“That’s right,” Sam said with a nod. “But I don’t know how long we’ll be there.”
“Depends on what we find,” Matt added without explaining just what they were looking for.
He and Sam climbed onto the train, and the conductor was able to take up the temporary steps at last and wave to the engineer to get the train moving. The whistle shrilled and steam hissed as the locomotive lurched forward. With only a slight jolt the rest of the cars followed.
As Matt and Sam started along the aisle of the car they had boarded, they found Jessica Colton and Sandra Paxton sitting on one of the bench seats, facing forward. An empty rearward-facing seat was across from the two young women. Matt and Sam glanced at each other, then took that seat.
“I think we can protect ourselves now,” Jessica said with a tart tone to her voice. “There shouldn’t be any more trouble between here and Sweet Apple.”
“I hope not,” Matt said. “We’re peaceable sorts, Sam and me.”
“One killing before breakfast is enough for you, is that it?” Sandra asked.
“You said it yourself, those men didn’t give us any choice,” Sam pointed out.
“We don’t go around looking for gunfights, no matter what you may have heard about us.”
“Oh, so you’re so famous we’re supposed to have heard of you?” Jessica said.
“That star-packer back there sure had,” Matt said.
“Yes, and he seemed to think you were a pair of troublemakers,” she replied.
“Look, we were just trying to help you—”
Sam and Sandra both held up their hands and said, “Stop,” at the same time.
“There’s no point in arguing all the way to Sweet Apple,” Sandra explained. “It really won’t take all that long to get there, so why don’t we try to pass the time pleasantly?”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Sam said. “Why don’t we start by you ladies telling us some more about yourselves?”
Jessica looked like she thought that wasn’t a very good idea, but Sandra said,
“Our fathers sent us back East to school, as we mentioned before.”
“They thought we needed somebody to teach us to be proper young ladies,” Jessica said. She followed that statement with a disdainful snort. “As if that’s important out here in Texas. We already knew how to ride and rope and shoot.”
“There are other things to life besides those,” Sandra said.
Jessica’s look made it clear she didn’t agree with that, but she didn’t say anything.
Sandra turned back to Sam. “You sound like an educated man, Mr. Two Wolves.”
“I went to school in the East, too,” he said. For the next few minutes they talked about the education each of them had received. From the corner of his eye, Matt watched Sam and could tell that his blood brother was a mite taken with Sandra Paxton.
He couldn’t say the same for himself where Jessica Colton was concerned. That hombre who had grabbed her back in Marfa was right about one thing—she was a hellcat. A redheaded hellcat at that. Matt pitied the gent who ever got involved with her.
Over the next half hour, more information about the young women came out as Sam and Sandra talked, and Matt found himself interested in spite of himself. It seemed that their fathers, Shadrach Colton and Esau Paxton, were cousins and had come to West Texas with their wives a little more than twenty years earlier to start a ranch near where the settlement of Sweet Apple had eventually sprung up. Jessica and Sandra had both been born out here, only a few days apart, in fact. They had been raised together and were best friends as well as second cousins.
The CP Ranch—for Colton and Paxton, of course—had flourished despite the sometimes harsh weather, the threat of Indians, and the Mexican rustlers from below the border who sometimes raided across the Rio Grande just like the Apaches did. Somewhere along the way, though, something had happened to drive a wedge between the cousins, and a final split had occurred while Sandy and Jessie, as they were known, were off at school. The Colton and Paxton families had always had separate homes anyway, so the spread was divided and each house served as the headquarters for a new ranch.
“Do you know what happened to cause the trouble between them?” Sam asked.
“Not that it’s any of my business, of course . . . but I am curious.”
Sandy shook her head. “No. Whatever it was, our fathers always kept it to themselves. But we haven’t let it affect us, have we, Jessie?” She smiled over at the red-head. “We’re still best friends.”
“I just hope that doesn’t change once we get back,” Jessie said with a slight, worried frown.
