“You might want to ask a bit more civilly,” Pete replied. “I don’t work for you.”
“This man’s a Texas Ranger, Ebenezer,” Porter interjected. “The dead hombre tried to kill him for his horse. As you can see, the Ranger shot straighter.”
“I apologize for being so abrupt, Ranger,” Montrose said to Pete. “It’s just that I’m anxious to find those outlaws and murderers.”
The banker had dark eyes, which seemed to Pete to glitter like a snake’s. His black hair was carefully pomaded in place, his mustache crisply trimmed. His well-tailored suit was carefully cut to fit his slim figure. Montrose held a thin, unlit cigar.
“I understand,” Pete answered. “Let’s get him off his horse and inside, then you folks can take a look at him.”
“Makes sense,” the banker agreed.
Pete dismounted, and looped Trooper’s and the outlaw’s horse’s reins around the rail. The dead man was lifted from his horse and carried into the back room of the store, where he was laid out on the floor.
“He doesn’t look familiar to me,” Porter observed. “Any of you ever seen this man?”
His question was met with a murmur of negatives.
“Those robbers were masked, so he could’ve been one of ‘em,” Jake Butler, the saloonkeeper, noted.
“Could’ve been, but I’ve never seen his horse in town. That animal was never put up at my stable, either,” Prescott noted.
“Ranger, where’d you say you shot this man?” Montrose questioned.
“A few miles outside of town. My horse was tired, so I decided to rest him a spell. I was lettin’ Trooper graze and gettin’ some shut-eye for myself when he came up on me.”
“You didn’t find any identification on him?”
“Nope.”
“Nothing in his saddlebags which might indicate who he was? No letters, papers, anything like that?” Montrose insisted.
“Not a thing,” Pete replied. “Reckon he was just a driftin’ renegade. Once I get settled in, I’ll check my
Fugitive List to see if he matches any descriptions in that.”
“The Ranger here’s gonna be the law in town until we appoint a new marshal,” Porter explained.
“Fine, fine. If anyone can track down those murderers, a Ranger can,” Montrose answered.
“Let’s cover this hombre for now. Soon as I can nail a few boards together for a coffin, we’ll bury him,” Porter said. He lifted a ring of keys from a peg over his desk and handed them to Pete.
“Ranger, here’s the keys to the marshal’s office.”
“Thanks,” Pete answered. “Guess I’ll mosey over there and make myself comfortable. Mister Montrose, once I get some rest, I’d like to question you about the robbery.”
“Certainly,” Montrose agreed. “I’m at your disposal, Ranger.”
Once the body was covered, Pete and the others headed back outside.
“Trooper!” Pete exclaimed. “What are you doin’, horse?”
Trooper merely looked up from munching on a split open watermelon and nickered, then again buried his muzzle in the sweet fruit. The big bay had stretched his reins to the limit, in order to reach a display of
watermelons on the boardwalk in front of Porter’s. He had knocked several from the display, and was happily chowing down. The outlaw’s gray was also working on a melon which had rolled within his reach.
“I’m sorry, Mister Porter,” Pete apologized. “I should’ve known enough not to tie my horse so close to those watermelons. He dotes on ‘em. I’ll pay you for them.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Porter offered. “It’s worth losing a few melons to have a Ranger here. Your horse is welcome to them. Just don’t let him make a habit of stealin’ ‘em.”
“I promise you that,” Pete said. He untied Trooper, while Hug Prescott took the gray’s reins.
“C’mon, Troop. Time you had a good feed and rubdown,” Pete told the gelding.
Pete left Trooper and the outlaw’s gray at Prescott’s Livery. Satisfied they would be well cared for, he took his saddlebags and Winchester, then headed for the marshal’s office.
