Killing Texas Bob

by Ralph Cotton

  ‘‘No doubt,’’ said Price.

  ‘‘In fact I’d bet on it,’’ Frisco cut in. The two looked blankly at one another. ‘‘There is one small problem, Your Honor,’’ said Price. ‘‘Ranger Burrack is riding with him. They’re headed here with the stage.’’

  ‘‘But that’s not a problem I can’t handle!’’ said the judge, not about to let anything sway his sense of sweet revenge. ‘‘It’s the ranger’s job to bring in fugitives from the law.’’ Smiling now, he said, ‘‘He brings him in, you two arrest him. He goes to trial and hangs. That’s how justice is supposed to work—and work it will.’’ His mood improved. ‘‘He robbed a stage, killed a law officer and two stage company employees. Yes, that will do nicely.’’

  The two looked relieved. Then Price said, ‘‘So I figure we’ll still get the reward, for doing the best we could?’’

  ‘‘Don’t push your luck with me, Deputy,’’ the judge warned. ‘‘You and I know you both have failed. There’s no reward for almost bringing in Texas Bob Krey.’’

  ‘‘But all this information, about the sheriff, the stage robbery and all,’’ Price insisted.

  ‘‘No reward, Deputy, so put it out of your mind. You’re lucky to still be wearing a badge. Besides, after you two left, I sent out a professional manhunter to bring in Texas Bob in case you two failed, as now we see you have.’’

  Frisco said guardedly, ‘‘Judge, there’s a possibility this ranger and Texas Bob are both going to try blaming that stage robbery on us.’’ He gestured between Price and himself.

  ‘‘Oh?’’ The judge looked leery. ‘‘Now why, pray tell, would they attempt to do something like that? Texas Bob is a murderer, but Ranger Burrack is known for his sense of fairness in matters of the law.’’ He rubbed his jaw as he thought things over. ‘‘He’ll take me to task. He’s peculiar when it comes to seeing to it that the law is upheld in an impartial manner. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to have me replaced as presiding judge over the case, if he had time to do it.’’

  ‘‘A ranger can do that?’’ Price asked.

  ‘‘He can request it, certainly. I don’t want him to get the chance.’’ Bass considered things, then said, ‘‘Too bad the Apache aren’t on a raiding spree. They would cut the telegraph lines. We’d have plenty of time to make sure things go the way they should.’’ He gave the pair a look.

  ‘‘The Apache ain’t the only ones who know how to cut wires, Your Honor,’’ Price offered.

  ‘‘I didn’t hear you say that, Deputy.’’ Bass smiled, knowing he’d made his meaning clear.

  ‘‘It’ll be our word against Texas Bob’s anyway, is the way I see it,’’ said Frisco, realizing the ranger hadn’t seen them rob the stage, kill Thorn or do anything else illegal. ‘‘Whose word means more, a gambling, gun-fighting rounder’s like Texas Bob, or a sworn deputy’s like Price here, and me, a man sent to assist him?’’ Seeing the judge thinking his words over, he added quickly, ‘‘I could even be a sworn deputy myself if it helped matters.’’

  ‘‘Indeed you could, and you will if you do as I tell you,’’ said Bass, coming to some sort of conclusion. He looked at them both closely. ‘‘I don’t know what went on out there, and I get the feeling it’s better that I don’t know. If both of you saw Texas Bob rob the stage, then yes, your word is certainly worth more than his, provided the ranger can’t attest to anything different.’’

  ‘‘He can’t, unless he lies,’’ said Frisco after the two looked at one another again.

  ‘‘The ranger will not lie, I assure you. So, we’ve got Texas Bob for the stage robbery.’’ Bass balled a vengeful fist and said, ‘‘But I want him to die for killing my brother. I don’t care if it’s a legal hanging or an out-and-out mob lynching.’’

  The two looked at him, seeing how far he was willing to go to avenge his brother’s death. ‘‘We’ll back your play however you call it,’’ said Frisco.

  ‘‘Good,’’ said the judge. He lowered his voice and said, ‘‘For a legal conviction to take place there is still something standing in the way.’’ He stared hesitantly, thinking about Lady Lucky and her account of the shooting at the Sky High Saloon.

  ‘‘Whatever it is, you just tell us, Judge,’’ said Frisco. ‘‘Don’t pussyfoot around about it.’’

  ‘‘No, please, by all means, Your Honor,’’ said Price. ‘‘We want to see to it Texas Bob swings for the stage robbery just as bad as you want to see him swing for killing your brother, Davin.’’

