Blood and Gold (Outlaw Ranger Book 3)

by James Reasoner

  "Can't you see the badge?" Jason asked. "This man's a Texas Ranger, come to track down the bastards responsible for what happened in Buzzard's Canyon."

  The man came down the three steps from the porch to the ground and extended his hand. He said, "I'm Charles Horner, Mr. Rainey's secretary."

  "G.W. Braddock," the Ranger said as he gripped Horner's hand.

  The door Horner had come out of a few moments earlier banged back against the wall as a man stepped onto the porch and said in a loud, angry voice, "By God, Jason, can't you at least wait until the middle of the day to start your drinking and tomcatting around?"

  Chapter 5

  Martin Rainey looked like the military man he had once been, thought Braddock. Tall, ramrod-spined, with graying hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. He wore a white shirt, black trousers and vest, and string tie and managed to make the outfit look like a uniform.

  "You're a fine one to talk," Jason said. "I'll bet you've been in the brandy already this morning."

  "Watch your tongue," Rainey snapped. His gaze swung to Braddock. "Is that a Ranger badge I see on your shirt, sir?"

  "That's right," Braddock said. "G.W. Braddock's the name."

  Charles Horner put in, "Ranger Braddock is here to investigate the robbery."

  "And the murders of the men with the mule train," Braddock said.

  "Of course. That goes without saying."

  Maybe Horner thought so, but Braddock didn't feel the same way. The killing of Francisco Guzman was what had brought him here, and his main goal was to deliver justice to whoever was responsible for that and the deaths of the other men with the mule train. If he recovered Martin Rainey's gold in the process, that was all well and good, but it wasn't his first priority.

  Rainey put aside his annoyance with his son and nodded to Braddock. He said civilly enough, "I'm glad to see you, sir. I'm a bit puzzled, however. I didn't send word to the Rangers and ask for help."

  "You didn't have to. News of a massacre like that gets around in a hurry."

  "I suppose." Rainey held out a hand toward the door. "Come inside, and we'll talk. I'm sure you have a great many questions. And of course you'll stay for dinner."

  "Thank you."

  Jason said, "You won't need me." He turned away and called to a wrangler who had just come out of the barn with another man. "Claude, come get my horse."

  While the wrangler did that, Jason walked toward the bunk house. The other man who had come out of the barn moved to join him. Braddock glanced at that man, then looked again when he realized that he knew the hombre's face.

  Happy Jack Conover, so called because nobody could remember ever seeing the gunman crack a smile.

  Conover was suspected in a number of killings, including some back-shootings, as well as other crimes, Braddock recalled, but there were no formal charges against the man in Texas unless they had been filed recently. It was hard to figure what Conover was doing here on Martin Rainey's ranch. He was no cowboy, that was for sure.

  Maybe Conover was one of the men Rainey had hired to guard the gold shipments but hadn't been along on the trip through Buzzard's Canyon.

  "Ranger Braddock?"

  Rainey's voice broke into Braddock's musing. Braddock turned and muttered, "Sorry."

  He followed Rainey into the house, glancing back once to see Jason and Conover going into the bunk house together, talking animatedly as they did so.

  Rainey led Braddock into a comfortably furnished parlor and offered him a drink and a cigar, both of which Braddock refused politely. They sat down in armchairs, and Braddock dropped his hat on the floor beside him. He said, "Tell me about what happened in that canyon three nights ago."

  Grim-faced, Rainey told the story, most of which Braddock already knew. When the mule train didn't show up at the smelter on time, Rainey and some of his men rode for the canyon and found the bodies of the slain mine workers and guards there, along with the guards' horses that had been shot out from under them. The mules and their packs full of gold ore were gone.

  "It's just a guess, of course, since there weren't any survivors to tell us exactly what happened, but from the looks of it the thieves posted riflemen on top of the canyon walls. There was considerable moonlight that night, so it probably wasn't too difficult to target the men with the mule train."

  "I haven't seen the place myself, but it sounds like it's tailor-made for an ambush."

