Nate Coffin's Revenge

by J. Lee Butts

  “What the hell are you sayin’, Ox? Damnation, this ain’t nothin’ like what I had in mind.”

  Turnbow flipped up the peep sight on the Sharps, shouldered the weapon, and peered down the barrel. “Well, what did you have in mind, mi amigo bueno?”

  “Well, think the three of us should ride in, kill as many as we can, and take the woman back. Each of us can easily blast hell out of seven of ’em, and the whole party’s over— right then and there. Gunsmoke and blood, by God, them’s the only things men like Coffin, and those skunks as work for him, understand.”

  I said, “Far as it goes, Boz, I think you’re right. And given any other time and place, I’d be by your side blazin’ away in such an endeavor. But if Dianna Savage is still present at Coffin’s stronghold, those who took the girl might kill her before we can get in and do anything by way of savin’ her. Don’t know as how I could live with such an unacceptable outcome.”

  Turnbow breeched the massive weapon in his lap, examined the action with a cocked eye, and said, “If nothin’ else, they’s one thing we gotta do immediatelike.”

  Pulled tobacco and makin’s from my shirt pocket. “What would that be?”

  Ox snapped, “Git rid of that stink sprayer, Harkey. We don’t need ’im. The man’s a liability in the best of circumstances and could very well be a spy.”

  “But he has to show us the way,” Boz offered.

  “Hell, everyone around these parts knows how to get to Nate Coffin’s place. I could find that rat’s nest in my sleep. Trust me, fellers, we don’t have any need of Harkey. And more importantly, he could end up gettin’ us kilt if’n we didn’t watch his sorry hide every minute. I don’t trust back-shootin’, scurvy little curs like Harkey any farther than I can throw an anvil. We gotta git shed of him right now. Cain’t wait.”

  Boz grudgingly took the responsibility of telling Harkey to hit the trail running. Man didn’t like the way things turned out in the least. Wanted to argue the point for a spell. I soon got the impression Turnbow had rightly spotted something in him neither Boz nor I had figured on.

  Eventually the old Ranger stepped into the rising fracas himself. He waved the Sharps in the nervy outlaw’s face and told him how the cow ate the cabbage. Agitated bandit fogged out pretty quick, once he knew his life might actually be in some serious jeopardy again.

  Guess he’d just about got completely out of sight when Ox said, “Damn. Now as I think on it, fellers, mighta been best to have kilt the belly-slinkin’ snake. Bet he runs straight to Coffin.”

  “Let ’im,” I said.

  “Why so?”

  “Probably just as well word gets around as how there’s angry Rangers about and what they’re doin’ in these parts. Coffin should have already heard somethin’, bein’ as we done went and locked up a number of his boys over in Uvalde. If ole Nate knows we’re comin’, maybe he’ll think twice about doin’ anything real stupid. Man has to know that if he or his kills either or both of us, the whole of west Texas will be knee-deep in red-eyed Rangers faster’n a humming-bird’s heartbeat.”

  Boz said, “You’re right, Lucius, but I’m with Ox on this ’un. Think we probably shoulda killed Harkey.”

  Went back to our cups, decided on the plan pert near the way I’d outlined it. Ox said, “They’s a little tree-shaded hill ’bout five hundred yards from Coffin’s front porch. Ideal spot to hide our animals and get the Sharps unlimbered. With Boz spottin’ for me, I can easily kill anything what moves. Hell, I can do it without him spottin’ for me. Kilt many a buffalo alone. Men is just as easy to dispatch as big dumb animals when they ain’t expectin’ it.”

  Boz allowed as how he’d think the whole deal over. “Might be best if I go in with you, Lucius. That way Ox can provide more’n enough cover. Two of us Rangers showin’ up should give Coffin a more formidable problem to ruminate about.”

  Around daylight the next morning, we had everything pretty much decided, and were loaded and ready for a fight. Stuck around long enough for Turnbow’s head vaquero to show and get instructions for the stretch el jefe would be gone. Headed out for Coffin’s Nueces River stronghold just about the time the sun got up good.

  As we rode south, my heaving mind filled itself with how I’d respond upon first confronting the son of a bitch responsible for taking Dianna. Knew it would require all my hard-learned self-control to keep from killing the scurvy bastard the instant we met. But Dianna’s life could well be at stake, and my only recourse involved an iron-willed effort to stay cool as a skunk in the moonlight no matter what might occur—even discovery of the worst outcome imaginable.