Sandy shook her head. “Nothing’s going to come between us. We’ve been through too much together. Why, once we helped fight off an Indian attack when we were only eleven years old. One of the men who was defending a rifle port was wounded, so Jessie grabbed up his gun and told me to load for her.”
Jessie smiled at the memory and said, “My shoulder was bruised for a month from the recoil of that rifle. But I dusted the britches of several of those damned Apaches.” She glanced at Sam. “No offense intended, Mr. Two Wolves.”
Sam grinned. “None taken. Matt and I have had some run-ins with the Apaches in the past. I don’t like ’em either.”
“I hope you ladies do manage to stay friends,” Matt said. “Might not be easy if your families are feudin’, though.”
“Maybe it hasn’t gotten that bad,” Jessie said.
“I hope not,” Sandy added. In what was evidently an attempt to change the subject, she asked Sam, “Why are you and Mr. Bodine going to Sweet Apple? Not that that is any of my business.”
Matt and Sam looked at each other for a second. “We’re looking for some fellows,” Sam said without offering any further explanation. Matt knew his blood brother was thinking the same thing he was. Since it was possible that the Mallory gang might not even attack Sweet Apple, it didn’t make sense to panic folks just yet. They would talk to the marshal there first and try to get a better idea of what the situation actually was.
“Oh,” Sandy said. Matt got the feeling that she was a mite offended by Sam’s reticence. He didn’t particularly care. Once they reached Sweet Apple and these girls were reunited with their families, he and Sam might not ever see them again. The engineer highballed it, trying to make up for the time lost in Marfa, but there were several flag stops between there and Sweet Apple. So it was nearly midday when the train finally rolled up to the Sweet Apple station. Matt and Sam looked the town over with great interest. No buildings were on fire, the street wasn’t littered with the bodies of men and horses, and folks strolled here and there seemingly without a care in the world.
Deuce Mallory hadn’t been here yet. That was for damned sure.
As the train shuddered to a halt, the conductor came along the aisle calling,
“Sweet Apple! Sweet Apple! We’ll be here fifteen minutes!”
Matt and Sam got to their feet, as did Sandy and Jessie. “Can we help you with your bags?” Sam asked the young women.
“No, our folks will be here,” Jessie answered, “and probably some of the ranch hands. So we don’t need your help.”
“But thank you anyway,” Sandy added.
That was fine with Matt. He wanted to find the marshal and deliver the warning about Mallory’s gang. He jerked his head at Sam and said, “Come on. Let’s get the horses.”
Sam tugged on the brim of his hat, smiled at the women, and said, “So long, ladies. It was an honor and a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you for everything, Mr. Two Wolves,” Sandy said. “And you, too, of course, Mr. Bodine.”
“I still say we could’ve handled those rannies by ourselves,” Jessie muttered.
She headed for the car’s vestibule without looking back.
Matt and Sam went the other way and dropped down from the rear platform without the aid of steps. As they walked along the station platform toward the live- st
ock cars where their horses had made the trip, Sam looked back over his shoulder. So did Matt, allowing his curiosity to get the better of him for a moment. Two separate groups of people were waiting for Jessie and Sandy. A brawny, red- haired, red-faced hombre threw his arms around Jessie and hugged her, while a petite brunette and a flock of redheaded kids gathered around her and got their hugs in turn. The man had to be Shad Colton, the brunette his wife, and the youngsters Jessie’s younger brothers and sisters.
A few yards away on the platform, a thin-faced man with a fringe of gray hair around his ears and a hat thumbed back on a mostly bald head waited for Sandy, along with a plump, pretty woman about the same age who had only a few streaks of silver in her blond hair. Two blond boys in their teens—twins, from the look of them—were there, too. Sandy’s brothers, Matt guessed.
Even though not that much distance separated the two groups on the platform, it was like a range of mountains was between them. Nobody from one bunch even glanced in the direction of the other bunch. It was a damned shame when families who had been close had a falling-out like that, Matt thought briefly.
