by J. Lee Butts
“You know the local law there, Boz?”
“Yeah. Town marshal’s an old friend. Name’s Caleb Oakley. Fine feller. Used to Ranger with me down on the border around Reynosa a few years back.”
“Well, let’s get at it. Put on some speed and we could be back to civilization in a couple of hours.”
Got Buster loaded onto a pole drag, and on our way in pretty short order. Brought his poor limpin’ buckskin cayuse along as well. Pulled into Salt Valley ’bout an hour or so past noon.
Bustling village had the typical appearance of most small Texas towns of the 1880s. Sliced by two or three lesser east-to-west avenues, a single north-to-south through street ran for about two hundred yards before petering out on the north end of town. Lined on either side by a variety of clapboard buildings. The village fathers had actually planted trees at precise intervals along the main thoroughfare. Town buzzed with farmers and ranchers, and was a more-than-welcome sight.
Stopped in front of the marshal’s office and jail. Boz said, “I’ll take care of this, Lucius. Why don’t you head on over to the Holy Moses Saloon and Restaurant yonder. Corner a table. Order us up a steak dinner and a bottle.”
Sounded like a fine plan to me. Nodded my agreement, and eased Grizz back across the main thoroughfare. Climbed down and tied him to the hitch rail out front of what appeared to be Salt Valley’s premier liquor-pouring and eating establishment. Heavy plate-glass window revealed a glistening bar and cloth-covered tables decorated with picked flowers and real silverware. Couldn’t help but shake my head in amused wonderment.
Used my hat to slap as much dust off myself as I could. Must have resembled a living dirt devil there for a spell. Grit swirled around as I tried to dance my way out of the grimy cloud.
Started for the combination saloon-restaurant’s batwing doors. Had my hand on top of one of them when thunderous gunfire, three or four doors down the boardwalk, got my attention. Commotion inside the Farmer’s and Rancher’s Bank sent folks out in the street scurrying in every direction. Women screamed. Horses nearest the action went into a panic.
’Bout the time I pulled my pistols, two fellers wearing bandannas over their faces busted through the bank’s fancy, carved-mahogany and glass double doors. Both men carried stuffed bags in one hand, pistols in the other, and headed for animals tied out front.
Thieves set to blazing away at anything they could see that moved. First thing they hit was a draft horse attached to a beer wagon. One of the wild-shooting bandits sent a skin-singeing slug across his haunches. Wounded beast let out a terrible shriek of pain and surprise. Animal bolted at breakneck speed and headed for parts unknown. Untethered beer barrels bounced out of the wagon’s bed and flew all over the street.
Ducked behind the saloon’s door frame. Tried to hide myself. Hadn’t been there more’n a second or so when, from the corner of my eye, I spotted a woman and a small child in the middle of the street. They’d been unfortunate enough to be dead center of the roadway when all the indiscriminate blasting started, and had nowhere to run. Woman hunkered down and wrapped herself around the youngster like a living blanket. Their deadly plight spurred me into unthinking action.
Jumped into the thoroughfare. Ran directly toward the robbers and a sizzling wall of pistol fire. Got myself planted between the distressed lady and the shooters. Stupid jack-asses couldn’t get themselves horsed. Their skittish animals, spooked by all the noise and violent activity, danced and twirled as the panicked robbers continued to blaze away. Bullets flew around me like angry Mexican hornets.
Paused, took careful aim, and snapped off a round that drilled the tallest of the two stickup artists dead center as he tried to climb aboard his animal. Got him right where he was biggest. Shot knocked the gunman back to the ground. Appeared to me he probably saw the bottoms of his own boots on the way down. One foot got jammed up in a stirrup. Frightened pony dragged his limp body away.
Downed man’s panic-stricken partner turned and thumbed off at least three rounds that zipped past my head and kicked up dirt near my feet. He exhausted one weapon, shoved it into a hip holster, then went for his belly gun.
I took a few more steps in the thief’s direction. Was about to unload on him from both smoke wagons when a third brigand jumped through the bank’s open doors. Ripped off a shot that knocked my hat into the air. Hot lead burned a deep crease just above my ear.
Of a sudden, most of the color went out of the world. Felt like I’d been hit in the head with a long-handled shovel. Grabbed at the bloody crease, went to my knees, and rolled onto my back. Both shooters had me in their sights by then. Hot slugs pounded the ground all around me while I rolled in the dirt. Remember thinking as how they’d have the range soon enough.
