Riders From Long Pines

by Ralph Cotton

  Peyton Quinn looked at him. “That light was a long way from camp just to be going to the jake.” Behind them stood a team of large powerfully built workhorses they’d brought to pull the big coach back to town.

  Black grinned and shrugged in the darkness. “Maybe he took that dark-haired woman on a moonlight stroll. What else is there for a man to do, a night like this, a woman like her? If you know what I mean.” His voice carried lewd suggestion.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean all right. I can think of a thing or two, a night like this, a woman like her,” said Quinn, crossing his wrists on his saddle horn. “Nothing that would require a torchlight or a walk in the woods either.”

  “So you’ve seen her too, I take it?” asked Black. He spit again.

  “Oh, you bet I’ve seen her,” said Quinn. “I’ve seen much more of her than you or anybody else ever saw her. She didn’t know I saw her, but I saw her.”

  “Huh, what do you mean?” asked Black.

  “I never told anybody this, but I saw her bathing herself in a stream down near Cottonwood, over a year ago.” He grinned in the darkness.

  “Holy cats and rabbits, you didn’t!” said Black, sidling his horse over closer.

  “What did I say, Deputy?” Quinn replied in an abrasive manner. “Don’t you believe me?”

  “Yeah, I believe you, but, my Gawd, Quinn!” said Black. “Did you see her you-know-whats?” As he spoke he held his hands up in front of his chest, his fingers wide and cupped.

  Quinn grinned again, slyly. “Oh, I saw her you-know-whats all right. I saw them standing proud as ripe peaches, wet and shiny in the morning sunlight—saw her wash them for me nice and slow-like. I watched her wash all over. I mean her belly, her thighs. I’m talking all over.”

  “Gawd, I can’t stand it!” said Black. He fidgeted restlessly in his saddle.

  “Are you going to need to be alone for a while, Deputy Grady?” Quinn said sarcastically.

  Black ignored the question, but settled down and sat more still. “Tell me more about it, Quinn—you know, what you saw, how she done and all,” he coaxed.

  “No, we’ve got important business to take care of out here,” said Quinn. He nudged his horse forward a step. Black nudged his right along beside him. A lead rope in Black’s hand jerked the team of workhorses along behind him.

  “Did you see her out of the water—I mean see her real good when she walked out and got dressed?” Black asked, not having enough.

  “I saw everything,” said Quinn, giving him more to visualize. “I mean ev-ery thing. Front to back, top to bottom.” He paused for a moment as if in wistful and tortured reflection. “And I’ll tell you the truth, I saw almost nothing but her bathing naked in that stream for the next solid month.”

  “Jesus . . . ,” Black whispered. He pushed up his hat and wiped a hand across his moist brow. “Just hearing about it makes me feel like I was right there.”

  “Yeah, it was something all right. Some of yas go squirrel-tail crazy at how well she fills out a shirt,” Quinn said smugly. “But me, I’ve seen the goods that gets it done.” He nudged his horse another step forward.

  “Jesus . . . ,” Black repeated.

  “Where is that half-breed?” said Quinn. “We need to get cracking, see if the ranger happened upon Mr. Grissin’s special cargo shipment.”

  “I still don’t understand Grissin shipping money that way,” said Black, trying to recover from what he’d heard and pictured in his mind. “It seems awfully risky to me.”

  “He’s got his reasons,” said Quinn, “and don’t make me sorry I told you about it. I figured it would make things easier, you knowing it, in case that ranger has seen it and we have to kill him.”

  After a pause of consideration, Black said, “That kind of makes me wish the ranger has found it.”

  “Oh?” said Quinn.

  “Yeah,” said Black. “I mean, what if the ranger wasn’t around?”

  “What do you mean, if he wasn’t around?” Quinn replied, acting dumb about the matter.

  Black said bluntly, “I mean, the woman. If I was to kill the ranger, do you suppose I could have the woman?”

  Quinn smiled to himself in the darkness. “I expect you’d best ask her, not me.”

  “I wouldn’t ask her,” said Black. “Once Burrack’s dead, I’ll take what I want. She’ll have no say in the matter. I’m just asking you if it’s all right, me taking her. After all, you are the sheriff.”