Then he forgot about the Coltons and the Paxtons and their troubles and turned his attention to reclaiming the saddle mounts and packhorses so that he and Sam could go and hunt up the famous—or infamous, if you wanted to look at it that way—Marshal Seymour Standish.
A few minutes later, leading the animals, they walked down Sweet Apple’s main street. A bystander pointed out the marshal’s office to them. Of course, there was no guarantee that Standish was at the office, but they didn’t have any better place to start looking for him, Matt thought as he and Sam approached the squat adobe building.
They tied the horses at the hitch rack out front and stepped onto the porch.
Without knocking, Matt opened the door and walked into the marshal’s office with Sam right behind him.
They both stopped short at the sight of a man standing there pointing a gun at them.
Chapter 25
It took all of Matt’s self-control not to slap leather. Even as fast on the draw as he was, he doubted if he could get his gun out and fire before the man in the marshal’s office squeezed the trigger. Instead, he said, “Hold it! Don’t shoot, mister. We’re not lookin’ for trouble.”
The man with the gun looked even more surprised than Matt and Sam were. He lowered the weapon hastily and said, “I’m sorry. Don’t worry, it’s not even loaded.” Matt and Sam started to breathe again. What they had thought might be a very close call wasn’t really a threat after all.
The man was undoubtedly Marshal Seymour Standish. He had a badge pinned to his black leather vest. A slender man of medium height, he looked smaller than he really was next to the brawny pair of blood brothers. Spectacles perched on his thin nose. Remembering the reference in the newspaper story to “The Most Cowardly Man in the West,” Matt thought Standish fit that description better than he did that of a fighting marshal. How could anybody be both?
Standish holstered his gun and asked, “What can I do for you gentlemen?”
Matt gestured at the revolver on Standish’s hip. “That gun’s not loaded?”
“No. I was just practicing my draw when you came in.”
“Hadn’t you better load it? What if there was some trouble you had to handle?
You are the marshal, aren’t you?”
“That’s right, I am. And I suppose I should put the bullets back in the gun.”
“It shoots better that way,” Matt said.
As Standish took some cartridges from an open box on the desk and began sliding them into the empty chambers of the gun’s cylinder, he said, “You haven’t told me why you’re here. Have you come to report a crime?”
“You could say that,” Sam replied with a nod. “It just hasn’t occurred yet.”
Standish frowned. “You’re reporting a crime that hasn’t occurred? That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?”
Matt said, “Call it delivering a warning then. There’s a gang of outlaws on the way here to raid the town. They plan to clean it out of everything valuable, kill any- body who gets in their way, burn down half the buildings, and kidnap the prettiest women they can find before they run off across the border into Mexico.”
Standish’s eyes widened more and more in amazement as Matt talked. He almost dropped the gun he was holding. Some of the bullets did slip out of his fingers and clatter to the desk. But he managed to raise the revolver, point it at Matt, and Sam again, and order, “D-drop your guns!”
“Hang on,” Matt said. “Why are you pointin’ that thing at us?”
“You s-said you were delivering a warning. Doesn’t that mean you’re members of this outlaw gang you were talking about?”
“Hell, no! We’ve been chasin’ those damn owlhoots for more’n a week, ever since they raided another settlement up on the Panhandle.”
“We came down here to stop them,” Sam said. “We want to help you, Marshal.”
Standish looked like he wasn’t sure whether he believed that. He asked, “Who are you?”
“I’m Matt Bodine. This is Sam Two Wolves.”
Matt could tell that their names meant nothing to Standish. That wasn’t really a surprise. According to the story they’d read in the Gazette, Standish had come to Texas from somewhere back East—New Jersey, that was it, Matt recalled . . . wherever the hell that was—and had been a traveling salesman before accepting the marshal’s job. It stood to reason that he might not have heard of Bodine and Two Wolves.
“Are you lawmen of some sort?” Standish asked. “Texas Rangers perhaps, or U.S. marshals?”
“No, we’re just a couple of hombres who hate outlaws,” Matt explained.
