Buzzard's Bluff

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “Yes, sir,” Farmer began. “When Ben Savage dropped him off, he told me this feller could be dangerous, so I’d best keep a close eye on him. But he didn’t make no fuss a-tall till I brought him some supper. He looked at me kinda crazy-like and said he didn’t want no supper and said, ‘Why don’t you stick that tray up your ass?” He paused to let that register with Mitchell. “Well, I sorta told him that I didn’t hardly think I was gonna do that and that maybe he needed to learn some decent manners. I reckon that riled him some more ’cause he took a step toward me and took his foot and kicked the tray outta my hands. That’s when I drew my .44 and warned him. I told him to back off, but he just stood there, still lookin’ crazy. I warned him again to back off, but he started comin’ at me till I backed outta the cell. He said he weren’t goin’ to no hangin’. And that’s when he charged at me like a bull. I shot him, I had to. I hit him in the shoulder and spun him around, thought that’d about do it for him. But damned if he didn’t yell at me, ‘You can do better than that,’ and came at me again.” He looked from Mitchell to Cowan, then back at Mitchell. “Well, I reckon I said I sure as hell could, so I let him have one right in the center of his chest. He’s still a-layin’ there in the door to the cell, if you wanna take a look at him. Sheriff said to leave him there till after you got a chance to take a look. The prisoners in the other cells watched the whole thing. They oughta tell you the same thing I just told you. I shouldn’ta carried the tray in. Shoulda just slid it in the door.”

  “After hearing Ben Savage’s report when he brought Turner in, I don’t doubt a word you said,” Mitchell told him. “I don’t think there was any question about it, the man was crazy. It wasn’t your fault. He was trying to get you to shoot him. He was that afraid of the gallows. So don’t feel guilty about this shooting. You did what you had to do.” He thought it unnecessary to tell them that he had had his doubts about any possible actions a court would have imposed on Billy Turner, the principals in the trial being highly unlikely to have been gathered together in one court room. Most likely, Billy would have been released after all was said and done. At least he got what he wanted, Mitchell thought, he got shot instead of hanging. I guess I’ll send a message to Ben tomorrow in the mail. To Pete Cowan, he said, “Nothing more we can do about this. I haven’t even had time to notify the U.S. Marshal, so go ahead and get rid of the body.” He left them with it while he went to have a late supper at Bowen’s Restaurant.

  * * *

  At roughly the same time Captain Mitchell left the jail after seeing Billy Turner’s body, Billy’s nemesis was coaxing his campfire into life by a narrow stream about twelve miles northeast of Austin. Since he had treated himself to a fine supper at Bertha Coleman’s table, his fire was really unnecessary. He was building it just to give himself something to do with his hands while he was considering where things stood between the Lost Coyote and the Double-D. He found it difficult to believe Daniel Dalton would discontinue the war between them. Dalton had declared that he would order his men away from the Coyote, after claiming that the attempts on Ben’s life had not been ordered by him. “Just a big ol’ misunderstandin’,” Ben said to Cousin, wondering if the big dun could detect the sarcasm in his tone. He took a critical look at his fire and decided it was pretty pitiful. The place he had stopped for the night was lacking in wood for a fire, since there were no trees of any size. But there was water, although little more than a healthy trickle, and there was grass. He had planned to stop at a better campsite about two miles short of where he was now. But when he reached it, there was still a bit of daylight left, so he pushed the horses a little farther. He should have noticed the packhorse starting to lag a bit, but when he did notice, they were two miles past the better campsite. He should have remembered they had already traveled forty miles that day when he reached Austin. Cousin was up to it, but Billy’s packhorse wasn’t. “We’ve had worse campsites,” he declared to Cousin as he unrolled his bedroll and prepared to get some sleep—maybe make up some of what he lost the night before when he still had Billy.

  Off to an early start when the sun came up again to send rays of light probing the gullies and ravines in the line of hills on the distant horizon, he would ride about twenty miles before breakfast. He figured to arrive in Buzzard’s Bluff in the middle of the afternoon on the following day.

  * * *

  At approximately the same time Ben was arriving at his overnight campsite on his way back to Buzzard’s Bluff, a young cowhand tied his reins over the rail at the Lost Coyote Saloon. Inside, he was greeted warmly by Rachel Baskin. “Jimmy, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, all smiles. “Jimmy Whitley.” His eyes searched the entire saloon as he spoke.