  “That’s right, I am the sheriff,” said Quinn, “and don’t you ever forget it.”

  After another quiet pause, Black said, “So? Is it all right—with you, that is?”

  “Is what all right?” Quinn asked, still playing Black along.

  “Damn it,” said Black under his breath. “Is it all right that I take the woman,” he said to Quinn, “after I kill the ranger?”

  “Look at you, Deputy,” said Quinn. “We don’t even know if Burrack has come upon the money. You’ve already got him lying dead on the ground and the woman spread beneath you like a spring mare.” He shook his head with a dark chuckle and said, “I’m not telling you any more naked-woman stories if this is what it does to you.”

  “Naked-woman stories?” Black gave him a skeptical look.

  “Don’t worry,” said Quinn, “it’s all true. Maybe someday you’ll see her that way yourself. Then you’ll know what I’m talking about.” He nudged his horse forward to a tall aspen standing at the edge of a narrow path, and stepped down from his saddle.

  Stepping down beside him, Black began hitching his reins and the team horses’ lead rope to the tree beside Quinn’s big dun. “That day might come quicker than you think, Sheriff,” Black said.

  “Where the hell is Fellows?” Quinn asked in a lowered voice as he drew a Spencer rifle from his saddle boot and checked it.

  “I don’t know,” said Black, stoked with nervous energy at the thought of the same woman Quinn had seen bathing naked in a stream being only a short distance in front of him on the rocky hillside. “He said you’re going to make him a deputy too,” he added, also drawing a Spencer rifle from his own saddle boot. “Is that true?”

  “Not based on what he’s showing me tonight,” Quinn whispered. “I’m starting to wonder if he’s gotten himself lost.”

  “They say a Ute never gets lost,” Black whispered, rifle in hand.

  “Fellows is only half Ute,” Quinn reminded him. He stepped forward quietly, walking along the path through knee-high brush. He held his Spencer rifle up and ready at port arms.

  Chapter 7

  Maria had heard a thrashing, then the quick, strange sound of a muffled yell followed by total silence in the endless darkness surrounding the campsite. What was the sound? How close had it been to the camp? She couldn’t answer either question with any certainty. The sound had come and gone too quickly to be identified or pinpointed.

  “Sam?” she ventured warily, her hand setting her second cup of coffee aside and wrapping around the stock of her rifle. “Sam . . . ?” she repeated as she rose from her blanket and stepped out of the flickering firelight.

  After a moment when she received no reply from the rocky hillside, she went back to her blanket, laid her rifle down against her saddle long enough to pick up her coat and slip it on. She had started to reach down for her weapon and hat, but the jacking of a rifle lever caused her to freeze.

  “Huh-uh, little lady, just leave that big ole Winchester where it lies,” said Peyton Quinn. As he spoke, he and Grady Black stepped into the firelight and stood at its edge. Both men held their rifles pointed at her.

  “Raise your hands so we can see them,” Black added, his voice sounding strained and harried.

  Maria did as she was told, her empty hands raising slowly chest high as she stayed calm and looked the two up and down appraisingly. “You are the sheriff from Albertson?” she asked Quinn, eyeing a shiny new badge on his chest that peeked from behind the loose lapel of his riding duster.

 
“We’ll ask the questions here,” said Black before Quinn got the chance to answer. “You just answer and do as you’re told.”

  Do as you’re told? Quinn gave him a sidelong look, getting a good idea of just how far Black would go, left to his own judgment. “Yes, I’m Sheriff Peyton Quinn,” he said, taking a step forward away from the edge of firelight and the perimeter of woods. “This is Deputy Grady Black. He’s what you could call a recent admirer of yours.”

  All right, Maria thought, she understood. A woman alone in a campsite in the middle of a dark night. She saw where this would soon be headed if she couldn’t manage to put a stop to it. Ignoring the remark, she asked, “Did you bring a team of horses to pull the stagecoach?”

  Quinn stopped. He looked back at Black, then back to Maria with a thin, flat smile. “Didn’t you hear my deputy? We’ll ask the questions. You do as you’re told.” He stepped closer. “Who are you, and where is Ranger Burrack?” He looked at the ranger’s blanket lying crumpled on the ground near the fire.

