by Cotton Smith
Carlow sought a lamp from the bedside table. Its trembling light did little to drive away the grayness of the room.
“How bad is it, Ranger?” the man asked, patting his shoulder with his left arm and staring at the blood on his hand.
“Don’t know. Where’s your friend? The bald-headed one?”
“Jake didn’t want any part of this. He went back to Atkins’s ranch this morning. I think he’s gonna keep ridin’. Didn’t like any of this.”
Carlow opened the lone closet. “Tell me why I should believe you.”
“Guess you shouldn’t.” The cowboy’s face was white. “Oh my God, it hurts somethin’ awful.”
“Tell me one more thing. If you’re lying, I will find you,” Carlow said. “Is this more of Wittlock’s doing?”
The man groaned and pleaded for something to stop the pain.
“I asked you a question.”
“I h-hurt s-so bad. Oh, Lord.”
“Answer me or I’ve leave and you’ll bleed to death,” Carlow spat.
“Y-yes, T-Thomas w-was afraid his n-new wife would run off with you,” the man whimpered. “Paid us two hundred each to kill you. On top of the fifty to…ah, beat you up. Don’t know how much he p-paid Atkins. They’re friends, ya know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Heavy footsteps made Carlow turn toward the open door, and Marshal Ballis and a man Carlow assumed was a doctor entered. Grimly, the sheriff told him there would be no hearing; it had definitely been self-defense.
Minutes later, the young Ranger walked out of the hotel. Atkins’s body lay where he had fallen. Carlow’s mind was whirling with conflict. Wittlock had paid to have him killed. What should he do? Jeremiah deserved a father; Ellie deserved a good life.
Halfway across the street, he saw Jeremiah open the store door and run toward him. Chance was at his heels. A white bandage signaled the wolf-dog had been hurt, but not badly, it appeared.
“Are you all right?” Jeremiah asked breathlessly. “I was worried.”
“So was I, Jeremiah.”
The boy explained what had happened to Chance and that his mother had removed the splinter, treated the wound and bandaged it. Carlow knelt to examine his wolf-dog and patted him gratefully.
“Tell her I appreciate that, Jeremiah,” Carlow said, and headed for his horse.
Jeremiah’s face turned from worry to sadness. “Chance saved my life. He jumped on me. He was going to take a bullet. For me.”
“Reckon he thinks a lot of you, Jeremiah.” Carlow bit his lower lip and looked away.
“Got to go, Jeremiah,” Carlow said, trying not to let the boy’s eyes change his mind. “There’s a gang killing good people. I’ve got to find them.”
“I know Ma would like you to stay. So would Mrs. Jacobs. I heard them.”
“That’s real nice. You take good care of your mother, all right?” Carlow pulled the reins from the hitching rack and swung into the saddle.
He couldn’t remember feeling so weary. It wasn’t just from the lack of sleep. Ellie’s marriage lay on his mind like a boulder. So did the realization that her husband had tried to have him murdered. He tried to focus on what was ahead and couldn’t. If it were any other situation, any other man, he would have him arrested for murder. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Ellie had made her choice. Arresting Wittlock would only make things worse for her. That would be his real gift to her—and to her new husband.
“Good-bye, Jeremiah,” Carlow said, and kicked his horse into a lope.
Chance barked at the boy and ran after them.
The boy stood and watched him go, twin tears racing down his cheeks.
Carlow stopped his horse and reined him toward the Wittlock & Carlson Land Attorneys and Real Estate Agents law office. He jumped down and stomped inside.
Thomas Wittlock looked up from his desk, trying to appear busy. He had watched the gunfight from the street. Under several sheets of paper was a Smith & Wesson revolver. He had taken it from his desk drawer this morning. At one moment, he had thought he might be able to join in the shooting without anyone realizing it. He had quickly discarded the idea when he saw Carlow in action.
Carlow folded his arms. “Wittlock, I should have you arrested for conspiracy to murder. Don’t say anything.” He pointed with his left hand. “And, for God’s sake, don’t try to go for that gun. Ellie doesn’t need to be a widow. Again.”
The businessman stared down at the papers, then lifted them, acting surprised at what he saw. He shivered and dropped the papers, holding his hands away.
