Killing Texas Bob

by Ralph Cotton

  ‘‘An ambush.’’ Shenlin nodded. ‘‘Now that makes more sense than anything.’’

  ‘‘Yes, an ambush it will be,’’ said Frisco, ‘‘and I know just the place to do it.’’

  ‘‘Whatever we’re going to do, we best get to doing it,’’ Price cut in restlessly above the whirring wind. ‘‘Thorn can’t be allowed to return to Sibley alive. He’s got to die, even if I have to kill him with my bare hands.’’

  Frisco looked at him, a sarcastic half smile coming to his face. ‘‘My, my, how violent you’ve become all of a sudden! And to think, you was the one who didn’t want to kill the good sheriff only an hour ago.’’

  ‘‘I’m in a bad spot here, Frisco,’’ said Price. ‘‘We shoulda left well enough alone, took the money and gone on to Mexico. But nooo! Look at us now—the money’s gone, Thorn sees through our scheme, Texas Bob Krey is still free as a bird, and he’s shooting at us, with the law on his side!’’

  ‘‘Don’t tell me what we should have done!’’ Frisco said angrily. ‘‘What’s done is done. Now we’ve got to play this hand on out the way it’s been dealt to us!’’ He turned to Shenlin and Kane. ‘‘You two, get up and in your saddles. We’ve got to get ahead of the sheriff and Texas Bob and stay ahead.’’ Frisco and Price both swung up into their saddles, a blast of wind whipping their duster tails out behind them.

  Groaning, the other two outlaws rose and climbed atop their horses, the wind whistling and roaring past them. ‘‘I didn’t bargain on getting shot at,’’ Shenlin grumbled.

  ‘‘Nor did I,’’ said Kane, between the two of them. ‘‘But that money we stole is rightfully ours, and I’ll do what we have to to get it back.’’ They turned their horses into the wind and followed Frisco and Price.

  At the stagecoach, Texas Bob had used the renewed wind as cover while he crawled out and cut the harness and traces from the dead horse. The five remaining coach horses stood with their heads bowed, leaning, their manes and tails sidelong on the whirring wind.

  When Bob arrived back at the coach, where Sheriff Thorn stood crouched at the front wheel, he crouched himself and said, ‘‘So far, so good, Sheriff. This wind came back at the right time.’’

  Thorn cursed the wind under his breath and shouted above it, saying, ‘‘A lot of good I would have been. I can’t even see the front horse in all this dust.’’

  ‘‘That means Price and his pals can’t see us either,’’ said Bob. ‘‘This is our best chance at getting off this open land.’’

  ‘‘I know it,’’ said Thorn. ‘‘I’m ready to go when you are.’’

  With their two horses hitched to the rear of the stagecoach, they climbed aboard the big rig and moved along slowly and steadily through the dusty wind, Thorn driving the five coach horses, Texas Bob beside him, his rifle in hand and Teddy Ware’s shotgun lying across his lap. When an hour had passed and the wind had lessened in its intensity, Thorn looked across the rolling land and said, ‘‘It would be a stroke of luck if they decided to take off with their plunder and let us be.’’

  ‘‘I wouldn’t count on it, Sheriff,’’ said Texas Bob. ‘‘I found a feed sack full of money lying where they left it. They won’t ride off without it is my guess.’’

  ‘‘They left it there so I wouldn’t see it on them. Those rats intended to leave me laying dead with these other three sure enough.’’ He gave a dark chuckle under his breath and said, ‘‘Way to go, Tex.’’

  Tex nodded. ‘‘I would have brought it, but I didn’t know what I would find down here. On top of all my other trouble, I didn’t want to be caught out here with a shot-up stage and me holding a bag full of stolen money. So I hid it.’’

  ‘‘Good thinking,’’ said Thorn. ‘‘I hope you marked your spot well. It’ll be hard to find after this big blow.’’

  ‘‘It’s under a flat rock, no more than ten yards from a bed of yellow barrel cactus along the rise back there.’’ He looked at Thorn and added, ‘‘I figured I better tell you, in case you make it back to Sibley but I don’t.’’

  ‘‘We’ll both make it to Sibley,’’ said Thorn, ‘‘so don’t give that any more thought.’’

  ‘‘I won’t,’’ said Texas Bob, ‘‘but I thought I ought to tell you anyway.’’

  ‘‘Good enough,’’ said the sheriff. ‘‘I’ll remember it.’’