  Truth always has been, though, you just never know what might happen when armed and angry men confront each other. Sun-bleached afternoon quickly headed toward the hotter-than-hell-under-an-iron-skillet level. I shuddered like a man freezing to death as I let myself dwell too long on deadly possibilities.

  14

  “. . . YOU’RE GONNA SUFFER THE TORTURES OF THE DAMNED . . .”

  “SEEMS AWFUL QUIET for an outlaw headquarters, don’t it, boys?” I scanned Nate Coffin’s ranch house and surrounding landscape through a set of nearly worn-out surplus cavalry binoculars. Couldn’t see a living soul outside. “Only four animals in the corral nearest the big house, Boz. Could be a good sign.”

  Dropped the glasses to my chest. Let them dangle from their chewed-up leather straps. Turned and watched as Boz pulled his hat off. He wiped sweat from a drenched brow with a faded blue neckerchief. Mopped out the inside of the battered head cover.

  “Reckon we done went and got blind lucky for once. You think maybe we mighta caught Coffin at home while his band of henchmen are busy elsewhere, Ox?” he asked.

  Turnbow lay on his stomach and stretched his wiry frame out atop a well-used horse blanket. He’d wallowed out a comfortable spot, then worked at refining precise adjustments on Matilda’s stock-mounted peep sight. The big Sharps was nestled between a pair of sandbags we’d filled on site a few minutes before.

  Old Ranger had set up his ambush nest on the exact same mesquite- and tree-sheltered rise he’d described when we formed our hasty plans for the raid. Not satisfied with the results of his efforts with the gun’s adjustable target sight, Ox leaned to the left on his elbow. Squint-eyed, he gazed through a brass-barreled telescope clamped to a short-legged tripod.

  “Surely looks to be the case,” Ox mumbled, as much to himself as in answer to Tatum’s question. “Don’t look to be hardly anybody about. Right peaceful.”

  Former buffalo hunter snorted, turned the knurled knob on the peep a few more clicks, checked the range one more time, and finally nodded his approval. “Any targets are gonna be just under three hundred yards away, boys. Missed my guess on the distance by a mite, but hell, she won’t be no problem. Could easily hit a fly sittin’ on the hitch rail from this distance with Matilda.” He slid a huge brass-jacketed .44-70 shell into the breech and levered it closed.

  “One last time. ’Fore we open the ball on this ’un. Just want everyone to be mighty clear on what’s about to play out,” I said.

  “Hell, Lucius, we understand what we’re supposed to do,” Boz snorted. “Don’t we, Ox?”

  Turnbow rolled onto one side and rested his head in a cupped hand. He feigned a degree of self-righteous indignation and said, “Damned right. Our mamas didn’t raise no eggsuckin’ idiots. Me ’n Boz wuz doin’ this kinda man killin’ ’fore you wuz borned, boy.” He struggled to his feet and slapped dust from a leather shirt and breeches.

  Boz said, “We once used the same kinda trick on a bunch of the wildest murderin’ red savages what ever lived. Killed more’n twenty of ’em. Let me tell you, they were some kind of a mighty surprised party of blood-smeared Ko-manch that death-dealin’ afternoon, and that’s for damned sure.”

  “Humor me, fellers,” I said. “Here’s the drop-dead, final plan. Boz and me ride up to the front door. We move as far to one end of the porch as we can, to give you a good shot, Ox. From here, looks li
ke we’ll likely be on your left.”

  Turnbow smiled and nodded. “If anything wayward occurs, even something you boys might not see or recognize, I’ll drop the first man. Coffin, if possible.”

  “Right. Then me and Boz’ll pull our weapons and finish up. You cover us till it’s over and they’re all down. Come a-runnin’ quick as you can after.”

  Ox pulled another of the huge cartridges from the belt around his waist and rubbed its lead bullet on his sleeve. “Works for me,” he said. “Just hope I get the chance to nail Nate to the wall while we’re here. Hell, wouldn’t hurt my feelin’s none if’n you boys was to just go on ahead and pick a fight so I can send the murderin’ cur for his appointed rendezvous with Beelzebub.”

  Slapped the grip on my belly gun. Said, “That could very well be the way of things, but we want to keep him alive long enough to find out where Dianna is.”

