Ride for Vengeance Page 9

  “I’m sorry if you were disappointed by my resignation,” Seymour said. “This new life of mine . . . it’s just something that I have to do.”

  “Fine, fine. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some work to do . . .”

  Seymour nodded. “Of course. But if anything comes up that I can help with—”

  “I’ll be sure to let you know.” Standish opened the door. “Good day, Seymour.”

  Seymour nodded, tried and failed to smile convincingly, and left the hotel room. The door shut solidly behind him. That seemed to have become a pattern. He felt like he had been thrown out of both hotel rooms he had visited this morning.

  But he couldn’t let that bother him, he told himself. As he had mentioned to his uncle, he had a whole new life here in Sweet Apple. For the time being, at least, that was what he was going to concentrate on.

  Anyway, there remained the question of who had tried to kill him—and would they try again? And there were the ongoing problems between the Double C and Pax ranches to be worried about, too. Even though that conflict seemed to be at a stalemate for the time being, there was no telling when it would boil over again, and the next time the violence might spread here to the settlement. Seymour would have to be ready in case that happened.

  He left the hotel with a great deal on his mind.

  “What do you want?”

  Standish didn’t seem too happy to see her, Rebecca thought as she stood in the hotel’s second-floor corridor.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me in?” she demanded. Her tone was just as brusque as his was.

  Standish grunted and stepped back so that she could enter the room. As he closed the door behind her—no worries about propriety here, she thought—she went on. “Seymour came to see me a little while ago.” That wasn’t exactly the truth, since she’d had to practically drag him into her room, but Standish didn’t have to know that.

  Standish sounded surprised as he said, “He just left here. What did he want with you?”

  “He was telling me all about his life here. Have you heard of Matt Bodine and Sam Two Wolves?”

  Standish frowned in thought. After a moment, he said, “The names sound familiar for some reason—”

  “They were probably mentioned in those newspaper stories about Seymour. They’re gunmen. Adventurers who drift around the West looking for trouble.”

  Standish nodded as he remembered. “That’s right. Seymour’s deputies.”

  “Not officially. The town isn’t paying them anything, and they don’t wear badges. But they’ve befriended him, and they’re helping him keep law and order here.”

  “It must have been one of them who ran up and interrupted Welch and McCracken yesterday evening.”

  Rebecca nodded. “That’s what I thought, too. It’s going to be difficult to get rid of Seymour as long as those two are around, Cornelius.” It was difficult for her to frame the words, because she had hoped that somehow Seymour’s death could be avoided. Even now, after his rejection of her, a part of her still didn’t want him to die. But there was nothing she could do to help him without betraying her own involvement with Standish’s plans. If she turned against Standish, she might easily wind up in trouble with the law herself... and Rebecca wasn’t going to chance that.

  “What do you suggest we do? Kill Bodine and Two Wolves, too?”

  “A fine chance those men of yours would have of doing that,” Rebecca said in a scornful tone. “They’re gunfighters, and they know the West much better than any of us ever will. If you send Welch, McCracken, and Stover after Bodine and Two Wolves, all three of them will probably wind up dead.” She paused. “What you really need to do is come up with some sort of distraction, so that you can move against Seymour while his friends aren’t around.”

  Standish nodded slowly as he pondered the situation. “Perhaps what I should have done,” he said, “was to kill Seymour myself, while he was just here.”

  “But you don’t do your dirty work yourself, do you, Cornelius?”

  His mouth tightened with anger. “Don’t underestimate me, my dear,” he snapped. “Not even you know everything that I’m truly capable of.”

  Rebecca believed that. She said, “Anyway, if you’d killed him, what would you have done with the body? And for all we know, Seymour told Bodine and Two Wolves that he was coming to see you. You might have fallen under suspicion if he had disappeared.”

  “That’s certainly true. It’s best that we bide our time and wait for the right moment. And as you said, that’s a great deal more likely to come along if we can separate him somehow from his friends. I’ll discuss it with Welch and the others.”