  He gazed along the distant rolling land, seeing the dust had settled greatly since the wind subsided. ‘‘If they come now, we’ll be able to see them from a long ways off.’’

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ said Thorn. ‘‘That’s why I’m thinking we won’t see no more of them until we reach the hills up ahead.’’ He nodded toward a long stretch of rocky hills that had risen out of the dust along the edge of the horizon. ‘‘We could have a real dogfight on our hands once we get inside there.’’ Without looking at Texas Bob, he said, ‘‘I’m glad it’s you here with me, and not some I can think of.’’

  ‘‘Same here, Sheriff Thorn,’’ Bob replied, also without facing the sheriff. After a pause, Bob added, ‘‘I want you to know that I feel lots better now that I’ve told you what happened in Sibley.’’

  ‘‘So do I.’’ Thorn nodded. ‘‘We’ll get it straightened out first thing, Bob. You can count on it.’’

  ‘‘I never would have left town the way I did had it not been for Price trying to kill me in my cell. He would have done it too, if Mary Alice didn’t come along when she did.’’

  Considering it, Thorn said, ‘‘Well, fortunately, we see the kind of man Price is now. Once we tell the judge and the town how he is, they’ll understand, and they’ll not only exonerate you, they’ll commend you for coming in to help me out back there.’’ He nodded over his shoulder. Then he gave a tap on the traces in his hands, not speeding the five big team horses up but keeping them attending to their same steady pace.

  ‘‘The townsfolk will,’’ Bob said. ‘‘But what about Judge Bass? Is he going to be able to understand what I did, shooting his brother, even though it was self-defense?’’

  ‘‘He’ll have to, Tex,’’ said Thorn. ‘‘I know he appears to have flown off the handle. But when he hears what happened at the jail, he’ll have to understand why you cut out the way you did. When he hears what Price and these others did out here, he’ll have to realize that Price is not a man whose word can be trusted.’’ He glanced at Texas Bob, then added, ‘‘Don’t forget, Mary Alice can testify to what happened in the jail. Lady Lucky can testify to what happened at the shooting too.’’

  ‘‘Lady Lucky is a gambler. Mary Alice is a dove, Sheriff. That is, she was. Now that her and I are together, she’s out of that business. But will the judge take their word for anything?’’

  ‘‘He might not if there was anybody to dispute them. But there’s not.’’ He offered a tired smile. ‘‘Besides, doves, gamblers and rowdies are the usual witnesses to gunfights. I’ve never once had a preacher come forward and say he saw a shooting in a place like the Sky High Saloon.’’ His thin smile widened. ‘‘I’m sure there’s been some who could have come forward.’’

  ‘‘I see what you mean,’’ said Texas Bob, contemplating the matter. After a moment he said, ‘‘Then I just have to go to Sibley and get this over with.’’

  ‘‘That’s right,’’ said Thorn. ‘‘When we get to Sibley, you’re going to let me handle this. I’ll talk to Bass. He’s a judge. He’ll have to abide by the law whether he likes it or not.’’

  ‘‘Sheriff, I’m obliged to you,’’ said Bob, relaxing a bit on the wooden seat. ‘‘I have to admit I was worried about what this might turn into.’’

  ‘‘Don’t be,’’ said Thorn. ‘‘You’ve got everything on your side.’’ He tapped the traces again. They rolled on.

  Overlooking the flatlands, Raul Lepov smiled to himself. He lay stretched out on a lip of rocky ground, using his hands to shield his eyes from the glare of the low evening sun. Beside him lay his repeating rifle, the long sights already raised into position. He had been
following the stage from a safe distance for the past two hours, since recognizing Texas Bob. Now that the stage had reached the lower edge of the hill line, he’d ridden on and gotten above it. This was the place for him to make his move, he’d told himself. He hid his horse among the rocks and crawled forward on the rough ground.

  Watching Thorn step down from the stage after stopping the horses and setting the brake handle, Lepov smiled and said under his breath, as if Thorn might hear him, ‘‘I only wish that you were that loathsome ranger, so I could kill two chicky-birds right here, for good reason. As it is, I must kill you just for being here with Cawboy Bob.’’ He shrugged in mock sadness. ‘‘But such is the way of this world.’’

  He turned his eyes toward Texas Bob as Bob stepped down on the other side of the coach, his rifle in hand. Watching Bob stretch and slap dust from himself with his hat, Lepov reached around to his side, picked up his own rifle and raised it to his shoulder. ‘‘And you, Cawboy Bob. You I must shoot for the best reason in the world—because imbecile deputy has paid me to do it.’’ He grinned. ‘‘I will force him to pay me more when I roll Cawboy Bob’s head across the floor to him.’’ He kept his eyes on Texas Bob as he peeled his fingerless black gloves from his hands and laid them out neatly in the dirt beside him.

