Brand 10

by Neil Hunter

  ‘You should choose better partners,’ Brand said. ‘That pair out there were pretty useless. You must have hired them from the same place you got Lander and Mennard.’

  ‘Damn…?’

  ‘You boys give outlaws a bad name.’

  Brand glanced around the still silent saloon, briefly wondering why it was still quiet. Then he spotted McCoy standing in the doorway, both his Colt Dragoons in his hands, covering the crowd.

  ‘There any kind of doctor in this excuse for a town?’ the Ranger said.

  ‘Philo Dunmore is the closest we got to that,’ someone said. ‘Doctors horses as well as people.’

  ‘Somebody go fetch him,’ McCoy snapped.

  He stood with his back to the wall, eyes scanning the big room and daring anyone to go against him. When one of the men broke from the crowd and scuttled to the door McCoy halted him with one of the gun barrels.

  ‘You come back with anything ’cept this Dunmore feller, boy, I don’t rate your chances of seeing tomorrow morning.’

  The man offered a cheesy smile. ‘No problem, Ranger.’

  By this time Brand had hauled Costigan off the floor and propped him up on a chair.

  ‘What you boys have in numbers you lose in quality,’ he said softly to the moaning man. ‘Way you’re going, Meers, you’re earning your pay the hard way. Now you’re up.’

  ‘You forgot already that’s what you sent you partners to do? I could pull this trigger and worry later. Either way, Costigan, you’re out of luck. Ranger back there isn’t going to let you walk away even if I do.’

  ‘I got friends. Powerful friends.’

  ‘They powerful enough to stop a bullet right now? I don’t see them around.’

  McCoy had edged further into the saloon, his extended Walker Colts in plain sight.

  ‘Costigan, don’t figure on your powerful friends covering your ass,’ McCoy said. ‘Like the man says they ain’t liable to be showing up anytime soon. Son, you are nigh on in a lonesome place. It’s time to protect your own skin. Way you’re going right now I can see a cell in Huntsville with your name on it…’

  ‘I got a name for you, Costigan,’ Brand said, ‘Elias Bodine,’.

  He was watching Costigan for a reaction. And got one as he saw the man’s eyes go wide with surprise.

  ‘Don’t know the name,’ he said hurriedly.

  The tone in his voice betrayed him.

  ‘The hell you don’t. Same as you don’t know where I’d find him. Like Redigo.’

  McCoy had spotted the reaction.

  ‘I say we drag this worthless piece of a turd out of here and put him in a cell,’ he said.

  Someone in the crowd of spectators laughed. ‘That’s going to be worth seeing, Ranger.’

  ‘Yeah, be interesting seeing as we don’t have no cells in Blanco.’

  ‘Or a damn jail.’

  ‘And there ain’t any law in town neither.’

  That brought more laughter.

  ‘There is as long as I’m here,’ McCoy said. ‘You people step away.’ He brandished his revolvers. ‘Ranger law and I’ll use it on any man who steps out of line. Name’s Warren J. McCoy and I’ll warrant it’s one some of you boys have heard it before. I’ll brook no resistance and you know what will happen if you go against a Texas Ranger.’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Only one of you,’ a voice called from the back of the room. ‘What do think about that?’

  ‘Not a great deal coming from a man who stands in the shadow. Step out and face me.’

  There was no response to that.

  Before anything else happened two men came into the saloon. One was the man who had stepped out earlier. With him was a skinny individual carrying a battered leather bag. He had a harried look to him, as if all of life was a worry and he was carrying most of it on his boney shoulders. He wore baggy dark pants tucked into mule-ear boots and a crumpled off-white shirt under a stained vest.

  ‘You Dunmore?’ Brand asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Then I got a patient for you. One of the two legged kind.’

  Brand moved aside so Dunmore could see Lige Costigan. The doctor peered at Costigan, seeing the blood, and shook his head. He made a visual inspection of Costigan’s shoulder, clucking to himself.

  ‘Bullet’s still in there. Nothin’ I can do here,’ he said. ‘Have to move him down to my office.’ He glanced across at McCoy, fidgeting uncomfortably. ‘No one told me a Ranger was involved.’