  “Good luck,” Rebecca said. “As far as I’m concerned, the sooner we get out of this godforsaken place and return to actual civilization, the better.” She started to turn away.

  Standish stepped up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, bringing her to a halt. “Don’t hurry off,” he said as he leaned closer to her. She felt the warmth of his breath on her neck.

  “I thought you were angry with me,” she said.

  “I can never stay angry with you for very long, my dear.” He pushed her honey-blond hair aside and kissed the back of her neck.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked as his hands slipped down from her shoulders and began to roam over her body, exploring and caressing her curves.

  “It’s always a good idea,” Standish insisted. “That is, unless you don’t want to . . .” His words contained a hint of a warning.

  Rebecca forced a laugh as she turned in his embrace and slipped her arms around his neck. “Of course I want to,” she said. “Don’t I always want to?”

  One thought rang clarion clear in her mind as he kissed her.

  Damn you, Seymour Standish. Damn you to hell for turning me away and giving me no choice . . .

  It’s your own fault you have to die.

  Chapter 10

  The judge in Marfa had ruled that until the legal dispute between Shad Colton and Esau Paxton could be ironed out, Colton would have to leave the creek between the two spreads unfenced. That decision had infuriated Colton, but he respected the law even when he didn’t agree with it. Although the posts that had already been put up were left standing, no more were erected and the barbed wire remained unstrung.

  But that didn’t mean he had to let his archrival’s cows drink freely from the stream.

  The two Double C hands were named Rusty and Bill. One tall, one short, both were bearded old-timers who had ridden for Shad Colton for many years. Of course, for a lot of that time they had worked for Esau Paxton, too, when the two ranches were one. But they had gone with Colton when the spread split, and their loyalty was to him. Today they had been sent out to patrol the creek. Their orders were simple: If they spotted any Pax cows drinking from the stream, they were to fire their rifles into the air over the animals’ heads and haze them away from the water, staying on Double C range as they did so. No damn judge could argue with that, Colton insisted.

  So Rusty and Bill would do what the boss said, even though they were a mite uneasy about it. These patrols along the creek had been going on for several days, and surely Paxton and his boys had gotten wind of them by now.

  “Pax ain’t gonna let this stand,” Bill warned as they rode toward the creek. “Say what you will about him, he’s a cattleman. He won’t let his cows go thirsty.”

  “Nothin’ he can do about it,” Rusty said. “As long as we stay on our side of the creek, we’re within our rights to shoot guns in the air and yell at his stock.”

  Bill grunted. “Maybe so. But I still got a bad feelin’ about this.”

  “Nothin’s happened so far,” Rusty argued.

  “Could be Paxton’s been tryin’ to figure out what to do.”

  “Let him figure away. I ain’t worried about it.”

  Rusty didn’t sound completely convincing. Any time there was trouble between two ranches the size of Double C and Pax, all hell
could break loose without much warning.

  The two cowboys came in sight of the creek and turned their horses so they were riding parallel to the line of trees that marked the course of the stream. They hadn’t gone very far when Rusty reined in, stood up in his stirrups, and pointed.

  “Look yonder,” he said. Several dark shapes that could be glimpsed through the trees were obviously cows. Rusty put his horse into a run toward the creek. Bill followed.

  By the time they got there, at least a dozen cattle had crowded along the far side of the creek, water splashing around their hooves as they dipped their muzzles into the stream. The Pax brands burned into their hides were clearly visible, even in the sun-dappled shade under the trees.

  “Damn it,” Rusty said as he drew his Winchester from its saddle sheath. The barrel was cut down to carbine length, as most of the weapons carried by working cowboys were. He worked the lever, throwing a shell into the firing chamber. “Maybe if we shot a couple o’ those cows, the rest of ’em wouldn’t come back.”

  “You heard the boss’s orders,” Bill cautioned as he pulled his own carbine. “We can shoot over their heads and holler all we want, but that’s all.”

  “Yeah,” Rusty replied grudgingly. He pointed the Winchester into the air.