  On the last stretch of upward sloping flatlands, Texas Bob gazed all around, then looked at Thorn as the sheriff stepped out from the far side of the stage, his rifle in hand. ‘‘From here on in, it looks like nothing but good ambush country,’’ he said.

  ‘‘It’s all treacherous ground up there,’’ said Thorn, nodding toward the sloping trail. ‘‘But the spot I’ve got in mind is halfway through these hills. Once we’re in there we’re trapped. Out here, we can make a run for it if we have to.’’ He gestured toward the rocky hillsides. ‘‘In there, they can cut us off from both directions. We’ll have to stand and make a fight’’—he looked at Texas Bob with his thin smile coming to his face—‘‘just the way we like it.’’ His words ended with a hard cough. His arms flew out beside him.

  ‘‘Sheriff!’’ Bob said, seeing a strange look come to Thorn’s face and feeling something warm and wet splatter on his own face. But before Bob’s words were out of his mouth, the rifle shot resounded from up the hillside as the sheriff stumbled toward him and collapsed into his arms.

  Caught by surprise, Texas Bob acted instinctively. He fell to the ground and dragged the limp sheriff under the stagecoach, feeling the spooked horses rock the coach back and forth violently, then yield to the firmly set brake.

  ‘‘Sheriff, hang on! Don’t you die on me!’’ he shouted, but at the same time he saw the gaping hole in Thorn’s chest and the blank look in his eyes and realized that the old lawman had died in his arms.

  From his rocky perch, Lepov grinned and levered another round into his rifle chamber. Looking down at the bloody smear across the dirt leading under the coach, he sang to himself in a cheery, melodious voice, ‘‘Come out, come out, Cawboy Bob, so that I can shoot a hole in you too!’’

  Nothing could be done for Sheriff Thorn. Bob wiped the dead sheriff’s blood from his face, then reached out quickly, grabbed his rifle and jerked it back under the stage. Not one to shrink away from a fight, he crawled out on the other side, stayed in a crouch and hurried to the rear corner of the coach for a look up among the rocks.

  Within a second another shot sounded; this time the bullet thumped into the wooden coach frame only inches from Bob’s head. He ducked back quickly, but as he did so he managed to catch a glimpse of gray smoke above the lip of rock protruding from the hillside.

  ‘‘All right, Price! Come and get me!’’ Bob shouted, slipping his rifle barrel around the corner of the stage and firing a shot. ‘‘Thorn is dead! You and your friends are going to hang for it. You’ve got nothing to lose!’’ He levered another round into his rifle chamber and called out, ‘‘I’ve got the bag of money! What are you cowards going to do about it?’’

  Price? A bag of money? On his lofty rock perch, Lepov gave a curious look, followed by a crafty smile. Texas Bob had mistaken him for Claude Price. ‘‘If that imbecile deputy had a bag of money I would take it away from him,’’ he said aloud to himself. He raised his head as if prepared to call out a reply. But as he did so, two rifle shots were fired close together, both ricocheting off the rock near his face.

  ‘‘Ah, Cawboy Bob is quick with a rifle, eh,’’ he chuckled to himself, touching his cheek where chips of rock had struck him. ‘‘Now I see that I must slip down close, like a serpent, and make my final strike.’’ But as he spoke his attention went to a lone rider who had just appeared over the far edge of the flatlands, coming from the same direction as the stagecoach. He looked back at the stagecoach, then at the lone rider again.

  Recognizing the ranger, Lepov smiled. ‘‘Fate is kind to me on this day.’’ He lightly kissed the tip of his rifle barrel, took close aim on the ranger and squeezed off his shot. But upon seeing his shot fall short and to the ranger’s right, he reconsidered his situation. Watching the ranger’s horse pound closer, taking a zigzag path toward him across the rough land unnerved him.

  Looking back down at the stagecoach he said under his breath, ‘‘This is truly your lucky day, Cawboy Bob. Enjoy it.’’ He touched his fingers to his wide hat brim as if commending Bob’s good fortune. Then he quickly gathered his rifle, his fingerless gloves and spare ammunition, and scooted backward away from the rock edge and hurried to his waiting horse.

