Buzzard's Bluff

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “I reckon not,” Marty replied sheepishly. “I reckon I wasn’t thinkin’ there for a minute.”

  “You sure as hell weren’t,” Deacon said, “so let’s drink up and raise a little hell. It ain’t gonna be every day we get sent into town with money to buy a bottle.” He looked around them at the other customers in the saloon. In addition to Tiny, Rachel, Ham, and Ben at the far end of the bar, there were a couple of men standing at the near end. Other than the three cowhands playing cards across from them, there was no one else in the saloon. “This place is kinda dead,” Deacon announced. “Let’s liven it up a little.” He took another drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and got to his feet.

  He walked over to the table where the RBJ men were playing cards and put his arm around Ruby’s shoulders, startling her. “Hey, darlin’,” Deacon said, giving her a hard squeeze, “why don’t you come on over to my table? It don’t look like you’re gettin’ the attention a pretty little thing like you oughta be gettin’.” He flashed a wide grin at the three cowhands when they all looked up at him. “You oughta know by now that Double-D cowhands treat women better’n these small ranches do.”

  Ruby took a cautious look at the baleful man leering at her and replied, “Thanks for the invitation, honey, but I’m keepin’ company with Jimmy, here, right now.” She tried to maintain a friendly tone to keep from offending Deacon. “Right now, I’m tryin’ to help him win this hand.”

  “Come on,” Deacon said, “I’ll take you to the men’s table. We’ll have a drink and maybe you can make a few bucks.” She tried to pull away from him, but he held her tightly, hard up against his body.

  “I’m sorry, honey, but I’m visitin’ with Jimmy right now,” she told him. “Maybe some other time, all right?” He continued to leer at her, squeezing her even tighter until she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to breathe if he continued. “All right,” she said sternly, no longer trying to sweet-talk him, “you’ve convinced me that you’re strong as an ox. Now you can let me go, so I can breathe. Clarice went to get some supper. She’ll be back in a few minutes. She’s bigger’n I am. Maybe she’ll feel like rasslin’ you.”

  “To hell with Clarice,” Deacon insisted, “I’ve got a cravin’ for you.”

  The discussion between them was intense enough to interfere with the card game. When it was obvious she was not going to be successful in rejecting Deacon politely, the dealing of the cards came to a halt. All three men of the RBJ ranch turned to glare up at the intruder. The young man named Jimmy said, “Mister, she’s done told you she’s busy, so why don’t you just leave it at that?”

  “This business is between me and the whore, Sonny, and it ain’t none of yours,” Deacon told him. “So why don’t you keep your nose on your little card game?”

  Jimmy put his cards facedown on the table and started to get up, but Frank Jacobs put his hand on the young man’s forearm to keep him from rising out of his chair. Ross Jacobs’s brother had sat silently, witnessing the baiting game that Deacon seemed intent upon playing until he felt he had to respond. “Did I hear you say you were from the Double-D?”

  “That’s right, Pop, the Double-D,” Deacon answered. “You’ve most likely heard of us ’cause we’re probably double the size of whatever little outfit you ride with. That’s why they call it the Double-D.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard of you, all right,” Frank said. “We work for the RBJ. We border your range on the south side of Wray’s Creek. We ain’t as big as the Double-D, but we’d be a good bit bigger if we didn’t keep losin’ cows along that creek.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Deacon demanded.

  “I think you know what it means,” Frank said. “It’s called cattle rustlin’.”

  Deacon released his hold on Ruby and drew up to his full height. “Old man, you just talked yourself into an ass whuppin’ unless you don’t start apologizin’ right quick.” He pulled his coat back away from his holster and struck a pose as if ready to settle the issue with six-guns.

  “I ain’t apologizin’ for callin’ you a cattle rustler ’cause that’s what you are. You riders from Double-D cut out portions of another man’s herd and change the brands. That’s what horse thieves do. So I ain’t apologizin’, and I’m not gonna participate in a gunfight with you, either. ’Cause that don’t prove the right or wrong of anything. It just proves who’s been practicin’ the most to see how fast he can draw.” He continued to gaze calmly at the fully frustrated gunman. “If you’re wantin’ an apology so bad, I suggest you make one to this young woman. I think she’s the only one here who deserves one.”

