He found Jake’s horse about two hundred yards short of the camp, tied to a berry bush. At first, he had thoughts of setting the horse free, thinking it would only remind him of what had happened here. But there was the matter of the saddle and bridle, and the rest of Jake’s belongings. He couldn’t carry them on Bucky, and he was afraid if he left them here, it would cause someone to nose around and stumble upon the grave. So he tied the blue roan on behind his horse and set out on the sorrowful journey home.
He rode back into the Triple-B almost unnoticed. Had it not been for Doc, who was cleaning out one of the stalls in the barn, he would have been. “Well, damn!” Doc exclaimed when he turned to see Adam opening the corral gate. “Howdy, Adam. How’d you slip in here?” He leaned his pitchfork against the side of the stall. “Here, lemme give you a hand,” he said, and hurried out to pick up one of the saddles. “You back to stay for a while now?”
“I reckon so,” Adam said as he picked up the other saddle and followed Doc into the tack room. “Where is everybody?”
“Well, your pa’s in the house,” Doc said. “Mose went up to the north range, where them cows are always bunchin’ up. Just to aggravate the boys trying to head’em back from the river, I s’pose. Finn and Bonnie rode into town for somethin’.”
The last comment served to amuse Adam slightly, and the first hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth since he had left the Beaverhead. “Finn and Bonnie, huh?”
“Yeah,” Doc answered in his simple way. “I believe they’re think in’ ’bout gettin’ hitched.” This brought a genuine look of surprise to the somber man’s face. He didn’t express it aloud, however, as he finished putting away his gear. “Where’d you pick up the extra horse and saddle? That looks like that black horse Jake used to ride.”
“It’s Jake’s,” Adam replied. “I picked him up in Virginia City.” He left then and went to the house to find his father.
Caught by surprise, Nathan Blaine almost dropped his cup when his eldest son walked into the kitchen. “I hope that pot ain’t empty,” Adam said. “I’ve been out for a while.”
“Good gracious alive, boy!” Nathan exclaimed. “You almost made me spill my coffee. Yeah, hell, grab you a cup. If it’s empty, I’ll call Pearl in here to make us another pot.” The joyous relief to see Adam would have been difficult to disguise, even had he tried.
For the next hour, father and son discussed all that had taken place to change everyone’s life on the Triple-B. Adam told him that the ledger was balanced as far as he was concerned in regard to Bailey Cruz, and he hoped that his days as a hunter of men were past him forever. When the conversation got around to Finn and Bonnie, it drew an amused chuckle from Nathan. “That’s one helluva spunky woman,” he allowed.
“Doc said they were talkin’ about marryin’.”
“That’s a fact,” his father said, still smiling broadly. “They are, indeed. We’re plannin’ to throw a big weddin’ party for ’em—gonna get the preacher in the settlement to come out and tie the knot—do it up right. And that ain’t all the news I’ve got for you. Looks like we’ve got a new partner. Finn’s decided he wants to get into the cattle business—wants to use some of that gold to buy new stock and land. He says he’s wantin’ to build him and Bonnie a big house over there by the creek and then build a bigger barn and bunkhouse. Whaddaya think of that?”
Adam shook his head, truly amazed. “What do you think of it?” he came back.
“Hell, how can we lose? I ain’t lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth. It’ll give us the money to do a lot of things I’ve wished we could do.”
Nathan and Adam were eating supper in the bunkhouse with the rest of the crew when Finn and Bonnie came back from town. Mose heard them come in, so he went to the barn to unhitch the buckboard and put the horse in the corral. “Adam’s back,” was the simple announcement he made before returning to the bunkhouse and his supper.
“Well, I see the prodigal son has returned,” Finn joked upon seeing Adam at the table. The joy in finding his friend back where he belonged was evident in his face as he fairly beamed his pleasure, a look that was reflected in Bonnie’s face as well.
