Bohanin turned to lead his roan to the street. “Not as warm as I intend to make it for Bochart. Hell’s-a-popping is my plan.”
Tibbs nodded and walked Bohanin to the livery entrance. A fully packed buckskin pinto was hitched to a post. A Winchester was in a scabbard, butt forward, a short barreled twelve gauge double barrel shotgun poked through the bedroll.
Bohanin paused as he examined the buckskin.
“Looks like you were pretty certain you were going to be making a trip,” he said.
Tibbs untied the gelding. “Gave my notice to the banker this morning. Got him out of bed. Told him I was heading for Denver and a little fun. Pissed him off. He said I was ungrateful. Said I owed the outfit until he could find a new owner.”
“What did you tell him?” Bohanin asked as he started for Doc Ball’s office.
“Nothing. I figure I owe the outfit but not the same way as the banker figures.”
Bohanin offered Tibbs his hand. “I figure we’ll probably get our asses shot off before this is over, but if you figure you’re up for a fight, I could use a partner who knows the back trails and has shot himself a bandit or two.”
Tibbs shook Bohanin’s hand firmly. “I’ll wait for you while you say good bye to the lady.”
Millie Toland was sitting in bed when Bohanin entered the room. She was pale and weak but she smiled beautifully.
“I see you’re becoming a cowboy, Captain. That’s certainly not the dress that I expected.”
“I’m going to take a little ride. I won’t be back for a week or so.”
Her expression became serious. “I don’t want you hurt. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
Bohanin held her hand. “Won’t be any trouble. I’m just going to check some things out. I want to be sure of some things.”
“It’s not worth it,” she said fearfully. “Let’s just forget it and go off together somewhere. I’ve lost the child. I’m free. We could see California together.”
Bohanin held her hand firmly. “We’ll talk about that when I get back. I might just take you up on your offer. But, there’s more to it than that. If he tried to have you killed once, he’ll do it again. You’ll never be able to rest until you know it’s over. I would always be afraid to leave you alone.”
“Then don’t leave me alone,” she said. “Stay with me always.”
Bohanin kissed her softly. “It couldn’t work like that. We would always wonder, always be watching the alleys and dark places where ever we were. I’ve never lived that way and I don’t intend to start now.”
“They’d never find us in California,” she said. “They’d never know where to look.”
“I’ll be back in a week or so. You rest and get your strength back. When I return, we’ll make our plans. Things will look different when you feel better and all this is over,” Bohanin said as he stroked her hair.
“I love you. L.J.,” she said softly, her lip quivering, her eyes tearful.
“I love you, too,” he said softly.
Tibbs held the bit of the roan as Bohanin mounted. They swung their mounts toward the south and rode slowly out of town.
Sheriff Witter stood by the door of his office as he watched Tibbs and Bohanin riding out of town. He nodded and tipped his hat as they passed.
Bohanin tipped his hat with a grim expression and cold eyes. Tibbs waved slight recognition.
Witter stepped into the dusty street and watched the pair ride out of town. He thought of the woman. He considered sending a message to the sheriff in Springfield and advising him of his suspicions. Springfield was out of his jurisdiction and he had no proof that anything unusual was going on. For all he knew, Tibbs and Bohanin were simply going for a ride.
Creek Witter smiled and stepped back into his office. Whatever happened was someone else’s problem.
Chapter XII
I
A sudden flash of light at the far bend of a deep arroyo caused Bohanin to hold up his roan. The arroyo before them was more like a canyon, the trail twisting along the edge between a stark wall and a dry channel. It was a perfect place for an ambush, especially once a man was deep into the twisting canyon.
Bohanin crossed his right leg over the horn of his saddle and pulled a sack of California Gold smoking tobacco from his shirt. He rolled his cigarette in silence and offered the makings to Tibbs.
“Never smoked this brand before,” Tibbs said.
“A fellow named Dawdrey Lance got me hooked on them. I think they’re all right,” Bohanin said as he eyed the edge of the deep arroyo.
“Lance was a friend of Tim Stevens. They were about the same age,” Tibbs said.