“Do you realize your new son could have been shot out there?” Carlow’s voice was barely controlled. Rage coated each word. “You stupid fool.”
“I-I d-don’t…”
“I said, don’t talk. I know you paid them to kill me. I know it,” Carlow snarled. “Jeremiah needs a father—and Ellie deserves a good husband—or you wouldn’t walk away from this.” He cocked his head to the side. “If you knew anything about Ellie, you’d know she’d never leave you. For me, or anyone. No way.” He rubbed his chin. “If I ever hear about you mistreating either of them, I’ll come back—and finish this.” He took a deep breath to release the venom within. “Now, get up off your butt and go down to Mrs. Jacobs’s to make sure they’re all right.” He spun to leave, then wheeled and turned back. “Almost forgot. Portland’s ranch. If there’s no legitimate heir—and there isn’t—I want that ranch to go to Russell Erickson. He’s a good man—and he needs a break.” Carlow glared at Wittlock, who couldn’t bring himself to look at him. “Whatever he’s got saved should be enough to buy the place. Right?” Carlow took a step forward. “I asked you a question.”
“Ah, yes…right.”
“Good. An’ if there are any back taxes, you’ll take care of them. Right?”
“Right.”
“Good. I’ll be checking.” Carlow spun again and left.
Wittlock leaned down and vomited into the open drawer.
Chapter Sixteen
A late afternoon sun was stretching itself over the land as Carlow rode up to Angel’s adobe house. His face and hands were sore from the fighting, but the swelling around his eye had retreated. Worse, his soul was aching. He wouldn’t have come to Angel’s place so soon, but the telegram had indicated they needed to ride.
He had kept Shadow at a steady pace, but the big horse loved to travel fast and long. Chance was barely in sight. Twice Carlow had stopped to give his horse a breather and to let the wolf-dog catch up, once near the grave sites. The small wound on Chance’s back didn’t seem to be bothering him, but Carlow had checked it anyway.
Stepping from the doorway, the big Irishman waved and hailed him warmly. “Dia duit!” Kileen’s gunbelt was thrown over his shoulder.
Carlow tried to smile at the old Irish greeting of “God to you,” and replied, “God and Mary to you,” in Irish, as was the custom.
“Dia is Muire duit.”
The big Irishman was more than a little surprised to see his nephew so soon, but it didn’t take long for Carlow to share the news about Ellie and the orders from McNelly’s telegrams. Kileen was more interested in what had happened to his nephew. By the time Angel came outside, Kileen knew the whole story and was saddened for his beloved nephew and disturbed by the news about the killings in San Antonio, especially the death of their fellow Ranger.
“What ees thees?” Angel declared, waving her arms. “Why ees my two hombres lookin’ so…how you say it, long in the faces?”
Carlow licked his lower lip and told her the same story. Immediately, she rushed to him, hugged him and said, “She ees not bueno for mi hijo. No.” She held his bruised face with both hands and stared into it. “Eet does nothing to be sad. You must ride away from eet. There is mucho to love about life. Angel knows.”
Patting her hands with his own, Carlow said, “It’s good to see you.”
“Come in!” Angel exclaimed. “You an’ Beeg Thunder come in while Angel cooks ze fine supper. Then
maybe we should ride to Bennett—and straighten some people out,” Angel said, her dark eyes dancing. “There ees some who need thees straightenin’.” She cocked her head. “I weel straighten thees Señorita Ellie. You straighten Señor Wittlock.”
Carlow looked at Kileen and shook his head.
“No, we cannot be doin’ such.”
She grinned widely—and wickedly—and kissed Kileen, then hurried inside.
“Maybe you should settle down. Here. With Angel,” Carlow said. “She is a good woman. You are good for each other.”
Gazing down at the just-arriving Chance, Kileen said, “We be talking about it. Angel an’ me. But not yet, me son. Not yet.” He slapped Carlow on the shoulder. “We be Rangers, ye know.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Carlow said.
“Aye, women can be difficult to know, me son.”
Carlow chuckled. “No, I mean these murders. They have to be connected to Tanneman in some way. It’s too much of a coincidence.”