My eyes didn’t want to work right. Everything I could still see turned a murky mix of red, gray, and black. Held my blood-covered hand up in front of my face, but couldn’t count the fingers. Could hear people yelling, but the words didn’t make no sense. Got this taste in my mouth like I’d been sucking on a copper penny freshly dug up after years in the ground.
Then, as God is my witness, just before much-desired unconsciousness reached up and jerked me into a sticky, red pit, a black-haired angel, dressed in white, appeared by my side. She held the hand of a pink-cheeked, cherub-faced child. Her skirts billowed out on the hot breezes as she bent over me.
The youngster touched me on the forehead and said, “Don’t worry, mister, my mommy will save you.”
Time turned into something like molasses in January, but I swear ’fore Jesus the woman said, “Give me your pistol, sir.”
She took one of the weapons from my unfeeling hand, stood, turned sidewise like a New Orleans-trained duelist, and fired, at least twice, before I completely blacked out. God reached down and tipped me into a hole so deep, it felt like I’d never be able to crawl out. Could still hear shots being fired when the blackness claimed me body and soul.
2
“. . . THERE’S GONNA BE HELL TO PAY . . .”
CLAWED MY MUDDY-HEADED way back from the other side, and found myself stretched out on a lumpy cot in one of Marshal Caleb Oakley’s spartan jail cells. Boz sat next to me in a straight-backed, cane-bottomed chair. Wafting smoke from his well-chewed panatela smelled mighty good. He noticed my eyes had opened. The tougher-than-boot-heels Ranger smiled, leaned over, and offered me a sip of water from a tin dipper he pulled out of a wooden bucket.
“Feeling better there, pard? You’ve been gone between thirty minutes and an hour. Knew you weren’t all that bad off. Seen you get hurt a helluva lot worse at least a dozen times.”
As I sipped from the dipper, heard Buster Caldwell grumble from somewhere, “Wuz hopin’ the son of a bitch had died myself. Wish all you Rangers a blood-spittin’ departure, and an early welcome in Satan’s fiery pit, by God.”
Boz glanced to a spot somewhere over the top of my head and snapped, “Shut your stupid mouth, Buster. You may be wounded and locked up, but that won’t keep me from comin’ in there and stompin’ a ditch in your sorry woman-killin’ backside.”
Coughed, and fingered the bandage on my head. “How’d that dance in the street finally play out?”
He ignored my question. “Local doc says you’ve got a nice new groove in your skull bone there, Lucius. Said not to mess with the dressing for a day or so. Best heed the man’s warnin’ and stop fingerin’ around on it. Wouldn’t want to start you bleedin’ again.”
“My ears are still ringing like chapel bells in a Mexican church. Suppose maybe I should consider myself lucky.” Kept picking at the bandage.
Boz reached over and pulled my hand away from the swath of crusted gauze. “Well, you’re a sight better off than them bank robbers. Two of them boys got sent to Jesus for His immediate attention. One feller’s wounded. He’ll live on. You put a slug in his side a little below his gun belt. Bullet came out his left buttock.” He snickered and added, “Feller ain’t gonna sit a horse anytime soon and goin’ to the outhous
e is gonna be a totally new experience.”
Mumbled, “Knew I hit at least one feller. Seen his horse drag him away. One of them boys musta got lucky.” Of a sudden I remembered the woman. “Strangest thing happened just ’fore I passed out, Boz. Who killed that other one?”
Boz shook his head. Thumped ashes from his smoke onto the floor. “Hard to fathom, but that ’un as you shot came loose from his pony and managed to stand. And you ain’t gonna come nowhere toward believin’ what happened next.”
“Black-haired angel in a white dress stepped in?”
“How’d you know that?”
“Saw her before I went under. Leastways, thought I saw her. Figure from your response she was real—weren’t she?”
“Oh, she was real enough. Hope to God I don’t ever have to get into a lead-pitchin’ contest with that particular woman. Gal can handle a pistol like John Wesley Hardin on his best day. Let me get Caleb. Have him tell you all about the lady. Old lawman’s well acquainted with her.”