“He’s a good kid. Thought I’d see if he was interested in joining us on our little venture. Might be nice to have another gun or two if we could muster them,” Bohanin said, his eyes still scanning the arroyo.
“That might be all right.”
Another flash reflected from the same position along the far rim.
“Good place for an ambush,” Bohanin said as he fished his telescope from his saddlebag.
Tibbs lit his cigarette and placed Bohanin’s makings in his own shirt pocket. “Yep, none better on this whole stretch of trail. You thinking those flashes came from a rifleman?”
“You saw them too?” Bohanin asked as he scanned the rim of the arroyo.
“Yep.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Thought I’d see just how good a scout you were, Bohanin. Don’t worry, I’d a said something if you hadn’t stopped.”
Bohanin placed the glass in the saddlebag. “That’s good to know, Joe. What did you do with my smokes?”
Tibbs smiled and fished the makings from his pocket. “Don’t get easily distracted either, do you, Captain?”
Bohanin puffed on his cigarette and studied the arroyo.
“Did you see anything?” Tibbs asked.
“Nope. Didn’t see a thing,” Bohanin said still gazing along the wall.
“I sure would hate to get down there and find out you missed him.”
“Me too. Cause I’ll tell you one thing. There’s a rifle on us right now and that hombre’s just a waiting for us to ride into his range.”
“I thought you said you didn’t see a thing.” Tibbs said.
Bohanin finished his cigarette and assumed a proper riding position in the saddle. “I didn’t. But he’s up there, just a waiting. He figures we’ll finish our smoke and come right into his sights.”
“A plotting and a scheming. Probably checking his sights right now, I reckon,” Tibbs said.
“Yep.”
Tibbs dismounted and checked the left foreleg of his pinto. “I’d sure hate to let him have the first shot. He might just wing one of us,” he said.
“You know, I’ll bet if you went hell-bent-for-election up the side of this slope while I swung down into that dry channel to draw his fire, we might just get that guy in a cross fire before he could figure what we were doing.”
Tibbs studied the slope. It was steep but not too bad.
“If you could draw his fire. Otherwise, he’d have a mighty good shot at me before I could top the rim.”
Bohanin nodded as he pulled his Winchester. “If I break first for the wash, I figure he’ll pour it on me. By the time he realizes you aren’t following, you’ll be topping the rim.”
Tibbs remounted and pulled his rifle, levering a round into the chamber. “Sounds reasonable. Sounds like old Injun fighting tactics.”
Bohanin levered a round into his own rifle. “Once you’ve topped the crest, pour it to him. I’ll hold up when I’ve found a position. We’ll work our way toward him, one man at a time, keep him pinned, pouring lead, working forward.”
Tibbs smiled as he eyed the slope. “We’re going to look mighty silly if there ain’t no one up there.”
“Not as foolish as if there is and he puts one in us,” Bohanin said.
Bohanin dug his spurs into the flanks of the roan. The g
elding squealed and ran full out down the slope.
Tibbs shook his head as the watched the old man’s pace. Bohanin was a different being in the saddle, smooth, graceful, a part of the mount.
Seconds later, the canyon exploded with the sound of rifle fire as the dry gulcher laid down a barrage. Tibbs topped the rim easily and turned toward the smoke, levering and firing the Winchester as fast as possible.
Bullets sung past Bohanin as his roan careened down the wash. Bohanin threw his weight sideways in his saddle as he began shooting toward the position. At a tall spire of eroded mud and sand, he swung down from the horse and threw himself into the dirt. He could see his bullets ricochet off the rocks and sand surrounding the dry gulcher’s position.
Seconds later, Joe Tibbs swung down from his pony and began the same tactics. Little return fire came from the dry gulcher as the entire area was laced with hot lead.
Bohanin reloaded and worked his way closer. He ran for the wall of the canyon, leaving his roan behind the spire.
The dry gulcher clawed his way up the wall of the arroyo to retrieve his horse. Bullet impacts marked his path. He mounted and forced his horse into a run along the rim.