  Rachel smiled as she recalled his first visit to the Coyote. “She’s upstairs. She should be back in a minute or two.” When his wide grin immediately drooped upon hearing that, Rachel quickly assured him. “She’s not up there with anybody. She just went up to comb her hair. She’ll be right back.” The grin reappeared as rapidly as it had faded before. “So what brings you back to Buzzard’s Bluff?” As soon as she said it, she realized she could guess the answer to that question, so she asked, “Is there anyone with you?”

  “No, ma’am, just me,” Jimmy answered, his eyes still focused on the top of the stairs. “Frank said we could take half a day off, since we ain’t had any time off for so long, only we couldn’t all pick the same day.”

  “Frank,” she repeated, as Tiny stood there grinning as widely as Jimmy was. “That would be Frank Ross, right?”

  “No, ma’am, that’s Frank Jacobs. He’s Ross Jacobs’s brother, and he’s the foreman of the RBJ ranch.”

  “You took a pretty long ride over here from the RBJ,” Tiny said.

  “No, sir, it weren’t all that long. Only took me two hours. I cut across part of the Double-D range near the river.”

  “You’d best be careful cuttin’ across the Double-D,” Tiny said. “They ain’t the friendliest spread around here.”

  “I reckon,” Jimmy said, beginning to become impatient. “All their crew ain’t that bad, though. Frank just hired on two hands that used to work for the Double-D. That’s the reason he was able to let some of us take a little time off to kick up our heels.”

  That spiked Rachel’s interest right away. “Your boss hired two men from the Double-D? I never would have expected that to happen. I thought the RBJ was having trouble with the Double-D rustling your cattle.”

  “Well, yes, ma’am, that’s a fact,” Jimmy replied. “But these two fellows quit the Double-D because they didn’t like stealin’ other ranches’ cattle. They were lookin’ for honest work. And RBJ is an honest outfit. They ain’t been with us very long, but so far they look like real good workers.”

  Finding the conversation extremely interesting now, Rachel asked, “What are their names, the two new hands?”

  “Marty and Shorty,” Jimmy answered.

  “Marty Jackson and Shorty Dove?” Tiny recited and glanced at Rachel to see her reaction. It was the same as his. He started to ask more questions, but at that moment, Ruby appeared at the top of the stairs.

  She paused to look the room over before taking the first step, wearing the same bored expression she had worn when she went up to comb her hair. She looked toward the bar then and the light went on in her eyes when she saw who Rachel and Tiny were talking to. The frown was immediately replaced by a joyous smile as she hurried down the steps to join them. “Jimmy!” she literally squealed. “You came to see me!”

  He blushed unashamed as she placed both her hands in his. “I told you I would,” he blurted. “This was the first chance I got.”

  “Took him two hours to get here,” Tiny announced, his grin matching Jimmy’s.

  “I saved up every penny I could lay my hands on ever since I left here that mornin’,” he volunteered.

  She leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Come on,” she said, “let’s go upstairs to my room where we
can talk.” She dropped one of his hands and led him with the other toward the stairs.

  “Better not talk so much you’ll be too sore to ride,” Tiny was inspired to say, accompanied by a big horselaugh.

  “Tiny!” Rachel scolded. “Hush your mouth. Don’t tease those young folks. This is the only chance Ruby has to be a girl again.”

  Tiny shrugged, contritely. “Well, he said he’s got a two-hour ride back home.” That was all he could think to say in his defense. “Oughta open the door for Clarice tonight, though. She won’t have no competition.”

  They watched the young couple hurry up the stairs before discussing the news Jimmy brought with him about Marty and Shorty. “That’s gonna be mighty interestin’ to Ben when he gets back. Both of ’em took a shot at him and Tuck,” Tiny said.

  As if cued by the mention of his name, Tuck Tucker walked into the saloon at that moment. “Hey, Tiny,” he bellowed, “pour me a drink of whiskey while you ain’t doin’ nothin’.”

  “You sure you’re old enough to drink hard likker?” Tiny japed in return and nodded at Rachel. “The boss, here, told me I ain’t supposed to serve nobody who don’t stand at least a head above the bar.”