  When the shot rang out, Bill thought for a second that Rusty had fired. But then he realized almost instantly that the sound came from somewhere across the creek, not on this side. He heard Rusty grunt and saw his friend jerk in the saddle.

  “Rusty!” Bill said. “What the hell happened?”

  “I . . . I’m shot,” Rusty said, sounding like he could hardly believe it. “Son of a—”

  The tall, lanky cowboy toppled off his horse before he could finish the curse. Wide-eyed with shock, Bill stared down at Rusty and saw the blood on the front of his shirt.

  Another shot crashed. Bill jerked his head up as the bullet whipped past his head. He saw a haze of powder smoke floating over a clump of mesquite about fifty yards on the other side of the creek. As he hurriedly levered his own Winchester and brought it to his shoulder, he saw another puff of smoke from the scrubby trees.

  Before Bill could pull the trigger, something slammed into his right shoulder and drove him backward out of the saddle. His carbine went flying into the air as he fell.

  The impact as he landed knocked the air out of Bill’s lungs. His wounded shoulder didn’t hurt too bad yet; it was numb right now, rather than painful. He gasped for breath, rolled onto his side, and reached across his body with his left arm since his right wouldn’t work anymore. Awkwardly, he drew his pistol and then lurched to his feet, shouting curses. The racket and the smell of blood combined to make the cows that had been drinking from the creek turn and stampede away from there. Bill lifted the gun in his hand and started thumbing off shots toward the mesquites, knowing that it wasn’t likely to do much good but determined to put up a fight anyway. He had seen the lifeless stare in Rusty’s eyes and knew his pard was dead.

  “Come on, you sons o’ bitches!” he howled as the Colt roared and bucked in his hand.

  He never felt the bullet that slammed into his forehead, sizzled through his brain, and then exploded out the back of his head. He was dead before he hit the ground beside Rusty.

  The thirsty ground soaked up the two cowboys’ blood so that it didn’t run into the creek. After a while, the powder smoke drifted away and the cattle returned to drink . . . although not without casting wary glances at the two corpses sprawled on the opposite bank.

  Matt and Sam were coming out of one of the stores in Sweet Apple when they heard the swift pounding of hoofbeats. They had just bought some more cartridges for their guns, years of experience having taught them it was best never to run low on such essentials.

  The sound of a galloping horse usually meant trouble, so they might need that ammunition sooner than they had anticipated, Matt thought.

  He and Sam swung around to see who was riding so hurriedly into the settlement. Matt stiffened in alarm as he recognized the trim shape of the rider and the long red hair that had escaped from a Stetson. The hat dangled from its chin strap at the back of Jessie Colton’s head.

  Jessie seemed to spot the blood brothers at the same instant as they saw her. She hauled hard on the reins and sent her horse toward them, pulling back on the lines and bringing the animal to a skidding stop as she reached the boardwalk in front of them.

  “Jessie, what in blazes is wrong?” Matt asked.

  She was flushed and breathless from the hard ride into the settlement, so breathless that at first she couldn’t talk. When she had gulped down a couple of lungfuls of air, she was able to say, “Two of my pa’s riders were killed . . . out by the creek . . . shot down from ambush . . . He thinks Paxton men did it . . . going to ride against Pax!”

  Matt stepped forward and grasped the horse’s reins. “Blast it, I knew no good would come of it when I heard that your pa was trying to keep Paxton’s cattle away from that creek! He should’ve known that Paxton would fight back.”

  “Maybe Paxton’s men didn’t kill those Double C riders,” Sam put in.

  Matt shot him a skeptical glance. “Who else would’ve had any reason to do a thing like that?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned back to Jessie. “You say he’s gonna attack Paxton’s spread?”

  Jessie nodded. “He was gathering up the men when I threw a saddle on this horse and headed for town.” She was breathing easier now but still visibly upset. “I figured you and Sam were the only ones who might be able to stop him.”

  “Two of us against a couple of dozen fighting ranch hands?” Matt shook his head. “Not very likely, Jessie.”

