John T. crouched down so the sun wasn't in his eyes and watched. "Tobacco maybe? Looks like Grimes is following them in. Wonder why…."
"My guess is they are wearin' guns and there's a law about that in Round Rock." Wesley spit."This could be it, John T. 'cause if they were locals, they'd know about the gun law. That's all part of Grimes duty, pickin' a man's gun up. See now, Morris stayed outside; don't look as though they suspect a thing. That was a good move."
"Did you see a gun?"
"Nope, but that don't mean nothin'." Wesley sounded almost impatient. "We're too far away to tell for sure. Bound to be somethin' of that nature, or he wouldn't follow them into the store.""
Then all hell broke lose when they heard six shots and the three men that had gone in came out, one bleeding badly from the hand that he raised in the air.
"That's them! Come on boy, we don't want to miss this," Wesley said as they moved quickly toward all the action, their guns raised.
Suddenly a man ran out of the barber shop with lather still on his face and took aim. He shot twice and he felled one, and it looked decidedly as though another was hurt. As they ran across the street for the ally and their horses, bullets began flying from every direction. Whether it was Sam or not they didn't know.
A one armed man had grabbed Grimes gun and run out of the store shooting. But the proof of it all lay dead in the street as they walked up to Seaburn Barnes, with a hole in his head.
"Holy cow, shot right in the head."
Harold, Jones and the one armed man, later identified as a man they called Stubs fired at the two bandits. Harold had a rifle and he'd fired too, nearly getting shot in the process.
It had been hard to tell who actually shot the injured bandit. Conners swore it was Ware, and Harold insisted it was him. Ware didn't argue, so that was how they wrote it up. Wesley nodded at John T.
"Ain't nobody too anxious to claim the firing. From where I stood, I would have sworn Ware got that fella, not Harold, but I wouldn't want to be either one of them, as Sam has a lot of friends between here and Denton."
They wasted no time in rounding up someone to dig the grave for Barnes. But they weren't too anxious to chase the other two.
Wesley shook his head as though thinking about something. "I ain't sure who was shot, but I swear that was one heroic fella that kept the wounded bandit on his horse, and stayed the bullets that were firing. Must be something powerful about that Bass' character to have a friend like that…"
"You think they shot Bass?"
"That's my call on it. But it could be the other way around…"
Most everyone agreed they'd never seen such loyalty and bravery. Perhaps that was why no one chased them down that same day. It seemed there was a time to respect even an outlaw.
But Wesley and John T. were sent out the next day to pick up the trail. A lot of speculation went down about the two bandits.
"We got one good, the way he was waddling on that horse, he cain't have lasted long. He'll be laying up somewhere." Wesley surmised as the sun bore down on them the next day. It was stifling hot, the air didn't seem to move. The grasshoppers buzzed about the land happily.
However, two searchers found Bass that next morning under a tree close to the railroad workers. Seeing Wesley and John T. riding by, they motioned them over and Bass didn't even try to hide who he was. John T. was sent after a wagon from the railroad workers and then they took him back to town to a shack near the Hart House in Round Rock. A black woman's shack. A doctor was summoned to take care of Sam. Plans were already being made to take him into Austin as soon as he could ride.
There was a heap of men standing around as John T. and Wesley laid Sam on the cot, trying to position him so he wouldn't be in such pain, nor lose no more blood.
John glanced around, not a fitting place for anyone to die, but Sam Bass didn't have any choice. And maybe he didn't deserve better, but Bass was famous and it seemed unfitting to die in such a place as this.
Dr. Cochran shook his head and let Major Jones know immediately that Sam didn't have much time. The bullet had gone in his back, through his belt buckle and into his abdomen. He didn't have long.
Excitement keyed the air as everyone gathered round trying to hear Sam's words. A confession seemed imminent.
The town of Round Rock suddenly came alive with people and it didn't take long for wagonloads to show up, trying to get a glimpse of the famous outlaw. Every window in the place had faces pressed to the glass. Some with sympathy, some just there to celebrate and witness the event.
John squirmed a little and he noted the sour look on Wesley's face. Wesley had been right; there wasn't anything exciting about it. A man was dying. A young man, John T. noted. Now John T. began to understand Wesley's feelings on Sam Bass.
Meanwhile Jones tried to get a complete confession out of Sam. That was his job and he went about it meticulously. Sam shook his head, he admitted he was Bass, and that he fully intended to rob the bank, but refused to say anything about the other men in his gang.
"Did you kill Deputy Grimes?"
Sam face was pale as he looked up at the gathering crowd of Rangers, all wanting to hear what this famous young man would say. His face was young, pale, and almost innocent like as he stared up at them. "If I killed him, he was the first man I ever killed…," he told them of his family, his age and that he'd been in the robbin' business for some time.
Major Jones had a list of questions he wanted to ask, and drilled poor Sam till Wesley could hardly stand to watch. The man was dying and no one seemed to give that much thought, or maybe they did, but they didn't respect the fact.
