Buzzard's Bluff

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “Good-bye,” Ben said as Deacon’s knees sagged and he collapsed to the floor, releasing a still-terrified woman, who might have collapsed, as well, had Ben not moved at once to steady her.

  The doctor moved quickly then to help his shaken wife, taking her into his arms. “You’re all right,” he tried to assure her. When he was sure she was going to be all right, he glared at Ben. “You might have killed her. That was a helluva reckless shot you took.”

  “Not really,” Ben said. “He was standing head and shoulders above her, and at that close range, his head was a big target to shoot at. I just had to wait till he took the gun outta your wife’s side, in case he pulled the trigger on reflex.”

  In the excitement of the moment, Tuck was completely forgotten until he finally spoke. His question was the only one that seemed logical to him. “Why the hell didn’t you just shoot him when you walked in, instead of all that business about takin’ him to jail?”

  “That’s a good question,” Ben answered. “I don’t rightly know, just too many years as a Ranger, I guess.” He looked at Dr. Tatum then. “How long before you’re done with him?” There was one more man he had not accounted for, and that was the man who took the last two shots at the wagon as it passed the Golden Rail. He knew now that it had not been Deacon, because Deacon could not have gotten to the doctor’s office that quickly, if he had been near the Golden Rail.

  “Yeah, Doc,” Tuck asked, “how long? I’m gettin’ tired of layin’ here.”

  “I don’t know,” Tatum replied, not fully recovered from the traumatic incident in his surgery, himself. “Not long, I was about to remove the bullet when all this started.” Back to Ben, he said, “I’d like to have that man removed from my surgery. Will you need help doing it?”

  “No, I’ll take care of it,” Ben said. “He ain’t gonna be as easy as Tuck was, though. If you’ll hold the door open, I’ll drag him outta here.” So, while Dr. Tatum held the door, Ben took hold of Deacon’s boots and dragged him outside.

  As he dragged him past a somewhat recovered Nancy Tatum, she asked, “What happened to his face?”

  “That’s another story,” Ben said, “but the hole in his forehead kinda completes it, don’t you think?”

  “You need a hand with that?” Ben heard the question and turned to see Sheriff Mack Bragg riding up the path from the road. “I’ve been followin’ a trail of gunshots. Shoulda known they would lead to you.”

  “Is that a fact?” Ben replied. “I wish you’da followed it before it ended up here. Before you ask, Dr. and Mrs. Tatum and Tuck, too, will tell you that I tried to get Deacon to surrender, but he took the other option. And he is a heavy son of a gun. Grab his shoulders and we’ll throw him in the wagon.”

  “Tiny said Tuck was in the wagon with you. Is he all right?”

  “He took a bullet in his back,” Ben said. “But Dr. Tatum said it was more in his shoulder, and he’ll be just as ornery as ever. I got a look at the one who shot him. It was Marty Jackson. I tried to shoot back at him, but he got away. We caught two more shots from the Golden Rail, so I figure that had to be Shorty Dove, but I didn’t see him. I don’t know where this one was hidin’, somewhere near the hotel I would guess ’cause I don’t see any sign of a horse around, so he musta walked.”

  “Well, there ain’t much doubt they were set up to ambush you,” Bragg said. “There was one horse tied behind the Golden Rail. I expect it belonged to Deacon. Funny ain’t it? This happened right after Daniel Dalton came to town on a peace mission.”

  CHAPTER 15

  When Doc Tatum was finished with Tuck, Ben helped him up in the wagon and drove it for him, since Tuck’s right arm was in a sling. He was not as spry as he claimed to be, so Ben talked him into staying in his living quarters in the back of his harness shop instead of going to the cabin he maintained on the creek. “You ain’t gonna be able to string any wire till that shoulder heals, anyway. You might as well stay in town.” Tuck could hardly disagree. “You got anything to eat in that place you stay in town?” Ben asked. They had been on their way to supper when the attempted murder took place, and now it was too late to eat at the hotel dining room.”

  “Sure, I got stuff to cook, I just don’t feel much like cookin’ right now.” Tuck said.

