by Ralph Cotton
“Evening, Ranger,” Adele replied. “May I ride on with you to Yuma?” she asked flatly.
Sam looked up at her, a little surprised, as he rubbed the roan’s jaw. Lang stepped up beside him and watched and listened.
“The train didn’t show up. It won’t be here until sometime tomorrow,” she said. “I got tired of being at the depot listening to all the talk about you and those two gunmen.”
“The talk dies down after a while,” Sam said.
“I don’t care,” said Adele, shaking her head, “I’m done with that place.”
“Still,” said the Ranger, “the train will be a lot faster and more comfortable, once it does get here.”
“No, I’m not waiting for it another day, Ranger, talk or no talk,” she said with determination. “Once I start moving I don’t like to stop. May I ride with you?”
“There might be more men wanting to kill me, ma’am,” Sam cautioned her. “Are you certain you want to—”
“I know what I’ll be getting into, Ranger,” she said, cutting him off. “May I ride with you or not?” She wasn’t being impatient, just persistent.
Sam tipped his sombrero to her and reached up for the roan’s lead rope.
“Ma’am, I’d be honored,” he said.
Adele handed him the roan’s rope and swung down from her saddle, refusing a cuffed hand from Cisco Lang as he stepped closer and took her horse’s reins.
Lang shrugged her rejection off as she stepped past him and the Ranger and looked down at the canvas food bag and the unlit makings of a cook fire.
“Ma’am, you don’t have to jump right in and cook for us,” Sam said, seeing her start rolling up her dress sleeves.
“Oh yes, I do,” Adele said. She gave him a short smile. “I always earn my keep.”
Sam and Lang looked at each other.
“Well, then, yes, ma’am,” Sam said. “I’m much obliged.” He looked at Lang and said, “Give me her horse. You gather up more wood for the fire.” Taking the reins and the lead rope in hand, the Ranger turned to walk the horses away.
“Oh, and by the way, Ranger Burrack,” the woman said as if in afterthought. “I liked it better the couple of times you called me Adele instead of ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am—I mean Adele,” the Ranger said. As he walked away, he heard Cisco Lang over his shoulder.
“Does that go for me too, Adele?” he asked quietly. “I’ve always called you Adele.” His voice softened. “Among other things, remember?”
“No, I don’t remember,” she said flatly. “The fact is, I don’t remember anything about you. I started forgetting about you a long time ago.”
The Ranger smiled to himself and shook his head, leading the two horses away, his rifle in hand. The black barb sauntered along, but the roan followed him eagerly as if in appreciation of any water, grain or other human kindness that might come its way.
“Don’t worry,” the Ranger said to the roan, liking the horse’s spirit and attitude. “I never figured you’d make it this far. Since you did, we’re not going to let anybody eat you.”
He walked both horses into the shade of a large boulder where his stallion and Lang’s horse stood watching, chewing grain he’d given them from a sack sitting on the ground just out of their reach. The Ranger untied Adele’s personal belongings from the roan’s back and stacked them over to the side, easy for the woman to get to should she need anything from them. As he started to turn, a leather travel case fell from atop a worn carpetbag and spilled open on the ground.
Sam looked down and saw a small ivory-handled hideaway pistol lying in the dirt. Stooping, he picked the pistol up and looked toward the campfire site to make sure he wasn’t being watched. Unseen, he opened the pistol and let two bullets fall onto his palm. Then he closed the pistol, stuck it back inside the leather case, closed the case and placed it atop the carpetbag.
No harm done, he told himself. Maybe the gun meant nothing. Everybody he knew carried a gun. But for now she didn’t need the weapon. When the time came that she would go off on her own, he’d give her back her bullets and send her on her way. Meanwhile, he wanted no hidden guns around him, not with a price on his head, not with a prisoner who used to be the woman’s lover.
“Now, then, fellows,” he said to the roan and the black barb as both horses probed their muzzles toward the feed sack, “let’s get you some water and grain, get you settled in for the night.”