  ‘You done something wrong?’ McCoy asked.

  Dunmore cleared his throat. ‘Nooo,’ he said, drawing out the single word.

  ‘Don’t worry about him,’ Brand said. ‘I shot Costigan.’

  Dunmore seemed mollified at that. He looked around the saloon. ‘Couple of you people help this man down to my place.’

  With Costigan gone the tension in the saloon eased off. Although there were still hostile glares Brand and McCoy were generally ignored. Brand led the way outside. The Ranger didn’t holster his guns until they were clear.

  ‘Eating house along the street,’ Brand said. ‘Don’t know about you but I could favor a cup of coffee.’

  ‘Sounds about right.’

  ~*~

  The eating-house was cool and shadowed from the hot Texas sun. Brand and McCoy took a table facing the door and kitchen. The waitress, a rawboned woman in her forties with a white apron over a loose gingham dress wandered over. They ordered coffee, waited until the steaming mugs had been delivered before either of them spoke.

  ‘Elias Bodine,’ McCoy said as a conversation opener.

  ‘The name isn’t new to you?’

  ‘We on a share by share basis here?’

  Brand tasted his coffee. Found it strong and full of flavor.

  ‘Who is he?’ Brand said, playing cautious.

  ‘A man with influence. Important friends. Money and lots of it.’ McCoy paused to drink. ‘And secrets…’

  ‘You after him?’

  ‘Yes, and I intend to bring him down.’

  ‘He wanted for a crime?’

  ‘Having a hell of a time proving it but I will see that sonofabitch in chains before I quit.’ McCoy leaned back in the hard chair. ‘Your turn.’

  ‘My assignment is to locate the men who hit that train in Handy and took something away.’

  ‘Has to more than a pile of money. You going to tell me what?’

  ‘There were two Pinkerton agents on that train. They were bringing evidence to Washington that would name names and present documented evidence concerning a group involved in high level corruption. Those involved include businessmen, politicians, bankers. Members of the legal profession. Even military personnel. Signed and witnessed testimony. People willing to point the finger. If that evidence reached the appropriate quarters a lot people are going to have a difficult time.’

  ‘Evidence like that would cause a lot of upset. And those involved would be desperate to make sure it didn’t get to Washington.’

  ‘Like Elias Bodine?’

  McCoy nodded. ‘These people have the money and the contacts to send out their hired guns to take that evidence and stop it being aired.’

  ‘There are names on the lists that identify witnesses ready to talk. Witnesses who would need to be silenced.’ Brand signaled the waitress for more coffee. ‘What’s Bodine’s connection?’

  ‘I been investigating him since a man named Walt Coltrane was found shot in alley in El Paso a few months back. Coltrane was a Ranger working undercover. I knew him. Spoke to him in hospital before he died. He told me it was Bodine who had him attacked because he’d found out Bodine was in league with some big named individuals. He’d overheard a conversation that hinted at corruption and something about evidence having been collected. Got me curious so I started tracking Bodine and his friends. Found out the man had been associating with some lowdown characters. Men who hired out their guns with no questions asked. Men like Dane Mennard. Vince Lander. Buck Meers was involv
ed as well.’

  ‘Seems likely we’re on a close trail pointing towards Redigo,’ Brand said.

  ‘Don’t it just.’

  ‘Maybe warrants a ride there. I’m getting the feeling we might find something of interesting.’

  McCoy raised his cup of coffee. ‘I suggest we get ourselves something to eat ‘fore we move on. Fair piece to Redigo. Wouldn’t like to make it on an empty belly.’

  ‘You know this part of the country?’

  ‘Most of it.’

  ‘What about Little Creek?’

  ‘Rode through from time to time. Has a spurline. Telegraph.’

  ‘The two things I’m interested in,’ Brand said. ‘You go ahead and eat. I just finished a meal myself back in the saloon so I’m fine.’

  Brand left McCoy to his meal and went to check on Lady.