  She grasped his shoulder. “You’ve got to try! Otherwise, you know what’s going to happen!”

  Matt and Sam exchanged a grim look. Sam said, “If your father and his men show up at Pax with their guns drawn, ready to fight, Paxton and his men will fight back. There’ll be bloodshed.”

  “Hell, it’ll be runnin’ in buckets!” Matt said. “We don’t have any choice. We’ve got to try to stop it.”

  Sam raced toward the livery stable to get their horses saddled, while Matt asked Jessie a few more questions. Shad Colton was gathering his whole crew for the attack on Paxton’s ranch, so it was going to take a while for him to get all of them together. By now, though, the force from Double C might be on its way to Pax. It would be a long shot for Matt and Sam to reach there first.

  The two murdered cowboys had been patrolling the creek to turn back any Paxton stock that tried to drink there. Their bodies had been found by Double C punchers who had come to relieve them. From the looks of it, they had been dead for several hours. One of the cowboys who found them had galloped back to the ranch headquarters to tell Colton what had happened. The other man had crossed the creek to look for sign. The closest hoofprints he’d found that belonged to horses instead of cattle had been in a clump of mesquite about fifty yards from the creek. He’d found some empty shell casings there, too. That evidence seemed to indicate that the two Double C men had been gunned down from ambush. It was a coward’s way of killing and made the deaths murder, plain and simple.

  The tracks led off in the direction of Paxton’s headquarters. That had been all Colton needed to hear. It was time to go to war, and judges and laws be hanged!

  As Jessie was finishing her story, Sam hurried up on his paint horse, leading Matt’s gray stallion. Matt took the reins and practically vaulted into the saddle. “Stay here,” he told Jessie.

  “I want to come with you! My father—”

  “We’ll do our best to see that he doesn’t get his fool hide ventilated,” Matt promised. “But your horse is played out. You couldn’t keep up with us.”

  He didn’t add that he didn’t want her getting in the way of a stray bullet, but that was part of his thinking, too. He and Sam wheeled their horses around and galloped out of Sweet Apple, heading for Esau Paxton’s ranch.

  They hadn’t told Seymour
where they were going, Matt realized as the settlement fell behind them, but it was too late to do anything about that now.

  Seymour would just have to hold down the fort without them for a while.

  All day, Seymour had been bothered by what happened that morning. He never would have guessed, in his wildest dreams, that Rebecca Jimmerson was interested in him—romantically, that is. Her visit to his room back in New Jersey, before he left for Texas, had puzzled him greatly, but he hadn’t ever ascribed that motivation to it.

  He wasn’t blind. He had known how lovely she was ever since she had gone to work for his uncle. At one time, he might have been thrilled that she was attracted to him.

  But not now. Not after he’d met Maggie O’Ryan and experienced the feelings he had for her. It was too late now for him and Rebecca. He wasn’t interested in anyone except Maggie.

  He was sorry for the pain and anger he had seen in Rebecca’s eyes, however. He wished he hadn’t had to hurt her.

  It would have been better if Rebecca had never come to Sweet Apple. Seymour was fairly confident that Maggie understood there was nothing going on between him and Rebecca, but she might always have a little lurking suspicion . . .

  These affairs of the heart were weighing heavily on Seymour’s mind when the door of the marshal’s office opened and Jessie Colton came in. Seymour was sitting behind the desk, his chair leaned back and a booted foot propped against the desk. He sat up hurriedly and got to his feet when he saw that Jessie was visibly upset. “Miss Colton,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Matt and Sam are on their way out to Pax,” she said. “I thought I ought to let you know, Marshal, even though they didn’t tell me to.”

  Seymour’s eyes widened in surprise. “Has there been more trouble?”

  Grimly, Jessie filled him in on what had happened at the creek and her father’s reaction to the murder of two of his riders. “Matt and Sam headed for Pax, hell-bent-for-leather,” she concluded. “If anybody can head off a gun battle, it’s them, I reckon.”