  Rainey's mouth already had a grim cast. It tightened even more as he said, "There's no way to get the gold from the mine to here without running some risks, and that canyon is the shortest, fastest route. It's always seemed to me that the less time it takes to move the gold, the safer it is for everybody."

  Braddock shrugged slightly. Rainey had a point, he supposed. He asked, "Did you try tracking the thieves the next day?"

  "We did. I'm not a bad tracker, if I do say so myself. I have some experience from my days in the army, fighting the Apache."

  "I heard about that," Braddock said with a nod. "Your son mentioned it."

  "He probably said a number of other things as well. Jason has never learned to keep his mouth shut, whether it's foolish words coming out or rotgut whiskey going in."

  Braddock steered the conversation back on track by asking, "What did you find when you went after them?"

  "The trail led toward the border, of course. Like most of the lawless element around here, they sought refuge in Mexico. We followed them but lost the trail a mile or so south of the Rio. It's rugged country over there. Difficult for tracking."

  Braddock nodded, then asked, "All the men with the mule train were shot from ambush?"

  "That's right." Rainey grimaced. "Although it appeared that a few of them survived the initial volley and were finished off at close range. A few of them had powder burns on their clothing. One young man was shot in the face from not far away, poor devil." Rainey blew out an angry breath between his teeth. "His eyes were still open."

  "That's pretty brutal."

  "Indeed. I'm not the mercenary monster you might imagine, Ranger. I don't just care about the gold I lost. I want you to find those men so they'll pay for the killing they did."

  "That's what I'm here for. Tell me about the men who were with the mule train."

  "Well, the workers were all Mexican, of course." Rainey's tone had a casualness to it that rubbed Braddock the wrong way, but he tried not to show it. Rainey went on, "The man in charge of the guards that night was Carl Swann. A good man, quite competent and reliable."

  Braddock knew the name. Swann was considered to have been on the wrong side of the law in the past, but like Conover, he wasn't wanted in Texas as far as Braddock knew.

  "The other men were cut from the same cloth," Rainey went on. He named them, and Braddock recognized several of those names, too. They were hired gunmen, hardcases but not actual outlaws.

  "Sounds like the men who ride for you are pretty tough," he commented.

  Rainey jerked his head in a nod and said, "They have to be. I don't care if it is the Twentieth Century, this is still rough country out here, Ranger. It hasn't changed much in the past thirty years, except that the Apaches have all moved across the border and don't raid much anymore. But it still takes hard men to survive." His mouth twitched. "No offense, but there isn't much law in these parts."

  "Texas is a big state," Braddock said, "and there aren't enough Rangers to go around."

  Especially now, when the force had been reduced to a shadow of the Frontier Battalion it had once been. And that was why there was a need for a man like him...

  He went on, "Do you know anybody who might have a grudge against you, Mr. Rainey? Somebody who might try to strike back at you by killing your men and stealing that gold?"

  Rainey shook his head and said blandly, "No, I can't think of anyone like that."

  "I understand you used to have a partner in the mine..."

  Rainey leaped to his feet and exclaimed, "That insolent young pup!"

  In a coo
l voice, Braddock asked, "Are you talking about your son...or Manuel Santiago?"

  Rainey stared at him for a second, then said, "I was talking about Jason, but the description applies to Manuel, too. Jason had no business gossiping about family matters to you, Ranger, and Manuel is just flat wrong. I never set out to hurt his father. I did everything I could for Felipe, and when he died I would have taken care of Manuel and his sister if he'd let me."

  Rainey stopped, heaved a sigh, and scrubbed a hand over his face. An air of weariness suddenly gripped the man.

  "What did Jason tell you?" he asked.

  "That you bought Santiago's share of the mine after rustlers almost ruined his ranch," Braddock said. "That you paid him less than what it was worth because he was desperate. And then Santiago lost everything anyway."

  "That mine is a business, not a charity," Rainey said. "Felipe's ranch was more important to him. He was determined to hang on to it. I paid him as much as any canny businessman would have for his part. There's no shame in making a shrewd deal."