  Turnbow flashed a toothy grin at the possibility of putting large-caliber holes in Nate Coffin. “Be aware, though,” he said. “I’m gonna be firin’ at speed. You boys won’t hear the muzzle blast right when I start a-shootin’. Gonna be a buzzin’ zip in the air. Target’ll drop like he’s been hit with a Southern Pacific Railroad coal shovel. Count off at least two seconds, and then the report’ll finally come. Y’all clear on that ’un?”

  Boz stuffed his hat back on a sweaty head. “If I hear anything that even sounds like a zip, I’m gonna blast every living thing in front of my pistols.”

  Me and Tatum made our way down the far side of the hill to our animals and got mounted. As we moseyed along, checked over our weapons, and nerved up for the coming fight, I said, “Sure you’re ready for this one, Boz?”

  He nodded and holstered his belly gun. “Damned right, Lucius. I was born ready. Let ’er buck.”

  Nate Coffin’s impressive headquarters presented an appearance that can only be described as totally out of place. Erected in the middle of a Mississippi cotton patch or mossy Louisiana bayou, the grandiose, blindingly white, colonnaded two-story structure would have gone virtually unnoticed. Sitting in the middle of a damned near treeless west Texas plain, between the Rio Grande and the Nueces, the extravagant dwelling had the absolute power to command inquisitive attention from any but the blindest and most indifferent of passersby.

  We’d got about halfway to the rambling structure when four men, bristling with rifles and pistols, stepped onto the deep, shaded veranda. Three wore bullet-filled cartridge bandoliers across their chests, pistol belts, and carried Winchester rifles. Appeared they served as protective escorts for a fourth man, who sported a strange-looking vest and strode fearlessly to the front of the rough-looking pack.

  Leader of the group hooked his thumbs over a gleaming, concho-embellished pistol rig, threw his chest out, and bulled up in a way that made his authority unmistakable. Couldn’t think why, but I got the distinct feeling we had ridden into the presence of a man possessed by moods that could shift with less than a moment’s notice.

  “Bet you that’s the whole of them,” Boz said. “Think you were right, Lucius. Rest of Coffin’s killers must surely be gone somewheres.”

  “Good. Gonna make this raid easier than we ever had any right to expect.”

  “Just so’s there ain’t no doubt in your mind, my friend, that’s Nate Coffin wearing the leopard-skin vest.”

  “Leopard skin? Damn, folks got leopards to deal with in these parts?”

  “Not as I know of. Rumors have it that a travelin’ circus came through these parts some years ago. Way I heard the tale, Nate attended one of their shows. Took an uncommon likin’ to their leopard. Tried to buy the beast. When the owner wouldn’t sell, Nate shot hell out of the poor feller. Took the cat, kilt it, and had the hide tanned. Hear tell he has a pair of chaps and a hat to match. Wears the whole getup at parties, fandangos, and such. Must be one helluva sight to behold in its total splendiferousness.”

  “Well, the vicious polecat might be a gaudy dresser on top of all his other less-than-favorable traits, but I’ll tell you true, Boz, thought sure he’d be bigger.”

  “Man’s a runt, no doubt about it. If’n he was anywhere close to the size of his reputation, we’d both need one of them Sharps rifles like Turnbow’s to bring the bigheaded son of a bitch down.”

  Life-giving Nueces River ran north and south no more than a quarter of a mile behind Coffin’s pretentious dwelling. Numerous irrigation ditches brought water to the main house and, as a consequence, this resulted in the only green spot for many miles in any direction.

  We rode through the deep patch of lush, well-kept grass out front of the house, and pulled up at the corner of his porch—according to plan. Followed Boz’s lead. Tied my reins to the saddle horn. Tapped Grizz on the neck. He went spraddle-legged, a stance I’d taught him in preparation for deadly action. Placed one hand on my belly gun and the other on my weak-side hip pistol.

  Our actions forced all four men away from the doorway of the gaudy hacienda and made them move our direction. Coffin stepped out front and took the lead. Waved his bodyguards to spots on either side and behind him. Hombre to his left hopped down from the porch and, in an obvious flanking move, boldly strode into the yard.

  Boz motioned for him to stop. “That’s far enough, mister. Get any more to my back side, and I’ll be forced to plug you right where you stand.”

  Coffin threw his head back and laughed. “Guess you’d best pull up right where you are, Mr. Shipman. Wouldn’t want anything wayward to happen to you right here in front of my home.” Surly gunman grinned like a cat playin’ with a mouse, but he stopped and didn’t move again.