  Deacon was getting madder by the second. It didn’t help that he felt like he was coming off looking foolish in the face of Frank’s calm. “You smartass loudmouth cowpuncher!” he roared. “I’ll shoot you down right where you sit, if you don’t get up from there!”

  Of those struck speechless by the disagreement that suddenly exploded into a full altercation, Ben had followed it closely to the point where he intended to intervene. When Deacon was provoked to the point of drawing his pistol, Ben feared he may have waited too late to act. So he moved purposefully at this point to defuse the situation. With no display of urgency, he strolled slowly over behind the table, so as not to pull Deacon’s intense gaze away from Frank Jacobs. When it looked like he was about to pass directly behind Deacon, he made a quick move toward him. Suddenly aware of the man behind him, Deacon spun around to meet Ben’s right fist flush on his nose and his gun hand yanked straight down by Ben’s left. In reflex, Deacon pulled the trigger and sent a shot into the floor that barely missed his right foot. In response, Ben landed another right that dropped Deacon to the floor, stunned.

  Struck as motionless as every other witness to the unlikely drama taking place, both Marty Jackson and Shorty Dove reacted too slowly. By the time they jumped to their feet, it was to find themselves looking at the business end of Ben’s six-gun, waiting for the first one to make a move. When neither man was willing to risk going for his weapon, Ben said, “Unbuckle your belts and let ’em drop.” While they did, he kicked Deacon’s pistol across the room toward the bar and Ham picked it up. Still covering the two Double-D men with his six-gun, he directed them to come over and help Deacon up on his feet. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that you three are no longer welcome here at the Lost Coyote. We were hopin’ you’d become regular customers, but it’s against the rules to shoot people here in the saloon when they’re mindin’ their own business. And you broke that rule, so you’ve gotta be on your way. I might recommend the Golden Rail. I understand they encourage the kind of behavior you just demonstrated here. You can pick up your weapons at the sheriff’s office tomorrow. We’re still lookin’ for good customers, so you might wanna tell your friends back at the Double-D we’d be glad to welcome them, if they’re content to behave themselves.” He followed them to the door and watched until they rode off down the street.

  While Ben was seeing the Double-D men off out front, Rachel walked over to make sure the men from the RBJ weren’t expecting to be asked to leave as well. The two younger cowhands were still in a mild state of amazement to find themselves still alive. “I have to apologize for the intrusion on your card game,” she told them.

  As for Frank Jacobs, he could only explain his state as one of utter astonishment. “That’s the damnedest thing I think I’ve ever seen,” he said when Ben came back inside. “That blanket-head was determined to kill somebody, pardon my language, ma’am.” He nodded to both Rachel and Ruby. “But it’s a rare thing to see somebody tryin’ to prevent a quick-draw contest in a saloon. Some saloons hope for one, but you handled that like you were dealin’ with a couple of schoolboys.”

  Ben smiled and said, “I think that approach worked this time because I doubt if any one of those three got as far as grade school before their brains stopped growing. On the good side, you fellows get a round of drinks on the house for refusing to participate in a gunfight. That all right with
you, partner?” Rachel laughed and said it was all right with her.

  “Well, we’ll thank you kindly, won’t we, boys?” Frank said. “And while I’m at it, I’ll thank you for steppin’ in when you did. I thought I was gonna get shot there for a minute.”

  “I did, too,” Ben said. “Matter of fact, I thought for a minute you were as determined to get shot as that fellow was to shoot somebody.”

  “My name’s Frank Jacobs,” he said. “This is Jimmy Whitley and Ron Corbett. I’d like to shake your hand.” He extended his.

  “Ben Savage,” he said, taking the hand offered. “This nice lady, here, is Rachel Baskin. She and I own this saloon.”

  “I know I may have sounded suicidal back there, but I swear, we’ve had so many of our cows disappear along the boundary with Double-D. And we know they’re stealin’ ’em. I reckon I’m gettin’ too old to keep my mouth shut. When I heard that jasper shootin’ off his mouth about the Double-D, I just couldn’t help myself. I had to say something.”