  He knew perfectly well who she was before he’d ever walked into the firelight, she told herself. “I’m Maria,” she said, staring at him in a way as to make him understand that she knew this was all a game of his.

  “Oh, Maria,” he said with a grin.

  “Ranger Burrack went into the woods for a moment. He is on his way back right now,” Maria said, hoping her voice sounded convincing, enough to defuse any explosive situation these two might try to create. “May I lower my hands now and pick up my rifle?” She tacked on “Now that we know we are all on the same side.”

  “Not so fast, little lady,” said Quinn, enjoying himself, still wanting more. “How do we know you are who you say you are?”

  “That’s right,” said Black. “As far as we know, you could be part of the ones who robbed this stagecoach. The ranger could be lying dead somewhere for all we know.” He remained standing at the edge of the firelight and the woods line in a strained, awkward position, as if embarrassed to step closer right then. She understood. . . .

  All right, trouble had arrived. These two had talked themselves into it on their way here, perhaps even as they had watched her from a spot in the darkness, like two hungry wolves. She thought about her gun belt still lying at her saddle, the butt of her Colt beneath the edge of her blanket.

  “What is it you want from me?” she asked almost as if in submission. But she knew the answer. She had to make a move. She couldn’t wait for Sam, and she didn’t want him walking into danger unknowingly.

  Quinn gave a suggestive smile. “I don’t know what you have in mind, ma’am,” he said, even his voice sounding lewd and filled with double meaning. “We’re just hardworking lawmen doing our job. But now I’m starting to wonder myself if maybe you’ve done something to the ranger.”

  “He will be back any second,” Maria repeated in a cool, level tone. She knew that when the moment came she would make a leap for the Colt instead of the rifle, simply because that was the move they wouldn’t expect her to make.

  “Then I think we best be prepared to meet him,” said Quinn. “First of all, my deputy is going to search you all over, real thorough-like.”

  “I am warning both of you to keep away from me,” Maria said. “You’ve had your fun, now let it drop.” She was ready. In one fast leap, she would land on the blanket, grab the Colt and keep rolling. She rehearsed it in her mind, standing tense, ready to do it.

  To Grady Black, Quinn said, “Deputy, would you mind searching this woman, real thorough-like? I mean, take your time, make sure you don’t overlook any part of her.” His cold smile widened. “See to it she’s not carrying any hidden weapons that she might use to inflict bodily harm on us.” He stared intently at Maria. “I’ll kind of watch how you do it, and keep an eye out for the ranger.”

  “Jesus,” said Black. He swallowed hard. “Yeah, I’ll do it.” He yanked off his hat and held it low in front of himself as he started to step forward. But as Maria looked past Quinn at Black, she saw the ranger’s rifle butt jab out of the darkness and slam into the back of Black’s head. The man fell forward to the ground in a puff of dust and pine needles. Quinn never noticed.

  “Do you know what Sam is going to do to you?” Maria asked, keeping Quinn distracted, appearing to make one more attempt at trying to stop this without bloodshed.

  Quinn just stared at her with a dark, cold smile. “He can’t fault us for just doing our job.” To Black he said over his shoulder as he turned in his direction, “Deputy, you best get a move on, else the ranger might show up before we both get a chance to properly administer the law to this young wom—”

  Maria watched him turn unexpectedly into the upswing of Sam’s rifle butt, catching the full force of it under his chin. But even as Quinn staggered back and forth like a drunkard, knocked out on his feet, Maria forgot about leaping for her Colt. Instead, she reached down, grabbed her rifle and stood up quickly.

  In front of her Quinn had turned, facing her in his blind staggering state. Instinctively, she drew back her rifle and jabbed it hard, the butt striking him in the center of his forehead, the bridge of his nose. He hit the ground at her feet. “This pig,” she murmured, stepping back, letting her rifle relax in her hands.

  “Are you all right?” Sam asked quietly, stepping over close to her and taking her free hand.

  “Sí, I am now,” Maria replied. “You arrived at just the right moment.”