Only Adam could appreciate the irony in Finn’s greeting. And although he did not show it, the remark created a picture in his mind of the last moments of his brother as he had held him in his arms. In time, he thought, but he feared he would never be at peace with himself. For now, however, he forced himself to rise to the occasion. “I hear there’s gonna be a weddin’ at the Triple-B,” he said cheerfully.
A ragged cheer went up from the table of rough cowhands, but Finn quickly put up his hands to stifle it. “There’ll be no weddin’ at the Triple-B,” he said, bringing a stunned silence to the room.
“We tied the knot in town today,” Bonnie announced, causing another cheer. She looked at Adam and winked.
He nodded. Damned if you didn’t marry the gold, he thought, just like you said you would. He had to admit, it was probably the best thing that could happen to both of them.
Mose pounded Finn on the back and exclaimed, “You old dog, you!”
“Yep,” Finn replied, beaming, “I’m an old dog, all right, and I need a feisty little bitch to take care of me.” He looked at Bonnie and grinned.
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Please read on for an excerpt from the next exciting historical novel from Charles G. West,
DEATH IS THE HUNTER
Available from Signet in February 2012.
Little Bit Morgan pulled his gray gelding to a halt at the top of a gentle rise, took off his hat and waved it in the air to signal the six riders following a short distance behind. “There’s a farmhouse up ahead,” he said when they caught up to him. He put his hat back on, carefully cocking it just so. The black wide-brim hat with a silver chain around the flat crown was his pride and joy.
“Good,” Webb Jarrett said to Bevo Rooks, who was riding beside him on the dusty Texas trail. “We’ll stop and get some of this grit outta our throats.”
“These horses is plum wore out,” Bevo said. “If we don’t rest ’em pretty soon, we’ll be walkin’ to Injun Territory.” The horses had been ridden hard in the gang’s race to beat a sheriff’s posse to the Red River. At nine o’clock that morning they had held up the new bank in the little town of Sherman, leaving a teller dead, shot down when he attempted to run out the back door. It appeared that they had successfully lost the posse, but even if it persisted in trying to get on their trail, they were confident that a posse of Sherman citizens would be reluctant to stay after them once they were across the river into Oklahoma Territory. Once there, they wouldn’t worry about any Texas Rangers coming to look for them.
When they caught up to Morgan, who was referred to as Little Bit due to his short stature—and more so because of a short fuse when his temper was riled—he said, “Looks like a nice little nest somebody’s built right next to the river.
“Might be we could stop and visit a spell. That looks like a smokehouse behind the house. This time of year there oughta be some hams hangin’ up in there. That’d be all right, wouldn’t it, Webb?”
Webb Jarrett grinned. “It’d sure be to my taste right now. I swear, robbin’ banks makes a man hungry.” He paused to look the place over while the rest of his men pulled up beside him to have a look as well. “A right smart little farm that feller’s got for himself.” Off the corner of the house, opposite the smokehouse, was a modest-sized barn that looked to accommodate maybe two horses or mules. The house had a nice front porch, which indicated that the woman of the house had a say in the decisions. “Yes, sir,” he continued, “a right smart little farm. I expect we wouldn’t be polite if we was to ride on by without stoppin’ to visit.” His comment brought forth the malicious grins he expected. “Let’s ride on in and pay our respects. Jake, you ride on back to that hill yonder and keep your eyes peeled. I think we most likely lost that posse, but you hightail it back here if you catch sight of
’em—give us enough time to slip across the river.”
“Hell, Webb,” Jake complained, “why me? Why can’t somebody else do it? Besides, we ain’t seen hide nor hair of ’em in the last hour.”
“’Cause you’re the one that shot that teller, and most likely stirred the folks there into comin’ after us,” Webb said. “I’ll send somebody to spell you. You ain’t gonna miss much.”