Silence indicated Kileen either wasn’t ready to talk about it or had no idea of what was happening either.
“What be happenin’ to the spirit wolf?” Kileen asked, kneeling to pet Chance and changing the subject.
“Oh, he got hit with a sliver of wood. From the sidewalk. He was lying on top of Jeremiah to protect him when the gunfight was going on. Ellie fixed him up good.”
“Ellie did, did she?”
Kileen stood and made a two-inch gap with his thumb and forefinger. “A wee bit o’ hot coffee would be good, me lad. Aye, ‘tis a bad thing when a fine Ranger be killed. An’ a judge and district attorney. An’ the good lad who stood for juryin’. Especially in a town like San Antonio.”
Carlow slapped the reins against his own leg. “Captain must think ol’ Julian is their next target. His telegram almost says that.” He motioned toward the corral. “Better get saddled. It’s a long ride to his place.”
“Easy, me lad. Easy,” Kileen said. “ ‘Tis nowhere ye be goin’ with that fine hoss o’ yours. Hot and sweaty he be. Too good a hoss to be run into the ground, lad. Ye know it’s the truth me be speakin’.” He laid a big paw on Carlow’s shoulder. “Tomorrow. First light. That be soon enough.”
Carlow shook his head. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.” He turned to his horse and rubbed his nose. “You think Julian will ride with us again? He just gave all that up.”
Kileen’s face was a full frown. “ ‘Tis unlikely he be turnin’ down the captain hisself, me lad.”
“Yeah, he warned us to be on the lookout. While we ride.”
“Sure ‘n we will be,” Kileen said and motioned toward the corral. “Ye be puttin’ up your fine steed there. After a good rubdown. No water ‘til he’s cool.”
Carlow smiled. He knew better than his uncle how to care for a horse.
“Did you ever hear any mention of a Rose gang? From the banks they robbed?” Carlow folded his arms, holding the reins with his hand.
Kileen glanced at the house. “Aye, don’t ye remember? There was talk about a gang hidin’. Outside, they were. Waitin’ to be shootin’ any o’ the lovelies who came out of the bank too soon.” He crossed himself and added, “ ‘Tis the workin’ of the Rose gang all right. The bloody blaggards.” He stared at his nephew’s face again. “Angel be havin’ some salve that’ll do yourself good.”
The two Rangers entered the eastern gate of Mirabile’s small ranch and knew immediately something was wrong. Morning sun was on their backs. They were weary, but alert. The ride had been hard, having left as soon as Kileen could pull himself away from Angel. Their overnight camp had been a good one.
“Hold it right there, strangers.” The command was harsh and supported by a levered Henry in the hands of a young man. Beside him was an older Mexican with a similar weapon.
Both Kileen and Carlow held their hands away from their bodies.
“We be comin’ to see Julian. An old friend he be. Of the Rangers, we are,” Kileen stated.
“Rangers? Where are your badges?” the young man demanded, waving his gun.
“They be in our pockets,” Kileen answered. “Not a good idea to be wearin’ the fine things while ridin’.”
The young man looked like he didn’t understand. “That a wolf with you boys?”
“No. He’s not,” Carlow said.
“I was thinking about shooting it.”
“Good thing for you that you didn’t try.” Carlow’s voice was thick with threat.
The young man frowned. “Looks like you’ve already been in a fight.”
Carlow smiled. “Yeah, I have.”
“Aye. He be whipping three thugs who attacked him,” Kileen said proudly. “Aye, three.”
The conversation was interrupted by a graying woman bursting from the ranch house.
“It’s all right, Nelson. Those are friends of Julian’s. When he was a Ranger.”
She walked past the two armed men and directly to Kileen, who swung down and gave her a hug.
“Julian’s been murdered, Thunder,” she said. Her eyes were too dry to cry more. “We buried him yesterday.”
“By all that’s holy, when did this awful thing happen?” Kileen’s eyes glared at the two waiting men.