"Where's Jackson?"
Sam shook his head. "Don't know."
"How do you usually get together after being so scattered?" Jones persisted.
"Generally told by friends." Sam barely managed to answer.
"What made you take up this kind of life?"
Sam rose up a bit and almost smiled, "Started with sportin' my horse."
Jones seemed to consider this answer and looked around at the other Rangers as though he'd suddenly gained Bass' approval and was going to get a full confession.
"Why did you get worse than hose-racing?"
"They stole my first $300." Sam frowned.
Jones nodded, "After they robbed you, what did you do?"
Sam sighed and almost let out a snicker, "Went to robbin' stages in the black hills…"
It went back and forth for a long time but Jones got no more out of him. Jones shook his head in dismay, and paced about. "I've tried every conceivable way to get more information out of him."
When Jones had exhausted all avenues he yelled at Bass. "Why won't you tell?"
Sam's determination not to tell on his friends got to Jones. John T. wondered if it was hard for the Ranger to accept that an outlaw could have any ethics at all.
Sam looked up at the small crowd around his bed. "It's agin my profession to blow on my pals. If a man knows anything he ought to die with it in him."
Even when Jones tried to intimidate him with religion Bass held true. "I am going to hell anyhow."
Wesley and John T. watched in the background, as they were not of any consequence to the important people gathering about. The dirty old shack hadn't seen this many people since it was built. And it sounded like the fourth of July outside as guns went off in the air, and horses rode by at full gallop.
However, as Sam breathed his last, they all heard him. "The world is a bobbin' around me."
That was the last words Sam Bass ever spoke and Wesley shook his head and turned away. He spotted a calendar hung on the wall and sighed aloud. "My God, it was his birthday. He would have been twenty seven…"
John T. stared at Wesley a moment, wondering how he knew so much about the man, and yet knowing that Wesley would know such things, because somehow…he cared…about people.
The Rangers all held their silence for a moment, then more chaos broke loose as they tried to decide whether to
form a posse for Jackson or haul Sam's body to Austin. The politicians in Austin wanted proof that Sam Bass was dead. And Jones knew he should get the body there.
John T. and Wesley rode out of Round Rock as the gravediggers prepared the grave though. The sound of the shovels hitting the dry dirt echoed in the distance, a lonely sound. Wesley shook his head. "Hmm... they buryin' him by the slaves…Don't seem right to me. I mean Bass is a kind of fella that they'll sing songs about, and tell stories for years to come. Just don't seem right."
"I'll admit I don't feel the same as when I first came here about him."
Wesley nodded. "Now you understand, that's good. You're learnin' boy."
They couldn't stomach much more of this as Jones was hard bent to take Bass's body to Austin to prove his death. However, there was no ice to be found and it was sweltering hot so the body would decay before they got him there. They buried Bass not far from where the original campgrounds were. Wesley pointed it out to John T.
Two days later, Wesley retired.
Chapter Three
"Say old timer, how you doin'?" A drunken cowboy slammed into Wesley at the bar.
'Old Timer' hit hard, but Wesley bit the bullet and didn't react. He'd learned early on there was a time to pick a fight, and a time to walk away.
"Fine," Wesley replied and sipped his beer. He'd been here all of a week, enjoying his freedom from the Rangers. At least that was what he told himself. Not that he nursed a grudge. It made sense to let someone go once they began slowing down and Wesley knew he'd slowed down. He was slower on the draw now, but he rationalized it as being more cautious than before.
He reckoned the cowboy was right, he was an old timer.
A well-endowed dance hall girl shimmied up to him and smiled. "Hal you leave Wes alone, he's earned his retirement, unlike some I know."
Lorna looked at Wesley and smiled.
Wesley gazed at the lady with admiration, for a whore, she was still really a beauty and he could appreciate that. One thing about whores he learned was that most of them had a heart of gold. Lorna was no exception. He smiled back.
"Now Lorna, you're right up there with Ole Wes, aren't ya. You're about ready to retire too. But tell me…where do Old whores go to retire?" The cowboy laughed.
Wesley felt the back of his neck bristle. They could call him old, call him a has been, make fun of him all they wanted, but when it came to making fun of a woman, it was just too much. Lorna wasn't a whore, she owned the Gold Bucket Saloon. She operated her saloon like a business and she'd managed through brawls, and lawmen and even a few outlaws. He respected her too much to ever see her hurt.
Wesley eyed the young cowboy, and then in a flash he pulled the cowboy up close by the neck of his shirt and met him eye to eye. "Apologize to the lady, or you won't live to see another sunset, son."
The cowboy smirked as he sized Wesley up. "Sure…sure ole timer, didn't mean to rile you none. But what's it to ya she's just a whore…"
Wesley increased the choking around the collar and pulled the cowboy towards Lorna. "Your pressing your luck boy, you really are. Apologize to the lady…now."