“This isn’t too bad,” the Ranger murmured, after he entered the office and shut the door behind him. While the room was coated with a layer of dust, it was otherwise in decent shape. Two cells were at the back of the office, and a bunk for the marshal was in a far corner, while a coffeepot sat on a stove opposite. Pete removed his gunbelt and hung it from a peg over the cot. He sat on
the edge of the mattress, pulled off his boots, and slipped out of his shirt. Pete stretched out on the bunk. Within minutes, the exhausted Ranger was sleeping soundly.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^
While Pete slept the afternoon away, Ebenezer Montrose was busy. It wasn’t an hour after Pete had reached town when two men dressed in cowpuncher’s outfits arrived at the Rankin Bank, in answer to the banker’s summons. Montrose ushered them into his private office, shutting the door behind them.
“What’s the problem, Montrose?” Ben Reed asked. “You interrupted my visit with a very willing young lady. I don’t appreciate that.”
“Yeah, and I was in the midst of a winning streak,” Tom Pardee complained.
“Just sit down. We have a problem,” Montrose answered. “Light up if you want. This is going to take awhile.”
Both men took seats. Montrose waited while they rolled and lit quirlies before continuing. He lit a cigar, poured a glass of whiskey for himself, and two for the others.
“All right. You saw the body that Ranger brought in this afternoon.”
“Yeah. So what?” Reed grunted.
“That dead man’s John Hunter.”
“Hunter? You mean the hombre who was supposed to retrieve the money we stole and bring it back for us to split?” Pardee demanded.
“The same,” Montrose confirmed.
“Did the Ranger mention findin’ any money on Hunter?” Reed asked.
“No, he didn’t,” Montrose answered. “He claims there was no identification on Hunter’s body, either. I don’t believe him.”
“You mean you think the Ranger is plannin’ on keeping that cash for himself?” Reed questioned.
“That’s a possibility. But I have a feelin’ he’s too honest to do that,” Montrose replied. “Besides, he most likely would have made a run for the border with that money by now if he intended to take off with it.”
“I dunno. Over forty thousand dollars is enough dinero to tempt any man,” Pardee disagreed.
“That’s true,” Montrose admitted. “But let’s assume he’s not keeping the money. That means one of two things. Either, as he claims, there wasn’t anything on Hunter to give us away. More likely, that Ranger went through Hunter’s clothes and saddlebags. He found my letter with the directions to where the money is stashed, and is going to play things close to his vest. He’ll wait to see if anyone else goes after the cache.”
“For that matter, he might’ve killed Hunter right where the money’s hidden,” Reed speculated. “Mebbe he came up on Hunter diggin’ up the loot, surprised him, they shot it out, and Hunter came out on the short end. Now the Ranger’s just bidin’ his time until he can grab the money for himself.”
“Or will wait until someone goes for it, like Montrose says,” Pardee stated. “So what do we do now, Montrose?”
“We’ll wait a bit, perhaps a couple of days,” Montrose answered. “Then you’ll get Stanton, Lennox, and Jackson. You’ll go after that money.”
“What about the Ranger?” Pardee protested. “If you’re right, he’ll be watchin’ for someone to make a move.”
“I want him to follow you,” Montrose explained. “Once you reach the right spot, kill him.”
“Should be easy enough,” Pardee agreed.
“Don’t ever underestimate a Ranger,�
�� Montrose warned.
“I wouldn’t, but this one’s hardly a Ranger,” Pardee sneered.
“Tom’s right,” Reed concurred. “We all heard that kid tell Porter he was the only man Austin could send. He’s still wet behind the ears. I think it’d be a good idea to find out just how tough he really is.”
“He killed Hunter, and Hunter was real good with a gun,” Montrose noted.
“Yeah, but the Ranger must’ve taken him by surprise,” Reed answered. “Let me try’n take him on here in town. Mebbe he’ll turn yellow and run, if he’s up against a real challenge. That’ll solve our problem.”
“You can try if you want,” Montrose answered. “Just remember one thing. Don’t kill him, at least not in town. The last thing we’d need is more Rangers snoopin’ around because one of their own got killed. It’s better to wait until you’ve got that Ranger where no one will ever find his body.”
“We should keep an eye on him, just in case he does leave town real sudden-like,” Pardee advised. “He might just have left the money where it’s at until things have quieted down. That’d be the smart thing to do. After a spell, he could pick up the money and just keep ridin’.”
“That’s a possibility I hadn’t considered,” the banker admitted.