  Ben glanced at Rachel while Jacobs spoke his piece, then back at Frank, he said, “We’ve had our problems with the Double-D, too. Matter of fact we’re still havin’ ’em. What you saw just now is a sample of the trouble we’re havin’. Some of it has already led to a couple of shootings. So we can understand your feelin’s about that bunch. They’re not above dry-gulchin’ you, either, so just to be sure, why don’t you bring your horses around to the back of the saloon and tie ’em there at the steps. Then stay and finish your card game, and nobody will know when you leave.” He paused a moment to judge what Frank thought of that advice. “Besides, unless I miss my guess, I think Jimmy and Ruby have got some more things to talk about.” That brought a tinge of red to the young man’s face and a knowing smile to light Ruby’s countenance.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Frank said. “I could use a couple more drinks, so I’m not in any hurry. We’re stayin’ here tonight, anyway, got us a couple rooms at the hotel.”

  “In that case, you might wanna take your horses to the stable,” Ben suggested. “Henry Barnes will take good care of ’em for ya. Of course, the hotel’s got a little corral out behind it, and they won’t charge you anything for keepin’ your horses there. We’ve got a right conscientious sheriff here in Buzzard’s Bluff, and I know he takes a good look around the town late at night, but he doesn’t patrol the town all night. So that means there really ain’t anybody watchin’ those horses that might be in the hotel corral all night. And if you’re as particular about your horse as I am about mine, you’ll wanna take him somewhere where he’ll get water and good food and he’s locked up in a stable. But that’s up to you.”

  “You know, I never even checked,” Frank said. “When that young desk clerk said we could keep our horses there, I automatically thought they had a stable.”

  “Freeman Brown’s the owner of the hotel,” Ben said. “They ain’t got a stable now, but he said it’s in his plans to have one before long.”

  “Well, I reckon you’ve made a decision for me,” Frank said with a chuckle. “Ron, let’s you and I take those horses to the stable. Jimmy’s busy right now. We’ll re-deal that last hand when we come back here.”

  “Seems like a real nice fellow,” Ben commented to Rachel after Frank and Ron went out the door to stable their horses for the night. “I reckon I’ll walk over to the jailhouse and give Mack these guns and let him know we had another visit from the Double-D. I’ll be right back.”

  CHAPTER 12

  After leading his two companions out the end of the street, Deacon pulled his horse to a stop a few dozen yards past the hotel. When Shorty and Marty pulled up on either side of him, Shorty asked, “Where we goin’, Deacon?”

  Still in severe pain from a broken nose, but a little clearer in the head now, Deacon answered. “That’s a damn good question. We let him buffalo us, just because he got the jump on us. Where the hell are we goin’? That big weasel mighta run us outta his saloon, but he sure as hell can’t run us outta town.”

  “That’s right,” Shorty said. “He ain’t the sheriff. Why don’t we go to the Golden Rail? I believe I could use another drink right now.”

  “If he hadn’t sneaked around behind my back and slugged me when I wasn’t lookin’, he’d be layin’ back there on the floor,” Deacon continued, re-creating the scene in his mind. “Caught me by surprise, he did, or he’da never got away with that.” He wiped some more blood from his upper lip with his bandanna, grimacing when he touched his nose with it. “Damn him! Nobody pulls a trick like that on me and gets away with it. The boss wants that man dead, and I’ll damn sure do the job for him.”

  “We’d best be extra careful,” Marty Jackson warned. “I’ve seen that man do some things.”

  Fired up by his own failure to dominate the situation in the saloon and a burning need to make up for it, Deacon chastised him. “And do what, Marty, run for home, like you did when that gunslinger shot Bob Wills?”

  “You weren’t there that night,” Marty countered. “I didn’t have a chance to do anything, and there were some others there to help him.”

  “That ain’t the way I heard it,” Deacon said. “But that don’t make no difference now. I’m aimin’ to take care of Mr. Ben Savage for breakin’ my nose, and I wanna know if you two are gonna help me. I’m gonna kill him whether you do or not. Maybe you druther ride on back to the Double-D and tell Mr. Dalton you went into the Lost Coyote to raise some hell, but you got throwed out and hightailed it for home. And thank you for the bottle of whiskey.” He paused to let that sink in.

  “No, hell no,” Shorty replied at once. “I ain’t goin’ back to the ranch. I say let’s get that jasper tonight.”

