the city council admits knowin’ anything about. As long as Reuben doesn’t cause trouble for Waco, Waco will look the other way.” He paused to give Ben a hard look. “Now I’m tellin’ you all this, so you’ll know Reuben Drum and his boys ain’t folks you wanna fool around with. And if those two fellows you’re after really have gone to the church to hide out. Reuben ain’t gonna let you come in and arrest ’em. I know what you’re thinkin’, mount up a company of Rangers and ride in there and clean the place out. You ain’t the first one that thinks it’s as simple as that. I sat in a meetin’ with the mayor and two of the town council when a U.S. marshal came here to investigate the church. What it amounted to was we told the marshal that the church wasn’t no trouble at all to the town and we were satisfied to just leave ’em alone. As a matter of fact, it was better for the town to have a place where the drifters could hole up—kept ’em outta town.”

  Ben sat patiently listening to what he thought was a pretty unlikely story, and he told Walt as much. “I just wanted to tell you how things are at the church,” Walt insisted. “You can take it or leave it, but I’d advise you to forget about those two outlaws stoppin’ in Waco. We ain’t seen no sign of ’em, and we would have by now.”

  “I ’preciate what you’re tellin’ me and maybe it would be best if I was to take your advice and get on the road to Dallas.” That was not what he intended to do, not by a long shot. He had no intention to let those two get away with kidnapping Cousin. The possibility that they were connected to the bank robbery in Giddings was secondary. Maybe the story he told him about Reuben Drum and the church was straight up. On the other hand, the sheriff might possibly be in a working arrangement with the outlaw. At any rate, it seemed best not to let Walt know he was going to the church. “Well, I reckon I’ve about used up this day,” he said. “I might as well wait till mornin’ to start back. Think I’ll leave my horses in the stable tonight and sleep with ’em. I don’t wanna lose another horse. I’m ready for a good supper, too. Got any good recommendations?”

  “You can’t go wrong with Jake’s Rib House,” Walt said. “Best barbecued ribs in Texas. Jake and his brother Melvin own it and they don’t cook but one meal a day—supper. I was thinkin’ about eatin’ there, myself tonight. Just to show you I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about Peewee, I’d like to take supper with you as my guest. Whaddaya say?”

  “That sounds like too good an offer to pass up,” Ben accepted. “I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had any good ribs.”

  “Good,” Walt responded. “Which stable are you thinkin’ about usin’?” When Ben told him he was figuring on using the one up at that end of town, Walt said, “Bob Graham, he’s a good man. He’ll take care of your horses and he won’t charge you an arm and a leg. Why don’t you go on and take your horses, and when you’re done, we’ll go to supper. That all right with you?”

  “That suits me just fine,” Ben replied.

  * * *

  “You decide to leave ’em here with me tonight?” Bob Graham asked when he walked out of his barn just as Ben pulled up before the stable.

  “Yep, I thought I would. Sheriff Murphy said you were a good man with horses, and a fair man when it comes to price.”

  Graham snorted a chuckle. “He did, did he? Well, I reckon I’ll have to try to live up to his expectations.”

  “Right now, I’m just figurin’ on bein’ in town one night,” Ben told him. “I’d like to leave early in the mornin, so I’d like to sleep in the stall with my horses, if you don’t charge too much. Any problem with that?”

  “Nope, no problem, long as I don’t have to feed you extra grain, you’re welcome to sleep with ’em. How early are you wantin’ to leave in the mornin’. I don’t usually open the stable till five o’clock.”

  “That’ll do just fine,” Ben said. “I’ll leave when you get here. What time are you gonna lock up tonight? I told Sheriff Murphy I’d go to supper with him.”

  “Jake’s Rib House?” Graham asked.

  “Matter of fact,” Ben answered. “How’d you know that?”

  “That’s where Walt Murphy always eats. I swear, I believe he’s gonna turn into a hog.”

  “Is the food as good as the sheriff told me it was?” Ben asked.

  “Oh, yeah, ain’t nothin’ wrong with the ribs Jake cooks. If you like ribs, you’ll enjoy Jake’s.” When Ben asked again when he would lock the stable up for the night, Graham replied, “Oh, I’ll be here for a good while yet. As long as you don’t hit one of the saloons after supper and tie one on, I’ll be here till about eight o’clock.”

  “I don’t plan to do any drinkin’ tonight, so I’ll be back right after supper,” Ben assured him. He had a feeling Bob Graham was a man he could trust, so he decided to ask him a question. “You ever hear of a place near here called the church?”

  Misunderstanding the question, Graham replied, “Are you wantin’ to know where the church is? Which church? There’s three of ’em in town.”

  “No, I ain’t talkin’ about a real church . . .” Ben started, but that was as far as he got before Graham interrupted him.

  “Are you talkin’ about that old church about four miles east of town, where an old crook named Reuben Drum runs a saloon and flophouse for drifters?”

  “Oh, so you know about that place?”

  “Hell, everybody in town knows about the church,” Graham replied.

  “Talkin’ to Sheriff Murphy, I got the idea that there might be so
me dangerous outlaws there most of the time.”

  Graham shook his head slowly. “Ain’t nobody in town worried about that trash that drifts through the church. And most of us know that ol’ Reuben Drum pays Walt Murphy to keep the law from goin’ out there and cleanin’ those rats outta there. What Drum doesn’t know is there ain’t a handful of folks in Waco that give a damn if he’s runnin’ a boardin’ house for two-bit outlaws, long as they stay the hell away from town.”

  After talking with Bob Graham, Ben had an entirely different picture of the church, as well as a more accurate assessment of Sheriff Walt Murphy. It was plain to see why Murphy didn’t want him to approach the church. The sheriff’s attempts to discourage his snooping around started when he sent him to the Hog’s Breath, hoping he would have a confrontation with Peewee. Murphy must have thought that would be enough to discourage him from any further snooping around town. Might as well go to supper with him, though, he thought. Let him think I believe his story—no sense in alienating the law in town. Besides, I like barbecued ribs.

  So, he went back to the jail, and he and Walt went from there to Jake’s Rib House. He was not disappointed. The ribs were as good as Walt had claimed. He thanked the sheriff for his hospitality and all the helpful advice he had offered. Walt told him he was always ready to help the ranger service, and to prove it, he volunteered to render another service. “I responded to Austin’s wire about the bank robbery. I figured I could handle that for you, since I know those men at the church. Reuben Drum knows I won’t stand for no bank robbers hidin’ out at the church. I told Austin I’d handle the investigation of the bank robbers and see if the men you’ve been trackin’ are at the church. How’s that? Wouldn’t that pretty much take care of Austin’s problem and yours, too? The main thing you wanna find out is whether or not these two jaspers you’ve been trailin’ are at the church, right? And I can find that out for you. Save you a lotta time, ’cause Drum knows he’s in bad trouble if he doesn’t shoot straight with me.” He didn’t wait for Ben’s response before continuing. “Tell you what, why don’t you stay in town another day and look for any sign of those two you’re trackin’? I’ll ride out to the church tonight, so I can catch ’em while everybody’s there. I’ll find out right quick if they are, and if they are, I’ll tell you in the mornin’, and go with you to arrest ’em.”