• • •
In the purple, starlit night, Dave Coyle sat at the campfire with Chic Reye, Karl Sieg and Simon Goss, the four of them sipping coffee and passing around a bottle of rye. Off to the side, Little Deak Holder sat staring out across the flatlands, a rifle lying across his lap, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
“The good thing about the dwarf being on watch,” Reye said quietly, “is if anybody rides in and sees him, they’ll think he’s a frog sitting there grabbing bugs.”
The men gave a low chuckle at his words, which encouraged Reye to keep going.
“Or a land rat squatting to relieve itself,” he said, feeling his whiskey.
“Shhh! What’s that sound?” Dave Coyle said, growing attentive toward the darkness surrounding them.
The men fell silent and listened with him. Little Deak stood up with his rifle and looked all around. But when a gagging sound came from the direction of Oldham Coyle’s blanket outside the circle of firelight, the dwarf slumped in disgust and sat back down.
“Sounds like your brother’s woke up,” Sieg said quietly to Dave Coyle.
Another gagging sound came from the same direction. This time it lasted longer, and was followed by what sounded like a blast of water splattering on the hard ground.
“Jesus,” Reye said under his breath, “he must’ve swallowed a waterfall.”
Dave stood up from the fire and dusted his trouser seat.
“I better go see about him,” he said. “Sounds like he’s awfully sick.”
Blind Simon sniffed the air.
“I can tell you everything he’s et the past three days.”
Sieg and Reye grimaced a little as Dave walked away toward his hawking brother.
“That’s all right, Simon,” Sieg said quietly. “We don’t need to know all that.”
“Whatever he et, it was still alive and most likely running from the sound of it,” Reye said with contempt, now that Dave had walked out of hearing range. “The thing is, we’ve gone from ready to ride, to thinking things out, to just a few hands of poker first. And now he’s gone out of his mind, gambling, eating dope—”
“That’s enough, Chic,” Sieg warned Reye. “Anybody can make a mistake now and then. Let’s let it go at that.”
“A mistake?” Reye chuffed and looked at Sieg in the glow of firelight. “His mistake just cost me a heap of money.”
“It cost us all money, Chic,” Sieg said. “But we’ll get straightened out. The John Bull mines pay their men like that every month. We’ve still got it coming.”
“You ever heard the saying a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush?” Reye asked over the sound of Oldham still spewing up sickness outside the firelight.
“No, I’ve never heard that,” Sieg said with sarcasm. “Pray tell us what it means.”
“What it means is,” Simon cut in, “say . . . you’re holding a bird right here in your hand.” He cupped a big hand in front of him. “But over there in a bush there’s two more just sitting, chirping their heads off—”
“He knows what it means, Simon,” Little Deak called out over his shoulder.
“Oh,” Blind Simon said. He fell silent.
Sieg and Reye looked at each other. Reye spit in disgust and folded his forearms across his knees. He stared into the fire shaking his head.
“Hoss, you are riding with the wrong bunch,” he murmured to himself.
>
Outside the circle of firelight, the gagging finally stopped.
“Sounds like he’s feeling better,” said Sieg, handing the bottle of rye out to Reye.
“Amen for that,” said Reye, taking the bottle and throwing back a drink. “I was getting sick myself, just listening to it.”
Hearing the whiskey slosh in the bottle, Blind Simon put his hand out and wiggled his fingers toward Chic Reye.
“You boys haven’t cut me off, have you?”
“No, Simon,” Reye said, still sounding disgusted at everything in general. “I’d never forget you.” He leaned over, stuck the bottle into Simon’s outreached hand and closed the blind man’s fingers around it. “Any damn thing I’ve got, I want to make damn sure you get a part of.”
Simon chuckled, ignoring Reye’s tone of voice and manner, and threw back a swig of rye.
From outside the circle of firelight, the men heard Dave Coyle call out, “One of you pour some whiskey and water into a cup and bring it over.”
“Whiskey and water?” Sieg said under his breath, making a sour face.
“I’m pretending I didn’t hear him,” Reye replied quietly.