  ~*~

  McCoy ate slowly, working things over in his mind. He had plenty to think about. He felt certain he had convinced Brand he was still a legitimate Ranger, and with that established the man would be freer with his talk. Being at Brand’s side meant McCoy could keep the man in his sight. He found it hard not to smile when he recalled what he had told Brand about Walt Coltrane. The man had been shot. In the back. It had been McCoy who had fired the gun. A backup .44-40 Colt so that he hadn’t needed to use his Walkers. And yes, he had spoken to the man on his deathbed, expressing concern over the undercover Ranger’s injury, with Coltrane not even suspecting it had been McCoy who had done the shooting. If Coltrane had not been getting too close he might have lived, but part of McCoy’s deal with Bodine was to divert any untoward interest.

  Now McCoy had Brand’s ear and if it became possible the man might lead McCoy to Henry Quinlan all the better. Which was why McCoy needed to keep the man alive – until his usefulness came to an end.

  McCoy ate his meal, finished with more coffee, then paid and made his way to where Brand was waiting.

  ~*~

  They rode out of Blanco an hour later and by evening they were able to see the small town of Little Creek from the higher ground. Lamps were being lit against the encroaching darkness.

  A straggle of buildings. Smoke rising from chimneys. Cattle pens and sheds. The curving shine of steel rails. There was a small depot. The soft gleam of the meandering creek that gave the place its name. They rode downslope and entered Little Creek after cutting through a copse of trees and brush, swinging across the small bridge that straddled the water course. The discordant jangle of an out-of-tune piano came from a saloon they passed. The few people moving about paid them little attention.

  McCoy drew rein outside a stone and adobe building that declared itself as the town’s law office.

  ‘Jim Pine is Marshal,’ the Ranger informed Brand.

  ‘I know Pine,’ Brand said as he tethered the paint.

  They stretched the kinks out of their bones before they stepped up on the boardwalk. McCoy pushed open the heavy timber door and they went inside.

  The figure behind the oak desk glanced up, his brown face clean shaven and breaking into a welcoming smile as he recognized both his visitors.

  It was a tense moment for McCoy, waiting to see Pine’s reaction to him. He knew he was taking a risk showing himself here, but the end result would be worth the risk if it brought McCoy what he needed.

  ‘Ain’t seen you for a while, W.J. Hell, we don’t get much from the outside world down here in this godforsaken place,’ he said in a slow, measured tone. He stood and reached out to take McCoy’s hand, then widened his smile as he offered the hand to Brand. ‘And a damn long time since I seen you, Jason.’

  Pine was a tall, lean figure, his youthful appearance concealing his middle-age. He dressed plain and dark, only the shine of his badge relieving his sober dress. He wore a .45 caliber Peacemaker on his left hip, butt forward and angled for ease of draw. He had a reputation as a steady lawmen. Slow to anger but when the need arose he was no slouch with the pistol he carried.

  McCoy had crossed to the hot stove where a coffee pot sat gently steaming. He picked mugs from the hooks on the wall and filled three, passing them out to Brand and Pine.

  ‘Never see him for months,’ Pine said, ‘then in he walks and treats the place like home.’

  ‘How long you been calling Little Creek home?’ Brand asked.

  ‘Couple years now. Suits me nicely after the Nueces Strip. Man, that was a hell of a place. You’d know, W.J.’

  McCoy nodded. The Nueces Strip had a reputation from lawlessness and was known as a haven for smugglers. The Texas Rangers were often involved on the strip of land.

  ‘Been quiet for a while,’ he said.

  ‘Now I know you ain’t been around much,’ Pine said to Brand. ‘Then I did hear you kind of slipped off the map. I did hear you were working for some Justice Department outfit.’

  ‘Keeps me busy,’ Brand said and left it at that.

  ‘Fine,’ Pine said. ‘So what brings you two to Little Creek? I miss something?’

  ‘Few days back there was a holdup in Handy,’ Brand said. ‘People died and an item taken. Gang headed south. In this direction. I have an idea they might have caught a train here heading for Redigo.’

  ‘Last train from here was two days ago. You feller’s are in luck. Next one out goes in the morning.’ Pine glanced at McCoy. ‘Ranger’s involved too?’

  McCoy nodded. ‘There’s a connection between Brand’s business and a Ranger investigation. Kind of ties us close.’

  Pine smiled. ‘Nice to see law working together,’ he said, a faint mocking tone to his words.