  Tuck looked at Rachel and asked. “When are you and Ben gonna put a piano in here, so Tiny won’t be the biggest noisemaker in the saloon?” They all shared a chuckle while Tiny poured Tuck’s drink. Tuck took a look around the room to see if there was anyone there he wanted to talk to. Seeing none of his regular drinking pals, he asked, “Who belongs to the wrung-out roan at the hitchin’ rail?”

  “I expect you probably saw Jimmy’s horse,” Rachel told him.

  “Jimmy who?” Tuck asked.

  “Jimmy Whitley,” she answered. “You remember him, don’t you, the young cowhand from the RBJ who’s sweet on Ruby?” Tuck drew his head back, remembering then. “He’s upstairs with Ruby now,” Rachel said, “and probably will be for a long time.” She winked and teased, “You can get Tiny to explain it to you.”

  While she and Tiny laughed, he nodded his head slowly and said, “It might be hard for you two to understand, but I was young once. Nowadays, I’m more concerned about that tired horse standin’ at the rail that could use some water and some grass.”

  Tiny couldn’t wait any longer. “You ain’t heard what that young feller said about some new hands the RBJ just hired. He said they used to work for the Double-D, two of ’em, name of Shorty Dove and Marty Jackson.” He paused to wait for Tuck’s reaction. “Whaddaya think of that?”

  “I think Ben’s gonna wanna hear about that!” Tuck exclaimed. “Is that true?” he asked Rachel, and she said that it was. “When’s Ben comin’ back? I hope to hell he ain’t had no trouble with that savage he rode off to Austin with. Maybe I oughta be doin’ somethin’ about those two.”

  Already regretting telling Tuck about Shorty and Marty, Tiny said, “Just wait till Ben gets back. He’ll know what to do. It ain’t up to you to do anything.”

  “Why ain’t it?” Tuck demanded, drawing himself up to his full five feet. “Hell, I’m the one they shot!”

  “Whaddaya think you’re gonna do?” Tiny asked. “You gonna ride down to the RBJ and call ’em out?”

  “Maybe I am,” Tuck blustered. “Ain’t no use to go tell Mack Bragg about it. He ain’t gonna ride down there to arrest anybody. So maybe I’d best take care of it, myself.”

  “No, you don’t,” Rachel said. “Tiny’s right, nobody should do anything until Ben gets back. He’ll know what’s best to do. You just settle down and wait for Ben. Tiny, pour him another drink. This one’s on the house,” she told Tuck.

  Not really prepared to ride down to the RBJ, he took the drink and let himself be calmed down by Rachel and Tiny. “Maybe you’re right. I told Ben I’d keep an eye on things while he was gone, anyway.”

  “That’s right,” Tiny said and winked at Rachel. “He’s probably countin’ on you.” The issue was left unsettled then because Ham Greeley came in and immediately challenged Tuck to a game of two-handed poker. “I reckon he’s forgot about ridin’ down to the RBJ to call out those two fellers,” Tiny commented to Rachel.

  “I surely hope so,” she replied. “I don’t want him putting any ideas in Ben’s head about going down there to settle that business with Shorty and Marty. Ben’s not the law around here, and I’d be really surprised if those two ever show up here again.”

  It was sometime after eight o’clock when Ruby and Jimmy came back downstairs in search of nourishment. “I’m gonna see if I can find something to eat in the kitchen,” Ruby said to Rachel as she led Jimmy by the table where Rachel was sitting with Merle Baker. “Jimmy ain’t had nothing to eat since this morning. I’m gonna make some coffee, if you want some.” Before Rachel had a chance to remind her, she said, “Don’t worry, I’ll clean up my mess so Annie won’t have to in the morning.” Rachel nodded and gave Jimmy a smile. He responded with a sheepish grin.

  “I was wonderin’ where Ruby was tonight,” Merle commented. “Who’s the young fellow? He must be carryin’ a lotta money on him.”

  Rachel had to chuckle. “I’d be surprised if he had enough to pay for more than one quick ride. What you’re witnessing is young love.” She paused, then added, “After a fashion. Tomorrow morning they’ll wake up and find out it was all just a dream.”

  “I swear, Rachel, you’re talkin’ like an old woman,” Merle said.