  Bass saw something dark at work in Price’s eyes.

  He had no idea what these men were hiding from him, or what they’d been involved in since he’d sent them searching for Texas Bob. He dared not ask. He would soon have Bob where he wanted him. That was his only interest.

  Chapter 15

  During the night Trigger Leonard and Mitchell Smith had arrived at the Bottoms Up Saloon and Brothel. After a late evening of drinking they had taken adjoining rooms upstairs facing the street and spent the night with two of the brothel’s doves, Mad Mattie Short and Sweet-face Hannah Lund. Both doves were up from the beds and gathering their clothes in the light of midmorning when they heard the stage horses come rolling along the dirt street.

  ‘‘Take a look at this, Mattie,’’ said Hannah, staring out the window and seeing Texas Bob jump down from the shotgun rider’s seat and swing open the door.

  Joining Hannah at the window as she finished pulling her dress down and straightening it, Mattie saw the boot soles of two of the dead men just inside the open stage door. ‘‘Uh-oh,’’ she murmured. ‘‘Looks like it’s been somebody’s last ride.’’

  ‘‘We better wake them up,’’ said Hannah, taking a deep draw on her first thin cigar of the day. The two watched the ranger step down from the driver’s seat and join Texas Bob at the open stage door.

  Mattie looked hesitant. ‘‘Are you sure? I came near getting slapped around last night. I don’t want—’’

  ‘‘I’m sure,’’ said Hannah, cutting her off. ‘‘He said wake him if anything unusual went on in the street.’’ As she spoke she walked to the bed where Trigger Leonard lay sprawled facedown, naked, snoring. His right arm hung off the edge of the feather mattress, his hand wrapped loosely around the neck of a whiskey bottle. ‘‘Here goes,’’ Hannah shrugged. Nudging his forearm with her toe, she said loudly, ‘‘Hey, Big-horse Hairy, wake up!’’

  His snoring interrupted, Leonard only moaned at first and cursed mindlessly. But upon feeling the whiskey bottle loosen from his fingertips and fall over on its side, he snapped conscious and felt around frantically for it. When he raised it in his grasp and looked at it bleary-eyed, making sure he’d corked it during the night, he let out a breath and said gruffly, ‘‘The hell do you want? You’ve been paid.’’

  ‘‘But not enough,’’ Mattie whispered with a look of contempt.

  ‘‘Come on, Big-horse, wake up,’’ Hannah persisted, reaching down and shaking him by his shoulder. ‘‘You said wake you if we saw anything going on.’’

  Leonard opened an eye to her. ‘‘Don’t call me Big-horse,’’ he said in a thick-sounding voice.

  Hannah shrugged again. ‘‘That’s what you told me to call you.’’

  ‘‘Last night I told you to call me that,’’ said Leonard, rising to the edge of the bed and twisting the cork from the whiskey bottle. ‘‘Not today.’’ He swirled the whiskey around in the bottle, threw back a long drink and blew out a breath. ‘‘Now, what is it?’’

  Hannah stared at him for a moment, then jerked her head toward the window. ‘‘A stagecoach, one horse short and carrying bodies in it . . . a lawman driving it.’’

  ‘‘A lawman?’’ The rest didn’t seem to interest him, but now he sprang to his feet. With his free hand he snatched up the rifle leaning against the wall and hurried to the window. ‘‘Wake him up!’’ he ordered Mad Mattie as he peeped down at the street without being seen.

  ‘‘Don’t be shooting anybody from up h
ere,’’ Hannah said matter-of-factly. Then, on second thought, she said, ‘‘That wasn’t included in the price.’’ As she spoke Mattie raced barefoot into the other room and shook Mitchell Smith by his shoulder.

  ‘‘Shut up, woman! You’ll be taken care of!’’ Leonard growled over his shoulder at Hannah, without taking his eyes off the ranger’s dusty sombrero, watching him reach inside the stage and fan flies away from the dead. ‘‘I’m not letting this chance get past me.’’ He levered a round into the rifle chamber. ‘‘Bring me my britches!’’

  Staggering in from the other room, holding his trousers up at the waist, his wide gallowses hanging at his sides, Mitchell asked sleepily, ‘‘The hell’s going on, Trig?’’

  ‘‘Ha! I’ll tell you what’s going on!’’ Cutting a sharp excited grin, rifle and whiskey bottle in hand, Leonard said, ‘‘The ranger is right down there on the street. He’s fell into our laps!’’ As he spoke he held the bottle sidelong to Smith.