  Chapter 11

  The ranger had seen the rifle shot kick up sand ten yards ahead of him. But even with the suddenness of the shot, he had managed to pinpoint where it had come from. It wasn’t from the stagecoach, Sam told himself, keeping an eye on the rising hillsides to his right as he drew his rifle from its saddle boot.

  At the coach, Texas Bob also spotted the lone rider coming toward him. His first thought was that Price and his pals had split up again, the same tactic they’d used against Thorn earlier, before he’d shown up to help. Having just fired a shot up at the rock edge, he levered another round into the rifle chamber, squatted down and braced his barrel against the rear coach wheel to steady the shot.

  ‘‘I won’t have to worry about you anymore,’’ he murmured to the zigzagging rider, taking close aim and waiting for him to ride back into sight after disappearing down into the roll of the land. But after a long wait with his whole body tensed and ready, his finger poised to squeeze the trigger, he realized that the rider must have seen him and stopped short or taken another direction.

  Texas Bob swung back and forth, scanning the land around him. The rise and fall of the rough, rolling hills offered a rider a chance to move in close on his prey if he knew how to use the terrain to his advantage. This rider knew, Bob told himself.

  Seventy-five yards away, out of sight, the ranger led his horse around the low belly of a dry creek bed, able only to estimate what gain he had made for himself until he dropped his horse’s reins and walked up, rifle in hand, to the crest of the rise. There, lying flat, he held a battered army telescope to his eye and looked out at the stagecoach, recognizing the lone figure with the poised rifle and a look of determination on his face.

  After looking the stage over closely and making sure Bob was by himself, Sam lowered the lens, pulled himself back a foot from the edge and called out, ‘‘Texas Bob Krey, this is Arizona Territory ranger Sam Burrack.’’ He waited for a second, his rifle ready in his hand, then called out, ‘‘I’ve been following the stage tracks. Drop the rifle and raise your hands. I’m coming in.’’

  A moment passed while Bob thought it over. Sam knew the answer almost before it came. ‘‘I’m not dropping my rifle until I see for sure who you are,’’ Bob called out, thinking the ranger’s voice sounded familiar, but not yet willing to bet his life on it.

  ‘‘I’ve been looking for you, Bob,’’ Sam called out. ‘‘I know about the shooting in Sibley. Lady Lucky says it wasn’t your fault.’’

  ‘‘T
hat’s right. It wasn’t my fault,’’ said Texas Bob, listening closely, not about to be tricked by Price and his pals. ‘‘So why are you on my trail?’’

  ‘‘To tell you so myself, before you got yourself into trouble,’’ Sam called out. ‘‘Bass has men out to get you, for a reward he’s put on you. I’m trying to be on your side, Bob, if you’ll let me.’’

  ‘‘Then don’t ask me to throw down my rifle, if you’re on my side,’’ Bob replied, sounding dubious and still not convinced—at least not enough to disarm. Even if this was the ranger talking to him, Bob had to wonder if this was just his way of taking him into custody.

  ‘‘I know what you’re thinking, Bob,’’ said Sam. ‘‘But you’ve got to trust me. I’ve tracked down a stolen stagecoach and found you standing beside it.’’

  ‘‘That’s just part of it,’’ said Bob. ‘‘I’ve got Sheriff Thorn lying dead under this rig. I’ve got three more bodies inside it. See why I feel better holding this rifle?’’

  Sam winced at hearing about Thorn, but he replied sharply, ‘‘I’ll listen to whatever you’ve got to say, but there’s only one way this is going to go. Now drop the rifle and raise your hands,’’ he repeated firmly. ‘‘I’m coming in.’’

  ‘‘I’m not dropping it,’’ said Bob. ‘‘Come in one-handed. I’ll meet you the same way.’’

  Sam eased up enough to take a look toward the stage and up past it into the rocky hillside. Halfway up the hill he saw a drift of trail dust that Lepov’s horse had raised in the Frenchman’s hasty getaway. ‘‘I hope you’re not too hardheaded for me to help you, Bob,’’ Sam called out.

  ‘‘I hope you don’t think I’m stupid enough to throw down my rifle when people have been out to kill me ever since I left Sibley, Ranger,’’ Bob replied.

  Sam saw his point. Even as he’d spoken, he’d stood up and stepped to the top of the rise, holding his rifle out in his right hand. His left hand out to his side, clearly empty, he took a step forward. ‘‘If I didn’t hold you in high regard, Texas Bob,’’ he said, ‘‘you wouldn’t be standing there.’’ He took another step forward. ‘‘Don’t disappoint me.’’