  “Count me in,” Marty said, although he still had doubts about going up against the ex-Ranger. “What are we gonna do?”

  “The first thing I’ve gotta do is go back to the Golden Rail and see if I can get my nose to stop bleedin’,” Deacon answered. “Then we’ll decide how we’re gonna flush him out and kill him.”

  “What about the sheriff?” Shorty wondered. “What if he gets into it? I don’t know if Mr. Dalton would like it if we got the sheriff after us.”

  “That’s the reason we don’t just go back to the Lost Coyote, walk right in, and start blazin’ away,” Deacon answered, not sure how best to accomplish what he was determined to do. It needed to get done without the sheriff knowing who did it. “Let’s go get my nose fixed and we’ll decide how best to catch Savage without anybody seein’ us.”

  They turned around and rode back to the Golden Rail Saloon. Inside, they walked straight to the bar, surprising Mickey Dupree and Stump Jones. “I swear, Deacon, what happened to you?” Stump asked. “You look like you got kicked by a mule.”

  “Give us a shot of whiskey,” Shorty ordered, but Mickey was more interested in what happened to Deacon’s nose.

  “I got punched when I wasn’t lookin’,” Deacon answered, “and I need a little doctorin’. I need to have somebody take a look at it to see if there’s anything she can do to fix it, so I can breathe.” He looked at Bonnie Cruise, who walked up to the bar when she saw them come in. “Take a look at my nose, Bonnie, and see if you can doctor it up, so I can breathe.”

  The young prostitute made a face when she stared at the bloody nose. “Not me,” she exclaimed. “Lookin’ at all that bloody mess makes me wanna be sick. Tell Charlene to do it.”

  “Who done it to ya?” Mickey asked.

  “Ben Savage,” Shorty answered for him. “Pour us a drink of likker,” he repeated, needing a shot or two of courage to brace himself for whatever was going to happen that night.

  “I mighta guessed that,” Mickey said and reached under the counter for some shot glasses. “Charlene,” he called while pouring three whiskeys. “You boys oughta stay out of that wild saloon,” he couldn’t resist saying. When Charlene walked over to the bar, Mickey pointed to Deacon and said, “He needs some doctorin’ on his nose.”

  “I can see
that,” the seasoned prostitute remarked. “What did you run into, honey? Did your horse stop, but you forgot to?”

  “You know, right now I ain’t in no jokin’ mood,” Deacon replied curtly. “Can you fix it so I can breathe outta it?”

  “Let ol’ Dr. Charlene take a look at it.” She stepped up close to him and peered up his nose. After a few moments, she said, “It’s hard to tell, it’s so full of blood. Ain’t no doubt, though, it’s broke all right.”

  “Hell, I know that,” Deacon barked. “Can you do anything for it? I’m havin’ to breathe outta my mouth.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” she said. “Come on back of the bar.” He went around behind the bar with her and stood there while she pulled a drawer open and took out a couple of old bar towels. “Set down on Mickey’s stool, there, and tilt your head back.” She got down on her knees and squinted up his nose. “What a mess.” She got up again. “Just set right there. I gotta get something from the kitchen.” She was gone for only a minute before returning with a pan of water and a wooden spoon. Watching, fascinated by the procedure, Shorty and Marty had another drink while Charlene, down on her knees again, began her assault on Deacon’s nose. After cleaning away some of the blood, she turned the wooden spoon around and stuck the round handle in one side of Deacon’s nose. Just as he started to grab her arm to stop her, she gave the spoon a sharp thrust. Deacon yelled in pain. She pulled the spoon back out and began mopping up the flow of blood that came with it. That was as much as young Bonnie could take and she headed for the front door to get some fresh air.

  When he could talk again, Deacon cursed her. “Damn you, you crazy bitch, you damn-near kilt me! I could hear the bones crackin’.” For the second time that night he felt faint.

  “You can breathe through that side of your nose now, can’t you?” She asked stoically. “Like I told you, your nose was all broke down in there. Ain’t nothin’ I can do to fix it. I could only rearrange the broke-down part some, but it oughta heal up just like it is. You just ain’t gonna win no beauty contests.” She watched him trying to regain his senses for a few moments before asking, “You want me to fix the other side now?”