Franklin Chapel walked out of his barn in time to see the six riders descending the low ridge that bordered the river on the south side. He paused and shielded his eyes with his hand as he tried to see who they might be. His first impulse was to go back in the barn and dig into the corn bin for the .44 Colt hidden there, but there had been no trouble from Indians or outlaws on this stretch of the river for quite a long time, so he decided he was being too cautious. It wouldn’t be a very neighborly reception to meet a group of visitors with a gun in his hand. Still, he studied the riders intently as they approached, as they obviously were not planning to bypass his house. When they reached the end of the corral where the cow was penned, Franklin called over his shoulder toward the house, “Ruth, there’s company comin’.” Not waiting to see if she had heard him or not, he walked forward to meet the strangers. “Afternoon,” he said in greeting.
“Afternoon, sir,” Webb returned politely. “We’re a company of Texas Rangers on the trail of some bank robbers. Wonder if you’d mind if we watered and rested out horses here for a short spell?”
Franklin replied, “Why, no, I wouldn’t mind. You’re welcome to rest here, and I expect my wife could rustle you fellows up somethin’ to eat as well.” He was relieved to hear they were Rangers, for he had decided that they were a rough-looking group of men. Even though this area along the river had been trouble-free with the Civil War having just ended, there were a lot of outlaw gangs roaming the northeastern part of Texas. “You fellows step down and I’ll tell my wife to get somethin’ goin’ on the stove.”
“That’s mighty neighborly of you, friend,” Jarrett said. “Me and the boys have been ridin’ hard for a few hours, and that’s a fact.”
“Well, there’s good water at the well, there, and if you want to take the saddles off, you can turn your horses in with the cow. I’ll go in and get Ruth started.” He paused to consider the six rough men before suggesting, “I expect it’d be best for you fellows to come on up on the front porch when you’re ready.”
“We’re much obliged,” Jarrett said. He waited until Franklin disappeared through the kitchen door, then turned to remark, “Did you hear that, boys? He’s gonna go in and get Ruth started. She’s gonna fix us Rangers a big meal.”
After the horses were watered and turned out with the cow in the corral, the outlaws strolled over to the front porch. Webb took one of the two rockers there and Bevo took the other, while the rest of the gang sat down on the edge of the porch to await their supper. Franklin Chapel returned to make conversation with his guests while they waited for Ruth to fry some bacon and boil some beans that she had planned to cook later for supper. “You fellows say you’re chasin’ some bank robbers?” Franklin asked.
“That’s right,” Little Bit answered. “We’re chasin’ some dangerous outlaws.”
“Where’d they rob a bank?” Franklin asked.
“Down in Sherman,” Webb replied. “It’s a new bank. First Bank of Sherman, I think was the name of it.”
“Did they get away with much?”
Bevo grunted and said, “Not as much as they thought they was gonna get.”
“You said they robbed it this mornin’,” Franklin said. “You fellows got onto ’em pretty quick. I never knew there was a Ranger station anywhere near Sherman.”
Webb smiled patiently. “There’s a new Ranger headquarters just a few miles south of Sherman, so it didn’t take long to get on their trail.” He glanced at Bevo in the rocker beside him and winked.
“That’s right,” Bevo said. “We were in the saddle almost as soon as the bank robbers.” His comment drew a chuckle from the other three sitting on the edge of the porch.
The response caused Franklin to become a little nervous, unable to see the humor in Bevo’s remark. News of a recently established Ranger station as close as a day’s ride from his farm would ordinarily have spread rapidly throughout the small community of farmers just across the river from the Indian Nations—but he had heard nothing at all, not even a rumor. “Well, I reckon it’s lucky you boys were that handy.” Feeling a bit uncomfortable then, he was glad when the door opened and his wife came out on the porch carrying a huge pot of coffee fresh off the stove and an armload of cups. Best to get them fed and back in the saddle, he thought.
“I’m Ruth Chapel,” his wife announced as all six outlaws scrambled to grab a cup from her. “You gentlemen caught me without much food prepared, but in a few minutes I can at least feed you some bacon and beans. I’m sorry I don’t have time to bake any bread.” Ignoring the fact that every eye was locked upon her, she went along the line, filling each cup. “How about you, Franklin? Do you want coffee?”