“Don’t worry, Montrose. We’ll take care of the Ranger, one way or another,” Reed assured the banker.
“Good. Now, let’s figure out how to make sure he follows you when you ride out although, I doubt that will be much of a problem. If the Ranger found my letter in Hunter’s possession, he’ll be watching me real closely. Then both of you get out of here. I’ll get word to you
when it’s time to make our move. And remember, don’t think of double-crossin’ me. You’ll regret it.”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Pete awoke just before sundown.
“Slept longer’n I planned,” he muttered. “Reckon I’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow to talk with that banker. ‘Sides, my belly’s growlin’. Been too long since I’ve had a decent meal.”
He found a pitcher and basin on a shelf, and filled these from the pump out back. He washed up, pouring the water over his blonde hair, letting it run down his chest and shoulders. That done, he redressed and headed for the nearest café. There, he ate a meal of steak, boiled potatoes, and green beans, following up with a huge slab of dried-apple pie and several cups of strong black coffee. After supper, Pete spent the next two hours making the rounds of Rankin. He finished his first watch at Jake Butler’s Red Rooster saloon, intending to take a break over a beer or two.
“Howdy, Ranger!” Butler boomed a greeting. “Step right up to the bar. What can I get for you?”
“Evenin’, Mister Butler,” Pete answered. “I’ll have a beer.”
“Comin’ right up, Ranger. And call me Jake.”
Butler filled a mug and placed it in front of Pete, who tossed a dime on the bar.
“That’s for a refill,” he said, then took a swallow of the brew, which, to his surprise, was chilled, unlike the warm beer served in most frontier barrooms.
“Good beer, Jake. It’s even cold.”
“That’s ‘cause I keep the kegs in my cellar. I get ice in the winter, cover it with sawdust, and it lasts most of the summer,” Jake explained.
“Well, it sure tastes good,” Pete replied. He took another swallow.
“Now’s our chance,” Ben Reed hissed to his partner. “Let’s go.”
He and Tom Pardee left their place at the far end of the bar and took up positions on either side of Pete. They didn’t waste any time in taunting the young lawman.
“You must’ve been real lucky, kid, to gun down that hombre,” Reed said.
“Might’ve been,” Pete shrugged, not rising to the bait.
“I’d bet he wasn’t lucky, Ben,” Pardee piped up. “Just sneaky. I’d hazard he drilled that jasper from ambush. A young’n’ll do that, tryin’ to make a reputation for himself.”
“Mebbe we should try and find out,” Reed answered. “What d’ya say, kid?”
“I wouldn’t try it,” Pete warned, his voice low and menacing.
“You gonna let this young pup order you around, Ben?” Pardee sneered.
“No wet behind the ears lawman’ll ever tell me what to do,” Reed replied. He grabbed for his gun.
Instantly, Pete’s hand slashed down and up, jerking his Colt from its holster. He jabbed the barrel deep into Reed’s gut. Reed doubled over, air whooshing from his lungs. Pete brought his pistol down in a streaking arc, slamming it into the base of Reed’s skull. The gunman collapsed, out cold.
Before Pardee could even react, Pete whirled and drove his knee into Pardee’s groin. With a howl of agony, Pardee went to his knees. Pete clubbed his gun barrel onto the top of Pardee’s head. Pardee toppled to the sawdust-covered floor.
“Anyone else want to try something?” Pete challenged, the gun in his hand and the glint in his blue eyes seeming to mark every man in that room for death.
Butler’s voice cut through the dead silence.
“I reckon not, Ranger.”
“Bueno,” Pete said. “I figure a night in a cell will cool these two off. Couple of you help me carry ‘em to the jail. Keep my beer waitin’, Jake. I’ll be back shortly.”
“Will do, Ranger,” Butler grinned. “Morrissey, Hughes, give the Ranger some help.”
Reed and Pardee were hauled to the jail and dumped unceremoniously into one of the cells. They were still lying on the floor, unconscious, when Pete finished his rounds, well after midnight.