Mirabile’s widow was the only witness. Three days ago, he had been shot to death outside of his corral, just after breakfast. From long range, a hillside a hundred yards away. She said the killer had been wearing a long black coat and had a rifle with a scope and a sling. She had seen the weapon clearly when he stood up and tipped his hat at her and yelled out the German greeting, “Guten Tag!” His hair had been long, stringy and gray under his hat. He had ridden away on a gray horse, in the direction of the town of Strickland.
“Had a full mask over his face. Made of wood, I think,” she continued.
Carlow stared at her, not believing what he was hearing. This couldn’t be. Was there really a gang taking revenge on the men who had stopped the Rose brothers? He swung down from his horse, introduced himself and said he had always admired Julian Mirabile’s approach to duty. He told her why they had come, of the other recent murders by masked men and the possible gang connection to Tanneman and Hillis Rose. He didn’t mention the captain’s orders; asking Mirabile to become a Ranger didn’t matter now.
Her face was a mixture of shock and sadness. “Y-you should have been here…three days ago. I-I thought h-he was through with all t-this…violence.” She turned away and held her hands to her face.
Carlow suggested Kileen walk her to the house while he talked with the two men. The big Irishman put an arm around the weeping woman and led her away, talking more softly than Carlow had ever witnessed.
Quick introductions determined the younger man was Julian’s son, Nelson; Carlos Mide, the Mexican, was the only permanent hand. Neither had seen the murder; they had been working cattle. Carlow guessed the killer had planned it that way. He tied up the two horses at one of the corral posts and told Chance to stay with them.
As they walked, Mide asked about Chance and Carlow told him—in a handful of sentences—how the two of them had met up. He left out the part about Kileen thinking the wolf-dog was actually his friend’s spirit. Nelson was interested in knowing if Kileen’s statement about Carlow beating three men was true; Carlow explained what had happened, but left out why, as well as the subsequent attempt to kill him.
Nelson and Mide took the young Ranger to the killer’s place of concealment, an elevated rock shelf that gave a perfect view of Mirabile’s ranch house and surrounding buildings and corrals.
The killer had been there most of a day, judging from the empty cans. Carlow saw that the man had smoked a pipe; there were three places where he had emptied the burned tobacco.
Tracks from the man’s getaway horse had no particular distinction, only that they headed toward the closest town, but there couldn’t be many gray horses there. The most puzzling part of this crime was why the killer had ridden an easily identifiable horse,
especially when he was clearly headed for a town.
After examining the surrounding brush, Carlow walked back to the two grieving men and asked, “Any strangers around recently? Anybody who’d profit if your dad were out of the way?”
“No to both, I reck…” Nelson said, then stopped as Mide touched his shoulder and reminded him of the peddler who had come by a week ago.
“Oh yeah, Carlos just reminded me,” Nelson continued. “There was an old peddler with a wagon full of things to sell. Came by the ranch about a week ago. It couldn’t be him, though. He was one-armed, sounded kinda slow. In the head, you know. Might’ve been from Missouri. Had one of those funny drawls.”
“Ever see him before?”
“No, can’t say that I have. Of course, peddlers come and go, you know.” Nelson scratched his boot toe along the rock. “Should’ve stayed home. Should’ve stayed home.”
“Hey, you’ve got nothing to apologize for.” Carlow reached out and held Nelson’s arm for an instant. “You were doing what your father wanted you to do.”
“Doesn’t help much.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“What are you Rangers going to do now?” Nelson Mirabile asked.
“Ride for Strickland and talk with the marshal there, first. Ranger Kileen knows him,” Carlow said. “Learn what we can. Then we’ll wire the captain with the news.”
“Oh, he knows Lark, huh?” Nelson said. “Strange one, he is. One of them Brit soldiers come over here.”
“That’s what I hear.”
“We’d like to ride with you,” Nelson said, patting his rifle.
“Si, we ride, Señor Ranger,” Carlos Mide affirmed.
Carlow studied the two men. “Thanks, Nelson, Carlos, but you need to stay here. With your mother, Nelson. She needs you more than we do right now.” He paused and his tired shoulders rose and fell. “Besides, we don’t know if he might circle back.”
“Si.”
“All right, I guess.”
“I know it’s hard, Nelson,” Carlow said. “Your father was a great Ranger. Taught me a lot. We won’t stop until we find the bastard who killed him.”