“I reckon not,” he replied. His discomfort was gradually becoming more intense, and he wondered if he had made a mistake in not fetching his .44 when he first had the notion. When Ruth had filled each cup, he stated, “I’ll go in and give you a hand.” Then he followed her into the house.
“Ol’ Franklin looked like he all of a sudden got sick in the stomach,” Little Bit remarked. “You reckon he’s startin’ to smell a skunk?”
“Don’t make a whole lotta difference if he did,” Bevo said. “There ain’t a helluva lot he can do about it, is there?” He took a gulp of the hot coffee and smacked his lips in appreciation. “That wife of his ain’t a bad looker. How old a woman you reckon she is?” he asked Webb.
“Hell, I don’t know,” Webb answered. “Old enough, but not too old, I reckon.” Bevo’s question sparked an enthusiastic interest in the rest of the men.
“I swear, Bevo,” Little Bit taunted, “you ain’t been married but about a year, and you’re already eyeballin’ women older’n you are.”
Bevo grunted stoically. “I got married,” he said. “I didn’t go blind.”
Little Bit chuckled. “I bet you don’t tell Pearl Mae that. She’s damn-near as big as you, and she looks like she might be a little tougher.”
“One of these days that mouth of yours is gonna open a door you ain’t wanna go through,” Bevo warned.
“Is that a fact?” Little Bit replied. “I ain’t worried about openin’ no door. My style is to kick the damn door down and kick whoever’s ass is on the other side.” His taunting grin invited Bevo to take the next step as his hand dropped to rest on the skinning knife he wore.
“You two just simmer down,” Webb ordered, “before they come back.”
The incident advanced no further because the door opened just then and Ruth informed them that their food was ready. “You can come on in the kitchen and get your plates,” she said. “The food’s on the table, such as it is. You can help yourselves.” She stood aside as the rough crew filed inside, each one eyeing her openly. She sent a worried glance her husband’s way as he stood near the pantry door. He had held a hurried conversation with her in the short time they were alone in the kitchen, and she was in agreement that there was something awry in the manner of these self-professed Texas Rangers. As a precaution, he had loaded his shotgun and stood it up just inside the pantry door. She hoped with all her heart that there would be no occasion for him to use it. She not only feared for hers and her husband’s safety. Their son, John, was somewhere down the river hunting, and had been gone since early morning. She was in a quandary over whether she wished he would show up, or if she should pray that he didn’t. John was only thirteen, but he seemed older than his years, and was unacquainted with fear in any form. If these men were evil, as she now suspected, he would not hesitate to attack them with no thought of the consequences.
Ruth and Franklin stood back and watched while
the six men attacked the pot of beans and the plate laden with most of a side of lean. Like a pack of hungry wolves around the carcass of a cow, they set upon the modest fare until there was nothing left. One of the men, a tall, lanky bean pole of a man named Earl set his empty plate on the table and wondered aloud, “You reckon we oughta saved some for Jake?”
“We might have at that,” Webb replied. “Tell you the truth, I plum forgot about him.”
“There’s another one of you?” Ruth asked.
“Yeah, there’s one more,” Webb said, “but he don’t need no thin’ to eat.” He looked at Earl then and said, “I reckon you oughta go on back there and tell him to come on.”
“Ain’t he gonna be hot when he finds out we been settin’ around the table eatin’?” Little Bit remarked, amused by the prospect. “I can’t wait to see his face.” His remarks drew a round of chuckles from them all.
Growing more fearful by the minute, Ruth made a subtle attempt to verify their claim that they were Rangers. “You know,” she said, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a Texas Ranger’s badge.”
Bevo Rooks cocked a wary eye in her direction. “Looks like any other badge,” he said. “Nothin’ fancy about it.”
“May I see yours?” She said it before she gave herself time to reconsider.
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