3
Three days later, two hours past sundown, Pete followed Reed and Pardee, along with three others, Judd Stanton, Sam Lennox, and Mick Jackson, as they rode out of Rankin. He’d released the pair the morning after the incident in the Red Rooster. Instead of riding out of town, they had remained, hanging around the saloon and nursing their bruises. Then, last night, they had paid a visit to Ebenezer Montrose at his home. Now, they were heading out of town. Pete’s patience in keeping tabs on the banker could be paying off.
“Easy, Trooper,” Pete cautioned the bay. “If my hunch is right, we know where those hombres are headed. No need in chancin’ them spottin’ us. We’ll stay back a ways. Besides, if they do change direction, there’s enough of a moon we can follow their tracks.
Trooper had rested the past several days and was eager to run, but Pete held him to a slow trot. They had gone about five miles when Pete reined in. Even at this slow pace, the Morgan-Quarter cross’s steady gait was bringing them ever closer to the renegades.
“We’re still gainin’ on ‘em, pal,” he told the big gelding. “You might as well take a breather. I have a feelin’ we’ll be seein’ a bellyful of action before long.”
He dug his heels into Trooper’s ribs, putting the horse into a walk.
An hour later, they approached the pond where Pete had been accosted by John Hunter. Pete halted Trooper, then swung out of the saddle.
“Like I figured, those hombres are headed straight for the pond, Troop,” he told his horse. “Reckon I might as well let them dig up that money, and save me the trouble. You wait here while I scout around a bit. I have a feelin’ one or two of those renegades’ll circle around and keep watch for me. It’d sure simplify things for them if they could put a bullet in my back.”
Pete looped Trooper’s reins loosely around a mesquite. The bay could pull free and come at his rider’s whistle.
“You keep quiet,” Pete ordered his horse. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Trooper nuzzled Pete’s shoulder, then fell to munching on the mesquite pods. Pete slipped into the dark. A few moments later, he was overlooking the pond.
“Just where I figured they’d be,” he muttered. Three of the men were digging alongside a large boulder, while the fourth stood guard. A good-sized fire illuminated their work area.
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“Don’t see the fifth hombre, though. Sure wish I knew where he’s at. I’d feel a heap more comfortable knowin’ he’s not linin’ his gunsights on my spine.”
Pete lifted his Colt from its holster and settled behind a fallen log, to watch and wait until the stolen money was unearthed.
It was half-an-hour later when Judd Stanton grunted in satisfaction.
“Got it.”
He lifted several canvas sacks from the hole.
“We could just take this cash and head for Mexico,” Mike Jackson suggested.
“I wouldn’t chance it,” Ben Reed advised. “Montrose has a long reach. He’d track us down for certain.”
“Sam’s right,” Tom Pardee agreed. “Let’s not get greedy. Our shares are still plenty.”
“Speaking of long reaches, I wonder what happened to the Ranger,” Stanton mentioned.
“Mebbe he didn’t find our tracks, or wasn’t clever enough to follow us after all,” Reed speculated. “Sam’s out there watchin’ for him, and I haven’t heard any gunshots. Let’s just get this money on our saddles and head back to town. With any luck we’ll run into the Ranger on our way.”
Pete’s voice cracked like a whip.
“You won’t have to look for me. I’m right here, Reed. All of you get your hands up.”
“It’s the Ranger!” Jackson exclaimed. He went for his gun. Pete dropped him with a bullet in the chest.
The others scattered, yanking guns from holsters. Pete’s next shot grazed Pardee before the outlaw could dive out of the circle of firelight.
The outlaws fired blindly, unable to see Pete in the darkness. He had rolled to a new spot by the time they were able to locate his gun flashes.
A shot from behind him plunked into Pete’s lower ribs. He grunted from the impact, flopped onto his back, and returned fire. Another shot rang out, digging into the log. Pete aimed just to the left of the gun flash, and was rewarded with a yelp of agony. Sam Lennox, hands pressed to his middle, stumbled out of the dark and collapsed onto the fire. The acrid odors of singed fabric and flesh filled the air, while the clearing was plunged into darkness.
The Faith and the Rangers Page 10