“I’ll get it to you, boss,” Simon called out. He pushed himself to his feet, grabbing his tapping stick from the ground beside him. The open bottle of rye tipped sidelong in his hand. He stepped forward dangerously close to the fire.
“Like hell you will,” said Reye, jumping to his feet, snatching the bottle from Simon’s hand. Simon backed up a step and sat down with a half smile on his face.
Chic Reye snatched a tin cup and a canteen from the ground. When he’d poured some whiskey and water into the cup, he handed the bottle down to Sieg and walked away from the fire.
“Here you go, Dave,” Reye said as he stepped over to a patch of brush where Dave was standing at Oldham’s side. Oldham was bowed at the waist, holding on to a scrub pine with one hand, his other hand pressed hard to his stomach.
“Obliged, Chic,” Dave Coyle said, taking the cup of watered whiskey. “He just needs a little something to settle his belly.” He nodded toward the fire. “We’ll be on over there in a minute.”
Reye walked back to the fire. But when he arrived he saw two dark silhouettes walking into their camp from the other direction, leading their horses behind them.
“Deak! Watch your front!” he shouted, drawing his Colt from his holster and cocking it on the upswing.
Little Deak scrambled to his feet, his rifle raised and cocked. At the fire, Sieg and Blind Simon stood up quickly, their guns drawn and aimed.
“Easy, fellows,” Henry Teague called out from the purple darkness as he and Sonny Rudabough approached the fire.
“Hold it right there, you sons a’ bitches!” shouted Reye, bringing both men to halt. “You don’t just walk into a camp unannounced like that, no howdy, hello the camp or nothing else.”
“Hello the camp,” Sonny Rudabough said in a flat tone.
“Howdy one and all,” said Teague.
“Who the hell are you?” said Sieg.
“I’m Henry Teague. This is Sonny Rudabough,” Teague said. “We were in the saloon. We’re here to see Coyle. Can we come in?”
“They’re from the Number Five all right,” said Simon. “I can smell them.”
“Watch your language, pard,” Rudabough warned.
“He’s blind,” Sieg offered on Simon’s behalf. “He smells things most of us don’t.”
“Yeah?” said Rudabough, “I shoot things most of us can’t.”
“Easy, Sonny,” Teague said sidelong. To the men around the fire he said, “He didn’t mean nothing. He’s excitable.” He paused, then repeated, “Can we come in?”
“Let them on in,” Oldham Coyle said in a weak voice, he and Dave stepping in from the darkness, their guns also drawn and ready.
“Evening, Oldham,” Teague said as he and Rudabough walked into the firelight, their horses’ reins in hand. “I saw your luck wasn’t running as good as you might have wanted it to be—thought you might have reconsidered the proposition we talked about the other day.”
“You needn’t be concerning yourselves with how my luck is running,” Oldham said. A troubled, confused look crossed his face. “What proposition was it we talked about?”
Sieg and Reye shot each other a look.
Teague gave a patient smile, stepped in closer and looked down at the coffeepot.
“We talked about my boss, Hugh Fenderson, paying you five thousand dollars to kill Ranger Sam Burrack,” he said. “You turned us down, remember?”
Five thousand dollars? Holy Moses!
Sieg and Reye looked at each other again.
Oldham appeared staggered by Teague’s words.
“Five thousand dollars?” he said.
“Yep,” said Teague. “Burrack rode into town today, taking a prisoner to Yuma—would’ve been a good time to kill him.”
“He’s already rode on?” Oldham asked, his head still full of cobwebs.
“That’s right, but he’ll be riding back tomorrow,” he said confidently.
“How do you know he will?” asked Dave Coyle, who’d been watching closely, listening with a suspicious look on his face.
“Let’s just say we heard something bad happened that will cause him to ride back to New Delmar.” He gave a crafty smile and nodded down at the coffeepot. “If you’re still not interested, I won’t waste your time. But if you’ve become interested, what say we talk with cups in our hands?”
“I’m interested. Seat yourselves,” Oldham said, gesturing them to sit down around the fire. “I’ll tell you right off, Sam Burrack is not going to be an easy kill.”