  “Hell, I’ll do the cookin’, if you’ve got something to cook,” Ben volunteered. “We could always go get some supper at the Golden Rail, but you’d take a chance on the cook spittin’ in your bowl. If you’ve got the fixin’s, I can mix up some pan biscuits. You got any sowbelly?” When Tuck said he did, and had some dried apples, too, Ben said, “All right, then, we can have us a feast.” So they dropped Deacon Moss’s body off at Merle Baker’s place of business, then Ben took Tuck to his harness shop and left him there while he drove the mules to the stable. “I’ll stop in the Lost Coyote just long enough to let Rachel know where I am, then I’ll come cook us some supper.”

  There was still the concern for the two would-be assassins who had taken flight. So Ben kept a wary eye about him when he left the stable and walked down to the Lost Coyote. He found it highly unlikely that Marty and Shorty would risk another attempt tonight, but it never paid to be careless. When he walked into the Lost Coyote, he was received as if he had been away for a long time. Rachel and Tiny rushed to meet him before he got as far as the bar. “Ben,” Rachel exclaimed, “the sheriff told us you had a close call.”

  “That’s a fact,” Ben couldn’t help japing. “I was too late for supper.” The remark was good for a laugh from Tiny and a look of impatience from Rachel.

  “Mack said Tuck got shot,” Rachel said. “Is he all right?”

  “Yeah, Doc Tatum fixed him up. I took him to his place, and I’m goin’ back there now to cook us both some supper. I just thought I’d stop by here to let you know where we were.” He went on to tell them about the raid on the wagon and the confrontation with Deacon at the doctor’s office, answering all their questions. When Clarice heard that he was going to Tuck’s to cook them some supper, she volunteered to go with him and help with the cooking. “He’s already got shot,” she said. “Ain’t no use in him takin’ a risk eatin’ your cookin’.”

  “Are you gonna stay with him all night?” Rachel asked.

  “No, just gonna get him fed. He ain’t really too bad off. He was lucky he got shot where he did. He doesn’t need any help, so I’ll be right back after we eat. He’s in luck tonight. I’m gonna make him some of my pan biscuits.”

  “Oh, hell,” Clarice said, “I know I’d better go with you now. There ain’t no tellin’ what that poor man will have to end up eatin’.”

  “You best be careful walkin’ around town tonight,” Tiny warned. “Those two that were in on this thing with Deacon ain’t got a lick of sense. They might still be lookin’ for a chance to bushwhack you.”

  “I ain’t worried as long as I’ve got Clarice with me,” Ben joked. He was convinced that the danger of that was not likely tonight. If he wasn’t, he would have advised Clarice not to accompany him.

  * * *

  “I thought I’d find you here,” Marty Jackson said when he reined his horse to a stop in front of an old line shack on a branch of Wolf Creek.

  “It’s lucky it’s you and nobody else,” Shorty Dove replied. “I had my rifle on you the whole time you left the creek and rode up the branch.”

  “I messed up,” Marty confessed. “I didn’t expect to see him sittin’ on a wagon seat, and he got by me before I knew it was him. I took a shot, but I hit the feller drivin’ the wagon. Savage started throwin’ shots back at me, and I had to take cover.” He was ashamed to say he had run around to hide behind the store, so he didn’t mention that. “Did you get him? I heard you shootin’.”

  Shorty shook his head. “Hell, no. I was surprised just like you was. I heard your shots, but when that wagon came by me, I thought at first it was empty. It had already got past me when I realized that both of ’em was down in the bed of it. I shot at ’em, but I don’t
think I hit either one of ’em. Then I had to get outta there. There was too many people that saw me takin’ those shots.”

  “You reckon Deacon got him?” Marty asked. “When I got back to get my horse, you were gone, but Deacon’s horse was still there.”

  “I swear, I ain’t got no idea,” Shorty answered. “Like I said, I had to get gone, or there woulda been people shootin’ at me.”

  “Whaddaya reckon we oughta do?” Marty wondered. “Deacon said if we didn’t get Savage, we couldn’t go back to the ranch, but if he got him, we can go back. If I can’t go back to the Double-D, I don’t know where I’ll go.”

  “Me, either,” Shorty said.

  They talked it over for a long time, speculating on whether or not Deacon got the job done. Finally, they decided there was only one way to find out and that was to ride back to the ranch to see if Deacon was there. “Even if he didn’t kill Savage and we’re fired,” Marty said, “We still have to get all our possibles, bedrolls, and such. Surely Mr. Dalton ain’t gonna keep us from gettin’ our own property, and he might change his mind about lettin’ us stay.” That seemed the best thing to do, but it was already getting late by then, so they decided it best to wait until morning. There was the possibility that Deacon wouldn’t be back that night, and they preferred to have him there when they went back.