He patted me on the shoulder, stood, and jingled his way back to the jail’s outer office. Heard voices but, once again, couldn’t tell what got said. Came to think as how the head wound had affected my hearing some. Still couldn’t see right either. Had strange, odd-shaped, floating spots behind my eyes that created vision gaps. Made concentration an effort.
Guess I must have drifted off. Came back again when a feller with a face like a chewed-leather saddlebag, and sporting a droopy white moustache, gently shook my arm. He cast a grandfatherly smile my direction, sat in Boz’s recently vacated chair, and appeared to gaze down at me with something akin to genuine concern.
“Right sorry you got hurt, young feller.” Marshal Caleb Oakley’s deep baritone voice went miles toward solidifying an almost godlike appearance. “This kind of gunplay just don’t happen in Salt Valley very often. In fact, today’s the first time such deadly events have transpired since I took over as marshal. This here’s my town, and it’s usually a peaceful little place.”
Tried to lean up on one uncooperative elbow, but dizziness and creeping nausea put me on my back in a hurry. Held a trembling hand over my sweat-covered brow and said, “Boz tells me you know the fine-shooting lady who stepped up and saved me, Marshal.”
“Not well, but I do know who she is. Must admit I didn’t have no idea she could put on a shootin’ display the likes of what folks witnessed in the street today, though.” He cut his answer short. Didn’t seem inclined to go any further unless prodded.
“Any possibility you could tell me her name? Would like very much to thank her when I’m up and about. Maybe send a note, if I’m not able to do the deed in person.”
“Name’s Dianna Savage. Mrs. Dianna Savage. She and the child showed up in town ’bout a year back. One thing everyone seems privy to about Mrs. Savage is that she doesn’t appear to need for anything in the way of money. Bought a house and right fine piece of property out on the far north edge of town, ’bout a mile from the sawmill. Paid every penny in cash to banker Hiram King. Keeps pretty much to herself. Nothing as I’ve witnessed in her past demeanor would have indicated a capability for what transpired out in the street today.”
“So, take it she has a husband around someplace?”
“Not as I, or anyone else, know of. Story most of the womenfolk around town tell, over their weekly washing, is that her man got his sad self killed when a horse fell on him year or so ’fore she settled in these parts. Most tend to believe she came to us from over near Waco, but ain’t no one makin’ any serious coin bettin’ on that particular piece of information. Being a seriously private person, she ain’t sayin’ one way or t’other.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll make it a point to stroll by and express my heartfelt thanks quick as I can get off this cot and out of your cell.”
Oakley got right thoughtful-looking. Slowly ran a hand through his iron-gray hair. “Don’t mean to throw water on your thinkin’, but there might be a small problem with your plans, son.”
“What kind of problem?” I asked.
“Appears one of the fellers Mrs. Savage blasted to Kingdom Come, whilst in the process of savin’ your valuable hide, was none other than the infamous west Texas badman Reuben Coffin.”
The name dropped between us like a rancid corpse. Every Ranger in Texas worth his salt had heard something awful about the light-fingered and lethal Coffin brothers. Most notable of the deadly pair of ruffians was a hard-eyed killer named Nate. All of a sudden, and on top of the throbbing ache from my newly acquired skull decoration, a piercing pain like an ice pick speared through a spot somewhere behind my right eye.
Rubbed my throbbing temple and said, “Not thinking straight, Marshal. Did you just say that Mrs. Savage killed Nate Coffin’s worthless brother?”
“Baby brother, as a pure matter of absolute fact. Loved by everyone in their extensive family—including a cadre of aunts, uncles, and soft-brained cousins who live in, and around, Carrizo Springs. Way I’ve got it figured, the straight-shootin’ Mrs. Savage has about three weeks left amongst the living once Nate Coffin finds out what happened here in Salt Valley today.”
Rolled onto my back and moaned. Used a heavy arm to shield my eyes from the sunlight pouring through a barred window above the cot. Mumbled, “Thought Nate Coffin and his boys pretty much worked the area around Uvalde, Del Rio, and Eagle Pass. Last I heard, Nate killed a couple of cowboys over close to Crystal City ’cause they insulted his hat.”
“Hadn’t heard that ’un, but it wouldn’t surprise me none. Must be at least fifty gruesome and gory stories goin’ ’round ’bout how he’s killed the hell out of a boatload of innocents for a lot less in the way of provocation.”