“I beg to differ with you, Coyle,” Teague said. “You think too little of yourself.” He looked from face to face around the fire, then said, “Silas Horn out of El Paso puts the odds three to one your favor against the Ranger.”
“Forget it, mister,” Dave Coyle cut in. “We want no part of this.” He turned to Oldham. “Can’t you see this man is about to get you killed, brother?”
Oldham smiled and licked his lips and rubbed his palm on his gun butt.
“Shut up, Dave,” he said as politely as possible. “Let the gentleman speak his piece.”
Dave shuddered as he recognized in his brother’s eyes the same hungry look he’d seen when they’d first arrived in New Delmar.
Chapter 10
In the first pale light of dawn, the Ranger placed a fresh pot of coffee to boil atop the low-burning fire. He walked to where the trail turned off the desert floor into the rocks toward his camp. Through a silver-gray shroud, he watched the black silhouette of rider and horse gallop toward him from the direction of New Delmar. The sound of the approaching horse’s hooves sent two wispy creatures of the night darting away into the morning gloom.
The rider stopped fifty yards away, stepped down from his saddle and walked around examining the rocky trail. Climbing back into his saddle, the rider put the horse forward, slower now. Sam eased back into the cover of rock and waited until the rider was less than fifteen feet from him.
“Hello the trail,” he said just loud enough to be heard, standing partially hidden behind the edge of a tall, broken stand of tent rock.
“Be-jeez!” the startled rider cried out, his horse half rearing, veering away from the Ranger’s voice. As the horse touched down, the rider swung a long-barreled shotgun around toward the Ranger.
Seeing the trouble his voice had caused, Sam stayed covered behind the stand of rock, hearing the rider settle the spooked animal.
“Whoa, horse, easy,” the rider said. “Is that you, Ranger Burrack?” he asked toward the rocks. “Be-jeez,” he repeated, “you could’ve said something, warn a person before hollering out like that.”
Ranger?
Sam had been right, it
was someone fanning his trail. He recognized Clow Dankett’s voice, even though he’d only heard the deputy speak a few words in New Delmar.
“Yes, it’s me,” Sam said, also recognizing the big corduroy coat and high-crowned hat. “I’m sorry I spooked your horse, Deputy,” he added, although spooking the animal a little had been exactly his intent. “You’re looking for me?”
“Yes, I am,” Dankett said, lowering the threatening shotgun. “I’ve been tracking you all night.”
The Ranger looked all around, not seeing how it could have been hard to follow his trail.
“Well, Deputy, looks like you’ve found me,” he said.
“I was sent to tell you you’re needed back in town,” Dankett said.
As Sam stepped the rest of the way out from behind the rock, Dankett slid down from his saddle and stretched his back, the shotgun hanging by its strap on his shoulder.
“Walk with me while we talk,” Sam said. He gestured the horse toward his campfire hidden back in the rocks. “My prisoner still has some jackrabbit in him.”
“I’ll have Big Lucy clip one of his ankles for you, if you want me to turn her loose on him,” Dankett offered.
“Obliged, but I’m good, Deputy,” Sam said.
As they walked along toward the campfire, Dankett leading his horse, the Ranger looked him up and down.
“So, Deputy, why did Sheriff Rattler send you looking for me?” Sam asked.
“He didn’t,” Dankett said bluntly. “Sheriff Rattler won’t be sending nobody nowhere from now on. He’s been shot dead, Ranger. That’s why I’m here.”
Sam stopped and looked at him closer.
“What happened?” he asked.
Ahead of them, the campfire came into sight. From its edge, Adele and Cisco Lang looked around at the sound of the deputy’s horse clopping along the stone path. Lang sat with his hands cuffed to the saddle he’d dragged over to the fire.
“Some ambushing weasel shot him dead,” the deputy said, “right out back of our new jail.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said.
“And I’m sorry to tell you,” Dankett said. “Anyway, the town council thought it best to send me out to find you, since you happened to be nearby. They need you to oversee things until they get a new sheriff stuck behind a badge.”