  ‘What time does the train pull out, Jim?’ Brand asked.

  ‘Six-thirty on the dot.’

  ‘There someplace I can get a hot bath and a shave?’ Brand asked. ‘Telegraph office and a good livery to rest the horses?’

  Pine gave them directions. Brand and McCoy saw to their horses first, then took themselves over to the telegraph which was located at the rail depot. Brand wrote his message and sent them off. Any reply was to be delivered to Pine’s office.

  At the bathhouse they had their clothes brushed down while they soaked in big wooden tub, cleaning off the accumulated trail dust. When they were dressed Brand stepped next door and relaxed in a chair while he was shaved. Feeling cleaner he made his way back to the jail. McCoy was already there, sampling more of Pine’s coffee. Brand took a cup and stretched out in a wooden chair.

  ‘Jim’s on his rounds,’ McCoy offered. He indicated a buff envelope on the desk. ‘Came for you just ‘fore you walked in.’

  Brand opened the telegram and read the short, to the point, message from McCord.

  Stay with it. Will keep you appraised any developments when you reach. Redigo Play your hand close. Some information says Quinlan could be heading for Redigo There is a wild card in play. McCoy is not on official duty. He’s been dismissed as a Ranger. McCord.

  ‘Anything helpful?’ McCoy asked.

  ‘Nothing I didn’t know already. Just telling me I was right.’

  Brand folded the message and put it in his shirt pocket, securing the button. He took up his coffee and drank, casually eyeing McCoy across the rim of his cup.

  A wild card in play.

  If McCoy was no longer a Ranger, what was the masquerade for? The logical answer was McCoy being in league with the people Brand was searching for. Which meant Brand was going to have to stay on the alert.

  ~*~

  The train showed up on time. It comprised a noisy locomotive, two passenger coaches, a box car that held freight and a section for horses. At the rear was a caboose. Brand and McCoy got their horses settled, then found seats on one of the coaches. They had spent the night in the jail, using the cots in the empty cells and Pine woke them in the early hours so they could meet the train when it pulled in.

  ‘Don’t make it so long next time,’ Pine said before they left. ‘Hope you find who you’re looking for.’

  ‘We will,’ Brand said, and thought he might not like
what he found.

  It was beginning to show light as the train pulled out, amid a great deal of noise and steam. Black smoke billowed from the stack. Brand felt the coach shudder and vibrate under him. He tried to settle in the hard seat. Across from him McCoy simply leaned back, staring out the dusty window, seemingly out of anything to say.

  Brand was trying to figure the man’s part in the affair. On the surface McCoy seemed to be what he was portraying. A dedicated Texas Ranger, on the hunt. But now he had received McCord’s suggestion he had a wild card close, Brand had to wonder just where McCoy fitted into the picture.

  Brand grumbled inwardly. This assignment had already thrown up a number of obstacles, so Brand did not need any other problems. He also knew he had no choice in the matter. All he could do was keep his eyes and ears open, stay sharp, and make sure he was ready when – not if – things turned against him.

  It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened, and God willing he survived, it most likely wouldn’t be the last.

  Chapter Nine

  Right at that moment Elias Bodine was in a foul mood. Mainly caused by the fact one of his minions had reported seeing W. J. McCoy in town. The Ranger had been spotted in one the saloons on main street. And he had been with a man who fit the description of the man known as Jason Brand.

  ‘What the hell is McCoy playing at?’ Bodine wanted to know.

  ‘He should have disposed of Brand by now. Left his body to rot out somewhere away from town.’

  Across the hotel suite, relaxing in one of the fat leather armchairs, Jay Bledsoe sat forward.

  ‘I suggest he has his reasons,’ he said in that quiet way he had.

  Bledsoe, a lean, sharp-eyed man, wore a black suit with a starched white shirt and a lace strip down the front. The effect gave him the appearance of an effete fop, but it was far from the truth. His refined look was disturbed by the cold, expressionless look in his pale, almost reptilian eyes. Bledsoe earned his way by being one of the most effective and remorseless gunmen Bodine had ever encountered. Bodine employed him as his personal bodyguard, paying him well and for that he received the man’s full attention.