  "And it didn't occur to you that Manuel Santiago might blame you for his father's death? That he could have tried to settle the score with you by stealing that gold and murdering your men?"

  Rainey sagged back into his chair and muttered, "I suppose I thought about it. How could I not? I've heard rumors about the things he says about me in the cantinas down there. But I don't want to believe it. There was a time when the boy was almost like a second son to me."

  "Do you know where I might find him?"

  "Not on this side of the border." Rainey let out a curt bark of laughter. "But then, you Rangers don't always let little things like borders stop you, do you?"

  Braddock didn't reply, but what Rainey said was true. Most Rangers would cross the Rio Grande in pursuit of a known outlaw.

  Manuel Santiago didn't fall into that category, though. Braddock might suspect him, but he didn't have any proof.

  Of course, given his situation, he was even more inclined to bend the law to achieve justice than the regular Rangers were.

  "The closest settlement to the old Santiago ranch is Alamoros," Rainey said after a moment. "That's where Manuel spends most of his time, from what I hear. Are you going after him?"

  "I'll conduct my investigation in the way I see fit," Braddock answered.

  "All right. I want those killers brought to justice, no matter where the trail leads you."

  "That's just what I plan on," Braddock said.

  Chapter 6

  The midday meal, served by the Mexican cook and housekeeper, was good, but Braddock didn't pay much attention to the taste of the food. His mind was occupied by thoughts of what had happened in Buzzard's Canyon and what he had learned about those gruesome events.

  Jason didn't join Braddock and Rainey for the meal, but Charles Horner did. Idly curious, Braddock asked about the secretary's background.

  "I come from Massachusetts," Horner said. "My older brother served with Mr. Rainey in Arizona."

  "He was my adjutant," Rainey said. "A fine man and a fine soldier. After he was killed by those savages, I stayed in touch with his family. That's how Charles came to work for me."

  "I don't like to dwell on the past," Horner said. "How do you plan to proceed with your investigation, Ranger Braddock?"

  "I figured I'd ride down to this Buzzard's Canyon and take a look around," Braddock said. "I know you already trailed the killers from there, but sometimes a fresh set of eyes might see something else, even after a few days."

  Rainey nodded and said, "I can send some of the men with you."

  "I'd rather you didn't," Braddock said bluntly. "I'll check it out on my own."

  "Of course. Whatever you'd prefer."

  When they had finished eating, Braddock and Rainey went out onto the front porch again. Braddock paused at the top of the steps and looked toward the bunk house where Jason and Happy Jack Conover had disappeared earlier.

  "Those rustlers who ruined Felipe Santiago," Braddock said, "were they ever caught?"

  "Not that I'm aware of. There's no shortage of bandits below the border, however. It could have been almost anyone who stole all those cattle from Felipe."

  "I suppose so," Braddock said.

  He couldn't help but think, though, about how one of the crimes laid at the feet of Happy Jack Conover in the past was rustling.

  The man was rumored to be a top-notch widelooper. So good, in fact, that he had never been caught at it.

  * * *

  Braddock had plenty to think about as he rode toward Buzzard's Canyon.

  During the ride up here from Esperanza, he had assumed that the outlaws who killed Martin Rainey's men and stole his gold were just run-of-the-mill owlhoots—maybe more vicious than some—and interested only in the valuable cargo being carried by the mules.

  Now it appeared that he might have stumbled into something deeper than that. Rainey must have known his partner Felipe Santiago well. He could have guessed that if Santiago's ranch was threatened, the man would grasp at any straw to save it, including letting Rainey buy him out for much less than his share of the mine was worth.

  It was a big jump from there to thinking Rainey had had something to do with the rustling that broke Santiago...but Rainey had a known rustler in Happy Jack Conover on his payroll. Some of the other men who worked for Rainey were probably just as shady as Conover was.

  If that ugly suspicion had reared up in Braddock's mind, it certainly could have in Manuel Santiago's. Manuel might even have evidence linking Rainey to the rustling.