  * * *

  After a long night, with no bedrolls and nothing to eat, trying to sleep in a leaky old shack, they got on their horses and headed for the Double-D. When they got to the ranch, they rode straight to the bunkhouse, looking for Deacon. The first person they saw was Spade Gunter. He was coming from the stables, and when he saw them, he headed toward the bunkhouse to meet them.

  “Where’s Deacon?” Spade asked. Well aware of what Deacon had set out to do and knowing the two of them had gone into town with him to get their guns, he was anxious to hear if they knew.

  Spade’s question was bad news for Shorty and Marty, and it was Shorty who answered. “We was kinda hopin’ he was here.”

  “Whaddaya mean, you was hopin’ he was here?” Spade demanded. “You tellin’ me you don’t know where he is?” He looked from one of them back to the other as both simply shook their heads. “What the hell happened? ’Cause I’m gonna have to go in and tell the boss.” They tried to tell him all that had taken place as far as their part in the ambush was concerned. But after the point when the wagon rumbled on past the Golden Rail, they could only guess, hoping that Deacon was able to finish the job. Now Spade was slowly shaking his head, dreading the report he was forced to give Dalton. “After what you’ve just told me, Deacon should be back by now. So he’s either dead, or he took off after he missed his chance to kill Savage.”

  “I reckon so,” Marty said. “So I reckon we can pick up our possibles and move on.”

  His remark was ignored by Spade, for the foreman was shaking his head, thinking about the three-shot ambush they had planned. “There’s somethin’ else you ain’t told me. How the hell did Deacon talk you two into helpin’ him set Savage up?” His question brought a blank look of puzzlement to both faces.

  “Deacon told us what the boss told him,” Shorty answered. “He said the three of us was in this together, since we messed around and got our guns took away from us. Deacon said the boss told him he had to make a plan and all three of us had to get Ben Savage or we couldn’t come back here to the Double-D.”

  Spade just stared at the two young men for a long moment before saying, “Mr. Dalton never told Deacon that. He only ordered Deacon to call Ben Savage out, and if he didn’t get the job done, not to come back here. The only thing he said you two had to do was go into town and get your guns back from the sheriff. Deacon lied to you.” He saw the immediate despair in both faces and could not help feeling sorry for them, neither one of them having reached their twentieth birthday. “How bad is it?” he asked, thinking back on their telling of the ambush.

  “I shot the feller drivin’ the wagon,” Marty volunteered at once, “and Ben Savage saw me.”

  “And two or three folks on the street saw me shoot at the wagon,” Shorty said.

  “In other words,” Spade said, “there ain’t no doubt both of you were in on it. Too many witnesses and one of ’em is Ben Savage. I’ll go in and talk to Mr. Dalton about it, but I don’t know how he’s gonna take it. He ain’t been in a good mood ever since Ben Savage came to town.” He looked at the two downcast men for a few moments longer. “Have you had anything to eat?”

  “Not since yesterday mornin’,” Shorty answered.

  “Well, go on in the bunkhouse,” Spade said. “Ned ain’t finished feedin’ breakfast yet. Just stay there till I get a chance to talk to Mr. Dalton.” They started to do as he said, but he stopped them. “Hold up a minute. Let’s see who this is.” He had spotted a rider in the distance, approaching the ranch. They all turned to watch the rider. In a minute, they recognized Stump Jones. “I expect we’re about to find out what happened to Deacon,” Spade speculated.

  Stump started his report while he was still getting down from the saddle. “Wilson sent me out here to tell you Deacon Moss is dead.” He paused to look at Shorty and Marty, “I was wonderin’ what happened to you two,” he said, then went back to his report again. “Anyway, you fellers shot Tuck Tucker when him and Ben Savage rode down the street. And Deacon tried to surprise Savage at the doctor’s office, but Savage shot him in the head.”

  “Is Tuck Tucker dead?” Marty asked, once again feeling remorse for shooting the wrong man. Stump told him he was only wounded, and it wasn’t a bad wound.

  Spade nodded, then looked at Marty and Shorty. “You boys go on in the bunkhouse and get you some breakfast. I’ll go tell the boss all the news.”