“We were in that other town when Mallory’s gang raided it,” Sam added. “We saw firsthand what they’re capable of, and we want to keep them from doing it again down here.”
“Mallory?”
“Deuce Mallory. He’s the leader of the gang,” Sam explained. “Have you heard of him?”
Standish shook his head.
“Well, if you had,” Matt said, “you’d know what a low-down snake he is. And Sam and me, we sort of make a habit of stompin’ snakes whenever we get the chance.” Matt gestured at the revolver still clutched in the marshal’s hand. “So why don’t you put away that smoke-pole, and we can sit down and talk about what we need to do to get ready for Mallory.”
“Get ready?” Standish repeated with a frown. “You mean—”
“I mean you and the folks here in Sweet Apple are gonna have to defend the town. Otherwise, Mallory and his men will overwhelm it and take over. And trust me, you don’t want that.”
Standish shook his head. “No. No, I don’t.” He holstered the gun, then sunk into the chair behind the desk. He put his head in his hands and practically moaned, “Oh, Lord, what’s going to happen next? I’m not cut out for this!” Matt and Sam looked at each other and frowned. They had run across a lot of star-packers in their adventurous career, but never one who acted quite like this.
Matt didn’t really know what to say. “Uh, Marshal Standish,” he ventured. “Seymour . . . You mind if I call you Seymour?”
Without lowering the hands that covered his face, the marshal shook his head. “Seymour, we may not have much time,” Matt went on. “You need to, uh, pull yourself together. There’s a lot to do.”
Seymour looked up. “What? What can we do? If there’s an army of outlaws about to descend on Sweet Apple, as you say, then the situation is hopeless. We need to get word to the Rangers, or perhaps the U.S. army, and hope that help will arrive here in time.”
“Sure, send for the Rangers,” Sam said. “It can’t hurt anything. But you can’t count on them getting here before Mallory does.”
“That’s why you’ve got to be ready,” Matt said. “We’ll help you.”
“But . . . but there are only three of us. And even men as competent as you two appear to be, Mr. Bodine, can’t stand up to that sort of odd
s.”
“You’re gonna have to talk to men that you trust here in town,” Matt said. “Tell them to keep the news under their hats for now, because you don’t want to panic folks. But if you could round up a couple dozen men who are willing to fight, who’d be ready when the outlaws get here so they don’t take us by surprise, and it might make all the difference in the world.”
“I . . . I don’t see how it’s possible. It seems so farfetched. . .”
“Sweet Apple’s got a reputation as a tough town,” Sam pointed out. “There are bound to be plenty of men around here who are willing to fight.”
Seymour frowned in thought. “Well, maybe . . .”
“You don’t have much choice,” Matt said. “You either fight . . . or roll over and die.”
“You don’t want to do that,” Sam added.
“No,” Seymour said. “No, I don’t.” He took a deep breath. “Very well. I . . . I can start talking to some of the townspeople . . . men I know . . . I suppose I could deputize them. . . .”
“Just make sure you talk to fellas you can trust.”
“You have to understand,” Seymour said. “I haven’t been the marshal here for very long. And to be honest, I’m more a figure of mockery than anything else. I don’t really know who I can trust.”
Sam said, “Make your best guesses. You don’t want word of this leaking out just yet.”
“For one thing,” Matt said, “it’s possible Mallory and his gang might not even show up here. They should’ve been here before now. We thought we’d get here to find the town half-destroyed.”
Seymour turned even paler than he already was. “Good Lord,” he muttered. “Is there such savagery lurking around every corner out here in the West?”
“Usually.” Matt went around the desk and clapped a hand on the marshal’s shoulder. “But now that you realize that, Seymour, you’ve got a better chance of living to see the sun rise tomorrow.”
* * *
The blood brothers spent a while telling Seymour about the Mallory gang’s raid on Buckskin. Hearing all the details made the marshal blanch even more, but Matt and Sam thought it was important that Seymour understand exactly what he might be up against.
Texas Gundown Page 22