  If he did, the question was what would Braddock do about it? Even if Rainey was guilty of that, it didn't justify the murders of twenty men and the theft of all that gold ore. Those crimes had been committed in Texas. The rustling of Felipe Santiago's cattle had taken place across the line in Mexico.

  Thinking about it put a frown on Braddock's face. There was law, and there was justice, and the two things weren't always the same. But regardless of the reason, he couldn't overlook mass murder. At the same time, if he was right about Conover and some of Rainey's other hired guns being the rustlers, then Rainey bore his share of responsibility for what had happened, too.

  Braddock gave a little shake of his head as he reached the head of Buzzard's Canyon and reined in. He had followed the directions Rainey had given him and found the canyon with no trouble. Now he leaned forward in the saddle and studied it.

  The trail dropped into the canyon at a fairly steep angle, but horses and mules would be able to manage the slope without any trouble. It ran for several miles to the Rio Grande and continued southward on the far side of the border river. As the trail dropped down, rocky bulwarks reared up on either side of it. The ground was uneven and littered with boulders that provided plenty of hiding places for bushwhackers.

  Braddock turned the dun away from the trail and rode along the left-hand canyon wall instead, weaving around the ridges and big slabs of rock. He kept his eyes open, and he was about halfway to the river when he spotted the afternoon sun gleaming on something. He reined in, swung down from the saddle, and picked up an empty brass cartridge case.

  The case was from a standard .44-40 cartridge, Braddock saw, the sort of ammunition used by countless Winchesters. Meaningless when you thought about how many men in this part of the country carried rifles of that caliber.

  Braddock's gut told him, though, that this particular rifle was one of those used to massacre the men with the mule train. He squinted and studied the end of the cartridge closely. The rifle's firing pin was off just the tiniest bit, he saw from the markings on the case. It was unlikely he'd be able to match this cartridge to the rifle that had fired it, assuming he ever found the weapon, but it was at least possible.

  He stuck the cartridge case in his pocket and continued searching the rim.

  He didn't find anything else on either canyon wall except a few stray hoofprints. The ground was too hard to take tracks well, and there was no way of knowing if the prints h
e found belonged to the killers' horses.

  Braddock rode down into the canyon then. A hot wind was blowing from the south, and it whistled a little as it moved between the high, rocky walls. The sound was a mournful one. Despite the sunshine, an aura of gloom seemed to hang over the canyon.

  Braddock told himself that was all in his mind. He wasn't the most imaginative sort and he knew it, but in recent months he had been given to occasional fits of melancholy. That was all this was, he thought. The canyon had a sinister reputation to start with, or else it wouldn't have been named what it was. The knowledge that a score of men had died here only a few nights earlier made it worse.

  He put that out of his thoughts. He was here to do a job, and brooding wasn't part of it. Instead he ranged back and forth across the canyon as he worked his way toward the Rio Grande, searching for anything that might tell him something about the men who had carried out this atrocity.

  The bodies of men and horses had been removed, of course, and Braddock didn't know exactly where in the canyon the mule team was when the attack took place. Somewhere in the center, though, he'd been told, and he paused there to look back and forth at the walls.

  At night, even with plenty of moonlight, it wouldn't be easy to hit a target from up there. But if the bushwhackers just poured lead down into the canyon, the men caught in that deadly crossfire would fall sooner or later. Braddock was a little surprised none of the mules had been killed. The stolid beasts of burden had been lucky.

  He was sitting there contemplating the wall on the eastern side of the canyon when sunlight suddenly glinted off something up there. The reflection stabbed at him, warning him.

  Braddock reacted instantly, throwing himself forward on the dun's neck as he jammed his heels against the horse's flanks. Something hummed over Braddock's back as the dun leaped ahead.

  A split-second later he heard the flat crack of a rifle, followed by another shot and the wicked whine of a bullet ricocheting off a rock.

  Well, he asked himself, what did you expect in a place with a name like this one has?