Bohanin stepped into the open and kneeled for a steady aim. As he monitored the flight of the bushwhacker, he carefully estimated lead, windage and elevation. His shot struck the horse in the neck. The animal squealed and wheeled away. The rider drew back the reins. The horse lost footing and both crashed over the rim, rolling and fighting as they fell down the slope. The twisting wreckage became a mass of flying hooves, dirt, dust and leather.
Tibbs rushed to the edge of the cliff and gazed down. “That was a hell of a shot, Bohanin. Best wreck I ever did see.” he yelled.
Bohanin walked slowly toward the wreck, reloading the Winchester.
“I’d be careful. He’s pinned under the horse but I can see him moving,” Joe said.
“I will. Get your horse and get down here. We’ll work him from the angle.”
Joe waved and made for his horse. He worked his mount down the slope toward the wreck. Bohanin walked slowly, his Winchester mounted to his shoulder. They advanced toward the man from opposite directions, ready to fire.
Nobel lay on his back, one leg busted in half, the other pinned under the dead mount. Blood spewed from his mouth and nose as he coughed for breath. Hollow eyes darted back and forth as he waited for the men.
Tibbs stepped to the top of an outcropping and looked down. He smiled as he recognized Nobel. “Well, look who we got here. Starbuck’s old sidekick. Does it hurt much, dry gulcher?”
“What you doing here, Tibbs?” Nobel said painfully. “I thought you was riding for the Circle R.”
Bohanin paused when the wreck came into his sight.
Nobel’s shoulder was clearly out of joint, one arm running off at a bizarre angle, his torn and twisted mouth coughing blood.
“I was. Thought I’d go on a varmint hunt. Had pretty good luck so far,” Tibbs yelled.
Nobel cursed softly but the pain kept him from moving.
Tibbs stepped to Nobel’s side and squatted, his rifle across his lap, his Colt cocked and pointed in Nobel’s face. “Tell me a story, bushwhacker. I’ll put you out of your misery.”
“What kind of story?” Nobel asked, choking.
“About Tim Stevens of the Circle R and a green money belt full of double eagles.”
Nobel’s teeth flash white. “The boss ordered that job. Didn’t want Reinhold bidding against the spread for the west range and running up the price. Starbuck, Epironsa and me got a hundred a piece to turn him back. We figured the money from the cowboy would be a nice bonus if he disappeared.
“How’d you know we were coming?” Bohanin asked.
“Found Starbuck’s grave. I figured it was you that was shot until I saw you two coming down the trail. I can’t believe he didn’t take you out first.”
“He tried.”
“Did he get the woman?” Nobel asked.
“He tried.”
“Funny thing is, I tried to stop Starbuck but my horse went lame and I had to turn back. The boss had a change of heart and ordered the killing stopped. I never found him in time. If I had, I wouldn’t be dead, now.”
“You can join Starbuck in hell,” Tibbs said. “And save a place for Espironsa.”
“I’ll save a place at the poker table for you, Joe,” Nobel said as he died.
“Damn,” Joe Tibbs cursed. “I never had a chance to find out where they hid the lad.”
Bohanin shook his head and studied the open-eyed corpse. “That’s about the only thing we didn’t find out. He told us everything we wanted, no questions asked.”
“Sure. Weren’t no point in playing us false now. He was dead and he knew it. No man wants to meet his maker with a lie on his mouth.”
“I wonder what changed Bochart’s mind about killing us,” Bohanin asked.
“Who can say? The point is, he did. Maybe he wanted to try to back off. The question I have is, why did he want to kill her in the first place? Even this crowd usually wouldn’t kill a woman for her purse.”
“Can’t say,” Bohanin answered.
“We need to bury this rat, I guess,” Tibbs said.
“We can cover horse and all with the dirt from above,” Bohanin said.
“Let’s don’t get carried away. I ain’t real eager to waste the effort on Nobel, let alone his pony,”
Tibbs said.
Bohanin worked his way above the corpse and pushed loose dirt. “I’d just as soon no one else found the man or the horse. We need some surprise in our favor if we’re going to take Bochart.
Tibbs conceded to the logic and helped with the burial.
After a few moments he paused. “You know, Captain, I’m going to have to change my ways.” “Why is that?” Bohanin asked.