Peeked at him from beneath my shirtsleeve. “You truly believe Coffin would show up here and murder Mrs. Savage?”
Man shook his head like a tired dog. “Way news travels these days, and especially news like that of a woman killing no less than Reuben Coffin in a stand-up gunfight, no doubt about it. Tale of this shooting will be all over Hell and Texas inside a week. Figure Mrs. Savage will be under the ground ’fore the month’s out. And I’ll probably go in a grave right beside her when I try to stop the inevitable.” Oakley leaned forward and propped his head in his hands. “Lady mighta saved your life today, Lucius. But there’s gonna be hell to pay for how she went about it.”
Fought off the dizziness, forced myself upright, and swung my legs over the edge of the cot. Reached out and placed my hand on the old marshal’s sagging shoulder. Boz appeared at the cell door with a fresh cup of coffee in one hand and his unfinished panatela in the other.
I said, “Long as I’m living, Caleb, you and Mrs. Savage are safe as newborn babes. Swear on my father’s grave, if any of the Coffin family shows up, they’ll have to kill me to get to either of you.”
Boz laughed, then said, “Same here. I’ve had a run-in or two with the elder Coffin some years ago. Murderous rogue is still carryin’a chunk of my lead. He don’t scare me none.”
Felt some better the next morning when Boz shook me awake and handed me a big plate of scrambled eggs, a slab of ham, and a fine-smelling cup of Marshal Oakley’s special belly wash. Sat them on a stool near the bed and tried to eat a bit. But the ache in the side of my head left me to sip at the cup more than anything else.
“How’s that ironbound noggin of yours, boy?”
Gingerly checked out the bandage-covered wrinkle over my ear with the tips of trembling fingers. “Well, it has stopped bleeding. Seems a mite improved. Don’t hurt near like it did yesterday. Leastways, not yet. Might want to check back in about two hours. Should be throbbin’ pretty good by then.”
Surprised me more’n a little when my partner shot me a conspiratorial smile, leaned over, and whispered, “Someone special here to see you, Lucius. Think you’re gonna be right pleased with this particular visitor.”
He stepped aside, and there stood the stunning Dianna Savage. My God but she was a beauty. Tall, narrow-waisted, ample-bosomed
, full-hipped, black hair done in a fashionable, upswept bun. Unblemished complexion and the naturally reddest lips I’d ever seen on a woman. Made a mental note as how my eye-catching guest bore a striking resemblance to a heavenly being portrayed in a painting that hung in the foyer of the Tarrant County Court House. Picture was a portrayal of a winged seraph leading small children over a fast-running creek in a dense forest. Amazing image had the power to stop me dead in my tracks for a viewing every time I passed it. Tried to stand and act the gentleman.
“Please don’t trouble yourself, sir,” Mrs. Savage said, and waved me back to my seat on the cot.
“Thank you. I’m still a mite fuzzy-headed today.”
No reluctance or hesitation. She boldly stepped forward and offered her hand. The lady had a cool, firm grip. “I am most pleased to see you’re doing somewhat better, Mr. Dodge. Given the way you looked a few moments after we first met, I had my doubts you’d enjoy another day amongst the living.”
“My sentiments exactly, Mrs. Savage. Please tell me, is your child safe and well?”
“Yes indeed, sir. My son’s well-being is the precise reason for my hasty and unannounced visit this morning. I came to offer my sincerest thanks for your efforts at saving us from those killers. Had you not stepped up to the situation, and bodily placed yourself at peril between us and them, I am convinced William and I would have surely died in the dust of Main Street during yesterday’s bloody altercation.”
A crystalline tear rolled down her flawless cheek. She dabbed at it with a small white kerchief and, though racked with emotion, did a curtsy that slowly turned into a royally regal and well-practiced bow. Her chin touched her chest as she almost whispered, “I am eternally in you debt, Ranger Dodge.”
Stunned, flattered, and somewhat embarrassed by such a display, I motioned for her to rise. Eventually her head came up and she gazed into my eyes. “Please, Mrs. Savage, I’m the one who should be thanking you. If my muddled memory serves, you reciprocated my feeble efforts and came to my aid at a most opportune instance. And if what Ranger Tatum and Marshal Oakley tell me is even close to the truth, your courageous conduct during the previous day’s attempted robbery bordered on the astonishing.”