  “Looking at those two, I feel like an old woman,” Rachel replied. Ready to change the subject then, she commented, “I guess your business has slowed down since we’re not seeing many Double-D men in town lately.”

  He smiled and said, “I reckon we can thank your business partner for that, but I have to say he brought me some business when he first came to town. What I need is some customers who wanna pay for a top-line coffin and a formal burial. ’Course, I don’t wanna wish any bad luck on any of my friends or neighbors.” He looked at her and made a face. “How are you feelin’ lately?”

  “I’m not that old,” she said at once, then paused when Ruby and Jimmy came out of the kitchen. “Find anything to eat?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Ruby answered. “Good ol’ Annie. She left some biscuits in the oven and we spread some of that apple butter on ’em—went pretty good with that coffee. Didn’t it, Jimmy?”

  “It sure did,” Jimmy responded, then looking sheepish again, he said, “I reckon I owe you somethin’ for the food, but if you’ll trust me for it, I guarantee you I’ll bring the money next time I’m here.”

  “Forget about it,” Rachel said. “We don’t charge anything for cold biscuits. You better save your money for other things.” She smiled at Ruby, who blushed in return.

  “Well, I’d best be goin’,” Jimmy said after thanking her for the coffee and biscuits. “I’ve gotta be back at the ranch for work in the mornin’.” Ruby walked him out the front door of the saloon. In a few seconds, they returned. “My horse is gone!” Jimmy blurted. “Somebody stole my horse!”

  “Oh, I forgot,” Rachel said, “Tuck took your horse out back of the saloon and tied it down by the creek so it could get some water and graze while you were busy upstairs.”

  “I reckon I shoulda thought about that, myself,” Jimmy confessed. “I sure do appreciate it.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “Señor Dalton wants to see you,” Maria Gomez said. “He send me to tell you.”

  Spade Gunter hung the bridle he was holding on a corral post. “All right,” he said, “I’m on my way.” He turned and walked with the petite Mexican woman back to the house. They went in the kitchen door. Spade was surprised to see Estelle Dalton sitting at the kitchen table. She usually ate in the dining room with her husband. “Good mornin’, ma’am,” Spade greeted her respectfully.

  “Good morning, Mr. Gunter,” Estelle returned politely. “How are you, this morning?”

  Surprised again, for he couldn’t remember when she had spoken to him before, he replied, “Very well, thank you, ma’am. An
d yourself?” She answered with a smile, and he followed Maria into the hallway where she motioned for him to wait while she informed Dalton that he was there. When she came back, she held the door for Spade and closed it after him while she returned to the kitchen.

  “Come on in, Gunter,” Daniel Dalton invited. “I think it’s time we built our crew back up. We need to replace those five men we’ve lost, since that barbarian came to town. I thought we had a tough crew, but I guess I was wrong. This time, you’d best ride up to Fort Worth and see if you can find some men who know how to handle a gun.”

  Spade hesitated, reluctant to say his peace. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” he started. “But don’t you expect we’d best try to pick up some men who can work cattle?” He was thinking about the small amount of honest work he had gotten out of three of the men they had lost. “We’ve got the fall roundup comin’ up, and we need more men who know how to round up cattle and brand ’em. I’m afraid, if we don’t . . .”

  That was as far as he got before Dalton interrupted him. “That’s the trouble with you and every man around here lately. You’re all so damned afraid of one man. One man!” he repeated angrily. “And with him out of the way, that woman running the saloon wouldn’t last another six months.” He was thoroughly convinced of this, even though there had been no signs that it would happen before the arrival of Ben Savage. “With Savage out of the way, I could buy that bitch out for pennies.” To control the town, which was his intent, he felt he had to have control of all the saloon business. And from where he stood, all he could see to prevent that was one man. His eyes seemed to flash with anger when he pointed his finger at Spade as if it was his foreman’s fault. “One man!” Dalton roared. “Hell, I could go into town and shoot one man.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Dalton,” Spade replied in his defense. “I thought Ed Hatcher would get the job done. He was the fastest man with a gun that I’d ever seen. And Deacon was cut outta the same stock. That Savage fellow just figures out a way to turn the tables on ’em. Bob Wills tried to shoot him in the back, but Savage wheeled and got him first. At least, that’s what Marty Jackson said. He’s got more lives than a damn cat.”