  Sam squeezed her hand, then turned it loose and stepped away. He rolled Quinn over roughly with the toe of his boot. Looking at the badge on the knocked-out man’s chest, he shook his head. “My sympathy to the good folks of Albertson if these two are their lawmen.”

  Maria looked past the ranger to where the dog paced back and forth beside Grady Black, staring down at him as if daring the knocked-out man to make a move of any sort.

  “I see you found the colonel’s dog,” she said. Near the pacing dog lay Antan Fellows where Sam had dropped him off his shoulder. Antan lay staring at the dog in wide-eyed fear, handcuffs on his wrists, a bandanna gag tied tightly around his mouth. The big cur had left a line of deep bite marks down both of his bloody cheeks.

  “Sergeant Tom Haines found him about thirty yards out,” said the ranger. “Lucky for him I was there, or else the dog would have eaten him alive.”

  “I did not hear anything louder than a yelp of some sort,” Maria said, looking surprised to hear that such a battle had gone on so close to the campsite.

  “I know,” said the ranger. “This dog shot out, grabbed him by his face and took him down as slick and quiet as anything I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t have believed it had I not witnessed it for myself.” He turned a gaze toward the dog. “Now look at him. He looks like he’s on guard duty.”

  “His army training?” Maria asked.

  “I suppose.” Sam stared at the big cur with a curious expression. “I’ve never seen a dog attack without making a growl, or a sound of some kind. He clamped his big jaws over the man’s face and pinned him to the ground until I took over and cuffed him.” He shook his head in amazement. “The colonel or his Apache scouts must have spent a lot of time teaching Sergeant Tom Haines how to stay alive in hostile country.”

  Maria offered a faint tired smile. “Perhaps that is why he is a sergeant,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t attempt to call him anything less,” the ranger returned, “not if I was standing anywhere close to him.”

  “What will we do with these three?” Maria asked, gesturing toward the men on the ground.

  “They’re going to deny any ill intent,” Sam said. He looked at her closely. “Are you sure you’re all right? They didn’t lay hands on you in any way?”

  “Would they still be alive if they had?” Maria asked matter-of-factly.

  “I expect not,” Sam said. The two turned toward Quinn as he let out a painful moan and raised his battered face from the dirt. “I found their horses and a team of stage horses in the woods. You tell me what you want
to do about these two.”

  “We are on Parks’ trail,” said Maria. “We cannot waste time with these pigs—they will have Davin Grissin’s protection anyway.” She looked back and forth from the stagecoach full of corpses to the men slowly awakening on the ground. “Send them back to Albertson with the dead. Let’s go on.”

  “I think I knew you were going to say that,” the ranger said. He started to step away, over to where Antan Fellows sat rigid, his eyes still fearful of the big cur.

  She stopped him with a questioning look. “What about the dog? We can’t trust these men to take him to Albertson and see to it he finds a good home.”

  “Right,” said Sam, sounding as if he’d already given the matter some more thought, “maybe Sergeant Tom Haines would be better off riding with us . . . for a while anyway.” He looked at her closely. “What do you think?”

  Upon hearing his name spoken, the dog turned to face them and stopped pacing for a moment, as if awaiting orders. Noting the dog’s action, Maria asked, “Why do you call him by his full name? It is such a long name for a dog.”

  “His full name was the only name he responded to,” Sam replied. “I expect that must be what the colonel called him.” Also noting that the dog had stopped and stood looking at them, Sam called over to him, “As you were, Sergeant Tom Haines.”

  The dog stood staring blankly for a second, then turned and resumed pacing back and forth. The ranger and Maria looked at each other as if in disbelief. “Sí,” said Maria, turning an astonished gaze back toward the pacing animal, “perhaps he should stay with us . . . for a while anyway.”

  Peyton Quinn awakened leaning back against the stagecoach wheel. Beside him sprawled Black. Both men’s left hands were cuffed together between two wooden spokes. Antan Fellows stood beside them, leaning on the wheel, his right hand cuffed to it. He held a wet cloth to the line of dog bite down his cheeks. The dog stood ten feet away, watching the three men.

  “Who—who did this to me?” Quinn asked in a thick voice, cupping his bruised and swollen chin. Even as he spoke and tried to shake his stalled mind back to consciousness, his free hand eased down to his empty holster.