  “You know who we are, Coffin?” I asked.

  “Hell, yes, I know who you are, Ranger Dodge. Have more’n twenty men out lookin’ for you boys as we speak. Gotta admit, though, you fellers got a lot of hard bark growin’ mighty tight on your more’n dumb asses to ride right up to my fancy, straight-from-New-Orleans, leaded-glass front door.” He pushed a silver-studded, palm-leaf sombrero off a shaggy-haired noggin and let the wide-brimmed head covering hang against his back on a gold-tipped leather thong.

  Couldn’t help but notice an ugly scar that sliced down the outlaw chieftain’s scalp, ran from the middle of his skull and thence all the way to an eyebrow, split in half by the same jagged white weal. Man had the kind of flat, dead-looking black eyes you’d expect to find on a wild animal in the midst of a bloody kill. Even more unnerving, one of his ears had gone missing. Looked to have been lopped off clean as a whistle.

  Figured Coffin’s fierce appearance probably proved disconcerting for uninitiated pilgrims and stupid gunhands desperate for a payday. Man stood about five foot six. Stack-heeled, knee-high boots gave him another three inches or so. Just broad enough, and tall enough, to make a good target—no farther than he’d stopped from where I sat.

  Tickled the bone grip of my .45 and for a second, actually said a silent prayer that the murderous, woman-stealing piece of walking garbage would do something stupid so I could kill him on the spot. Thought better of such action upon remembering as how I needed the stink-spraying polecat alive—for a little while longer anyway.

  Coffin pulled the stump of a dying cheroot from between thin lips, thumped ash off the smoking end, and spit toward my mount’s feet. “You law-bringing bastards done already went and killed some of my men. Put some in jail over in Uvalde as well.”

  “Kidnappers, thieves, and murderers every one,” Boz snorted.

  “Went and scared Marshal Pitt so bad, that silly, silly man had the unvarnished nerve to get up on his hind legs and tell me he couldn’t let my boys go. Wouldn’t let ’em go. Felt real bad ’bout killin’ ’im, you know. But hell, just couldn’t be helped. Cain’t have that kind of unthinking disobedience on the part of my hired help. You Rangers do understand, don’t you?”

  Words that came out of Boz Tatum sounded like icy daggers flung from the black bottom of an open grave. “You killed Barton Pitt ’cause of the responsibility we placed on that
poor, all-gurgle-and-no-guts coward.”

  Coffin glanced at each of the burly gunmen around him. Let out a grating superior-than-thou chuckle. “Why, yes. Yes, I did, Ranger Tatum,” he said, then stuffed the cheroot back in his mouth and threw a big toothy grin Boz’s direction.

  “Well, I hope you at least gave him a quick send-off,” Boz said.

  Coffin threw his head back and laughed, then said, “Hanged the fat bastard as a matter of pure fact. Sat on my horse and watched him choke. Took almost ten minutes for the thick-necked stack of horse dung to die. Messed his pants. Helluva stink. Bet fifty dollars he’s still a-dangling. Informed Uvalde’s upstandin’ citizens they’d best leave him swing till I told ’em different. Said I’d burn the whole town to the ground if’n they took him down ’thout my permission. And I’ll do it too.”

  Snapped a quick glance at Boz out of the corner of my eye. Back of my less-than-predictable partner’s neck flamed up like something akin to the color of a burning barn in New Hampshire. He’d shifted most of his attention to the gunhand that’d moved off the porch. Knew beyond any doubt the fur was about to fly. Felt the deadly tension in a wave of prickly flesh that ran up my spine, across sweaty shoulders, and down to my fingertips. Gave the whole situation about one more second’s thought, and figured there wasn’t any need putting the dance off any longer.

  Said, “Well, Coffin, guess if you know who we are, you know why we’re here.”

  Toothy grin flickered at the corner of his bluish-purple tobacco-stained lips. “Oh, hell, yes. You boys is lookin’ to find ’at ’ere bitch of a whore what went and kilt my younger brother, Reuben.”

  There’s just always been something about the word “bitch” when used to describe any woman I know and respect that has the instant power to send me right over the proverbial edge. Soon as it popped out of Coffin’s filthy mouth, his fate was sealed like a Mason jar of my mother’s homemade pickles.