  “I’ll go with ’em,” Stump said. “I ain’t had no breakfast, either.” The three of them headed to the bunkhouse, leading their horses, while Spade went to the house to seek an audience with Mr. Dalton.

  * * *

  “Mornin’, Maria. Is Mr. Dalton in a decent mood this mornin’?”

  “Sí, Señor Gunter, I think he in pretty good mood today.”

  “Well, he’s liable not to be after I give him the report on Deacon, so I’m just givin’ you the warnin’ in advance.”

  She smiled at him and nodded. “Gracias, Señor Gunter, I watch my step.” She went to tell Dalton that Spade was there to see him.

  “Well, Spade, have you got word of Deacon yet?” Dalton asked as soon as his foreman walked in the door. “Did he finally show up?”

  “No, sir,” Spade answered. “That was Stump Jones that just rode in. Deacon ain’t comin’ back. He’s dead.”

  Dalton didn’t say anything for a long moment. This was the report he had halfway expected, but he had harbored hope that he would be wrong. When he finally responded, it was with just one word. “Savage?”

  “Yes, sir, it was Ben Savage. Shot him in the head when Deacon tried to surprise him in the doctor’s office.”

  Dalton did not go into the rage that often accompanied news that went opposed to his wishes, but Spade could read the anger in his eyes. It was as if he was smoldering inside and was just moments before erupting. However, he remained calm and asked, “Anything else?”

  “Yes, sir, there is,” Spade answered, “Shorty Dove and Marty Jackson.” He proceeded then to inform Dalton about the botched assassination attempt and the fact that Deacon had hoodwinked the two young men to help him. “Neither one of them boys is a real gunman. Deacon didn’t have no business drawin’ them into that ambush.”

  Still patient, Dalton listened, then calmly told Spade that it was out of the question to consider letting the two of them stay on at the Double-D. “I’m afraid it would be no time at all before the Texas Rangers sent someone after them—and after me, too, for harboring two felons. And I would no doubt be accused of ordering the attempted assassination of a former Texas Ranger.”

  “Yes, sir, I can see how that would look,” Spade said. “It’s too bad, though.
They’re both good boys, just got snookered by ol’ Deacon. They’ll be gone this mornin’. I’ll tell ’em.” He turned to leave.

  When he walked back through the kitchen, he shook his head at Maria and gave her a shrug of his shoulders. She smiled at him, understanding his frustration. As the door was closing behind him, Spade heard Dalton call out for Maria.

  When she went to his study, he told her to come inside and close the door, a signal that always gave her a feeling of dread. “Maria,” he said. “I’m having a rough day.” She knew only too well what would follow.

  Outside, Spade walked over to the bunkhouse to find Shorty and Marty sitting at the table with Stump and Buster Pate. As expected, they were discussing the incident in Buzzard’s Bluff, and the conversation came to a halt as they all waited for what Spade had to say. Ned Snyder, having been listening to the conversation at the table while he started cleaning out his empty pots and pans, stopped to listen as well. “I’m sorry, boys,” Spade started. “You’re gonna have to go.” Then he explained why Dalton couldn’t keep them on without getting the law down on him. They expected as much. When Shorty said they would hurry up and get their belongings together, Slade told them to take their time about it, they could wait till after supper if they so choose. Before either of them thought to ask, Spade said, “Mr. Dalton didn’t say anything about it, but you can each take one horse, too.”

  “Good luck, boys,” Spade said and left them to ponder their future while he started thinking about finding men to replace them. He was already short two men because of Ben Savage. Now he was short three more for the same reason. There was also another concern, although he wasn’t sure it was anything to worry about. He wondered about the calm reaction Dalton displayed when told of Deacon’s failure to take care of Savage. Maybe it was just the calm before the storm that surely must follow.

  He had worked for Dalton for a long time now, and he felt a reluctant sense of loyalty to the man who was determined to own the town of Buzzard’s Bluff. In the beginning, the idea was to become the biggest cattle ranch in the state, and consequently, become the major source of business for the merchants of Buzzard’s Bluff. It was a year or so later that the idea of owning a saloon in town occurred to Dalton as a way to attract more business to “his town.” It didn’t matter that it was the gamblers, drifters, and outlaws the saloon would attract. At some point, that aspect of the business appealed to him and he began to have visions of creating another Deadwood or Dodge City.