  ‘‘You don’t mean it!’’ Taking the bottle, Smith batted his bleary eyes and pushed his long hair back from his forehead. He took a drink, standing back from the window but looking down guardedly.

  ‘‘Oh, I mean it, all right!’’ said Leonard, taking Hannah by her thin wrist as she handed him a chair from beside the bed. ‘‘You did good waking me, Sweet-face,’’ he said, his eyes going a bit soft for a second. ‘‘I want you to know that.’’

  ‘‘I’ve never been so happy,’’ Hannah said with a trace of sarcasm as she tugged her arm free. ‘‘Don’t forget to pay us something extra.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, sure,’’ Leonard murmured idly as he stared down onto the street, his trousers hanging from his hand, his rifle going to his shoulder to take aim.

  Mitchell Smith, having taken a drink of whiskey, stared wild-eyed at his naked partner. ‘‘Trigger! We ain’t even dressed yet!’’

  ‘‘Dressed or not, I don’t give a damn. I’m taking him down,’’ said Leonard, looking down the rifle sights at the back of the ranger’s riding duster. ‘‘Get yourself armed and back me up.’’

  On the street, Sam waved the gathering townsfolk away from the stagecoach. ‘‘Give us some room, folks,’’ he said, his eyes going up along the roofline across the street. As he spoke he felt the same way he’d felt many times when he’d found himself in someone’s gun sights.

  As the gathering crowd fanned flies from themselves and stepped back grudgingly, the ranger looked closer at the open window above the Bottoms Up Saloon. But the window revealed nothing more than a thin curtain stirring on a breeze.

  ‘‘Is that Sheriff Thorn?’’ a woman asked with a gasp, seeing the sheriff’s bloody body through the open stage door.

  ‘‘Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid it is,’’ Sam answered, catching another glance along the roofline and going back to the open window.

  ‘‘Is this the judge coming here, Ranger?’’ Texas Bob asked just between the two of them. He nodded at the large well-dressed figure walking along the boardwalk toward them.

  ‘‘Yes, that’s him,’’ Sam said quietly. ‘‘I’m counting on you to keep your head if he gets testy with us.’’

  ‘‘You’ve got it, Ranger,’’ said Texas Bob. He held the shotgun out toward him butt first. ‘‘Do you want this?’’

  ‘‘That’s not necessary,’’ said Sam, without reaching for the shotgun. ‘‘You’re not under arrest. You’re not wanted for any crime that I know of. If you’re through with the stage company’s gun, stick it back under the seat.’’

  ‘‘Obliged, Ranger,’’ said Bob. He started to step over and lay the shotgun up under the seat. But before he could do so, the judge called out with a thick finger pointed at him, ‘‘Stop right there! Ranger Burrack, disarm that man immediately! Place him under arrest!’’

  Texas Bob stopped and stood facing the judge, the shotgun still hanging loosely in his hands.

  Sam, unable to shake the feeling of being targeted from the saloon window, took another quick glance along the roofline, then stepped forward and said to the quickly approaching judge, ‘‘Stop where you are, Judge. I have no cause to arrest this man.’’

  The judge stopped short ten feet away. ‘‘You do now. I’m charging him with the murder of Sheriff Thorn and the rest of those poor fellows lying there.’’ His finger swung to the bodies inside the big stagecoach. ‘‘I further charge him with stagecoach robbery.’’ He glared at Texas Bob. ‘‘Where is the stage money?’’

  Neither Texas Bob nor the ranger replied. They only stared. Sam felt relieved that Bob had hidden the money. Possession of the money would only have given the judge proof of his guilt.

  ‘‘Very well,’’ said the judge. ‘‘Refusing to answer me doesn’t help your case in the least. Now do as I say, Ranger. Arrest him!’’ As he spoke he looked back and forth over the faces of the crowd, as if seeking their approval.

  ‘‘Based on what evidence, Judge?’’ Sam asked skeptically.

  The judge said smugly, ‘‘Based on the eyewitness accounts of sworn officers of the law, Ranger Burrack. Now arrest him! That’s an order!’’

  In the window, Mitchell Smith said to Trigger Leonard in a lowered tone, ‘‘Well, are you going to shoot him?’’