“The idea of spending eternity playing poker with those three sorta makes me sick.”
“Don’t like poker?” Bohanin asked.
“Naw, it ain’t that. Hell, all three of them cheat.”
II
Dawdrey Lance was surprised to see Tibbs and Bohanin stepping down from their horses. He stepped from the cabin door and offered them breakfast and coffee. Over breakfast, Lance listened in amazement as Bohanin told the story, now including for both men the information concerning Millie Toland’s condition. Even Tibbs seemed disappointed as he learned the secret of why Bochart had ordered the killing of the woman.
Bohanin requested that the matter of the woman be kept a secret. He explained that he felt these two should know the whole story before risking their lives any farther.
Tibbs said it didn’t matter to him. He was in the fight because of Reinhold and Stevens. He held little interest in the woman or her circumstances. He would keep the secret.
Lance was hurt by the news. He suggested that Augustina Bochart should be told the whole story. He owed her that much for all her kindness. At first, Bohanin didn’t like the idea much. But after Dawdrey Lance pleaded his case, the captain conceded that it would be better for the woman if she knew the truth. He suggested that Dawdrey could tell her while he and Tibbs hunted Bochart down, but Lance said that it would be better if the story came from three men rather than one.
Bohanin decided that a visit to the woman was probably in order.
Tibbs asked about the law and what could be expected.
Dawdrey Lance said that the sheriff was an old man with fishing more in his mind than justice. He had been buffaloed by Nobel, Starbuck and Espironsa for so long that he would probably be grateful for their demise. As far as Bochart was concerned, he was to go under in a fair fight, not a dry gulching. Few men in Colorado would question that, no matter how wealthy and influential Bochart was. If Augustina understood the why of the challenge and accepted it, the men would have little to fear from the law.
Bohanin respected Dawdrey’s good sense and concluded that they should ride for the Bochart headquarters. After confronting Augustina,
they would hunt Bochart and Espironsa down, one man at a time, being careful to get Bochart first. Espironsa escaping them was one thing, Bochart quite another.
Tibbs said that if they were lucky, they might find them together. If that were so, Espironsa was his. He’d put one in the Mexican for the boy and another for the old Prussian.
In spite of his cold-blooded nature, Bohanin liked the cowboy for his quick wit and respected him for his sense of justice.
The men spent the night at Dawdrey’s cabin. The following morning, they mounted fresh horses and rode toward the main ranch headquarters.
Chapter XIII
The Bochart Ranch was one of the finest outfits in southern Colorado. Using the Purgatory River as a main water source, the Bocharts controlled range from Trinidad east to Springfield and south to the breaks of the Cimarron. Ransom Tabor had established the place after his mountain man days ended in the early 1840s. A man who had partnered with the likes of Kit Carson, the Bent Brothers, and Tom Tobin, Tabor carved an empire from a land that no one else wanted until he proved its value.
Tabor was thought of by many as a harsh man, and yet was known for his fairness and sense of justice. After his death while serving with Carson at the First Battle of Adobe Walls, the place went to his daughter, Augustina. Like so many men of his time, he had married a woman of Spanish heritage. Tragedy seemed to dog the man as he tried to build his empire. His first wife died in childbirth and his only daughter was struck with polio while still an infant. His second wife, a cousin of his first, died of the plague before any children were born. As badly as the man wanted a son, it was not to be. His parting words to his daughter, before leaving for service with Carson, were instructions to her that if he did not return, she was to marry a strong man who could hold on to the place and build it.
Augustina did not marry for a decade. With a strength of character and a ruthless nature that she had inherited from her father, the frail woman built and expanded the outfit until it was the envy of the Southwest. She forged together a group of loyal Mexican vaqueros and established herself as the only law east of Trinidad. When she did marry, she chose a man of stature, quite handsome in appearance, intelligent and strong. Under her guidance and his own desire, Logan Bochart became one of the most influential men in the area, quite a contrast to his origins of an itinerant cowboy. Bochart was often present at the center of political and social gatherings, but he was seldom seen with his wife. Augustina remained in the background, alone at the ranch.
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