  ‘‘Not just yet,’’ said Leonard, a grin on his face as he glared at the street and listened to the exchange between the ranger and Judge Bass. ‘‘I don’t want to miss this. Besides, like you said, we’re not even dressed yet. Here, hold this.’’ He handed his rifle sidelong to Smith and stepped quickly into his trousers, keeping his eyes on the street below. ‘‘I can kill this ranger anytime. Maybe we’ll watch for a while, get a chance to see the law in action.’’

  Deputy Claude Price finished loading the shotgun he’d taken down from the rack inside the sheriff’s office.

  ‘‘Will you hurry the hell up?’’ Frisco Phil said, standing restlessly at the dusty window. He stood staring down the street toward the gathered crowd, keeping the judge’s fine shiny derby in sight amid the sweat-stained flop hats, Stetsons and sombreros. ‘‘We’ve got this thing going our way. Let’s not let it get away from us.’’

  ‘‘Nothing is getting away from me ever again,’’ Price said, clicking the shotgun shut and heading past Frisco and out the front door.

  At the stagecoach in the street, Judge Bass waited impatiently for the ranger to carry out his order. But Sam made no attempt to arrest Texas Bob. Instead he stared warily at the judge and asked, ‘‘Who are these officers of the law, and what exactly did they witness?’’

  ‘‘I’ll show you who they are,’’ said Bass. Waving a hand above the crowd toward the sheriff’s office as Frisco Phil and Price ran along the dirt street, he said as they stopped inside the circled bystanders and spread out, covering both the ranger and Texas Bob, ‘‘Deputies, is this the man you saw rob the Cottonwood stage, kill its crew and murder Sheriff Thorn?’’

  Seeing Texas Bob’s and the ranger’s searing gazes upon him, Price averted his eyes, unable to face them. But Frisco spoke right up, shotgun in hand, saying, ‘‘Sure as the world, Your Honor. That’s the man who did it.’’ He grinned defiantly at Texas Bob.

  ‘‘Why you rotten, murdering—’’ Texas Bob took a step past the ranger toward Frisco and Price. ‘‘These are two of the men who robbed the stage and did all the killing.’’

  ‘‘Oh?’’ said the judge haughtily. ‘‘Then I suppose it will be your word against the word of two lawmen.’’

  ‘‘This is nothing but a jackpot you’re putting me in because of your brother, Judge,’’ Bob said, his stare turning to the judge, his hands poised on the shotgun, raising it into a firing position.

  Three feet behind him, Sam said, ‘‘Hold it, Bob. Let’s not start a bloodletting here in the street.’’ He watched the crowd step back, their eyes widening at the sight of so many shotguns in so small an area.

  ‘‘Speaking of my poor brother,’’ said Bass, ‘‘that is one more murder I intend to see you hang for.’’


  The ranger noted that the judge seemed unconcerned about the many innocent bystanders. It was as if he wanted to goad Texas Bob into a gunfight. ‘‘He’s trying to goad you, Bob. Don’t let him,’’ said Sam. ‘‘We’ve got our own eyewitness when it comes to you shooting Davin Bass. Lady Lucky will testify it was self-defense.’’

  ‘‘Lady Lucky’s luck ran out.’’ The judge cut in with a dark stare at the ranger. He gestured with his hand toward Frisco Phil. ‘‘Tell them, Deputy,’’ he ordered Frisco.

  ‘‘She died in her sleep last night, from a mortal gunshot wound she received from you,’’ Frisco said bluntly, his nasty smile still on his face. ‘‘She won’t be testifying to anything.’’ As Frisco adjusted the shotgun slightly in his hands, Sam caught a glimpse of the shiny new deputy’s badge on his chest.

  The sight of that badge somehow connected to Lady Lucky’s death in Texas Bob’s mind. Seeing the knowing look on the faces of the judge and the two deputies, he said, ‘‘You killed her, didn’t you?’’ His eyes swung to the judge. ‘‘They killed her, and you had them do it! Just to make sure there was no witness to the shooting at the Sky High—’’

  ‘‘Arrest him, Deputies!’’ Bass demanded.

  The ranger saw the judge back away; at the same time he saw the shotguns in Price’s and Frisco’s hands begin to rise. Too many people are going to die here, he thought, catching a glimpse of the stunned crowd. Too many innocent people.

  Sam sprang forward, ahead of both the deputies and Texas Bob. His big Colt came up fast, but uncocked. Before the two deputies could put their killing plan into action, the Colt took a hard swipe sideways and knocked Texas Bob to his knees. The short-barreled shotgun flew from Bob’s hands.