The cowboy hesitated, and Wesley pulled his gun out and stuck it in his gut, while holding the cowboy almost on tiptoe.
"Okay, okay, sorry…Lorna…" the cowboy quipped, his smirk fading quickly. "I guess I was out of line…"
"You were…and that's better. Life's a whole lot more pleasant when you conduct yourself properly, friend, I'd remember that if I were you." Wesley didn't bat an eye as he shoved the cowboy away.
Lorna watched the display and tried to smile. "Joe, give this gentleman a free drink,"
Wesley tipped his hat to her, and she winked, then a real smile lit her lips.
Joe the bartender poured Wesley a whiskey and the tension eased.
The cowboy gathered his well-worn jacket and left, tipping his hat to Wesley.
Wesley sipped the whiskey slowly and smiled at the amber liquid in his hands. Then he smiled at Joe and Lorna and shook his head, "Best Whiskey this side of the Red."
"It's good to see you again Wesley. So what you gonna do now that they've retired you?"
"Got something to take care of, then I'm thinkin' on settling down somewhere."
Lorna frowned her silk dress swishing as she moved closer to Wesley. "You settle down…I'll believe that when I see it."
"Ain't you gonna miss all the excitement. I mean you was with 'em when they got Bass, weren't ya?" Joe joined in.
"I was, that's a fact. But I figure when I'm done with this last one, I'll have earned a long rest and I'm gonna take it. Might even find me a woman that's worth settling down with and buy me some land." Wes smelled the whiskey; the quality of which he hadn't drank in some time.
His hand went to Lorna and he pulled her a little closer. Lorna looked into his eyes and smiled; but that little worry wrinkle in her forehead said she was more concerned than happy.
She was a husky built woman, but there wasn't an inch on her that wasn't washed clean and sprinkled with lilac water. She wore her golden hair up on top of her head, she wore a little too much make up for her age, but Wesley didn't mind that either. She was a handsome woman. However, there was more to her than just being the owner of the Golden Bucket, because her heart was as big as Texas, always had been. Lorna was no run of the mill barmaid. He liked a woman with flesh on her bones, and he liked Lorna. Maybe he would settle down, and Lorna might be just the one to tame his wicked ways, he sighed as he hugged her to him. If it wasn't for his feelings for Susannah he might have taken Lorna away by now.
"Who you going after now, Wesley?" Lorna's eyes filled with concern.
There was years of friendship between him and Lorna and he suddenly realized there might be a little more than that. Now was not the time to speculate on it. He had a job to do and until it was done, he couldn't be thinking on permanent things.
"Ain't important, the only thing important is that I'm coming back." Wesley sighed.
"You be sure and come back, okay…" Lorna's expression was serious.
"I plan on it, don't fret about that," he winked at her.
For years he'd wondered what it might be like to take Lorna up those stairs. Knowing her as he did he imagined all kinds of delight. But now, as he stared into her sapphire eyes, he realized Lorna wasn't much different from Susannah. She cared about him and she knew the danger he faced every day. Yes sir, Lorna was a handful of woman.
He leaned over for the first time and touched his parched lips to Lorna's right in front of Joe. Lorna's kiss was warm, inviting, and breathless. Joe had to clear his throat for them to break it up. Pulling away he saw a tear in Lorna's eye. "I'll be back, little darlin'."
And with that he walked out of the saloon a happy man.
Best whiskey, best lady in town, not bad for an ole timer!
Wesley took his time riding leisurely up the trail towards Blue Goose. He was anxious to see Susannah, but the longer he put it off the sweeter it would be. He'd reconciled that his feelings for Susannah were a bit misplaced. She belonged to Rascal, lock stock and barrel and that was fact. However, he could still appreciate a beautiful lady. He could see her now, how'd she come to greet him, how she'd smell of lilacs, how she'd have him a meal ready, not even knowing he was coming. He knew he loved the woman, but he also knew he could never tell her. She was married, and happily so. But just looking at her was enough. Seein' her was like a dose of medicine he needed occasionally. If the truth were known he'd had more feelin' for Susannah than his own wife, probably because she'd been so good to him, so long. Still, Susannah was like a wishful dream.
He'd spent days drinking beer, gambling and horsing around in Waco, but it was time to go and he wanted to be at Susannah's by nightfall the next day.
He hated not being a Ranger any longer, but there were things he needed to take care of and it was better this way. The ranger's life was one of arresting and taking to jail the cattle rustlers and the Indians that kept raid
ing near the borders. However, there were some things they didn't do and Wesley knew it was time to take care of those things.
He hated leaving John T. there. He hadn't been close to many men in his time, but there was something about John T. that he liked, like he was family. Like a good saddle John T. was well worn into Wesley's life, and he knew he could count on him, at any time to back him up. Since he'd never had children of his own, he suspected that was the tie he felt for John T. Maybe it was his honesty, or his loyalty. But when they parted they both promised to come on the run if needed and that was all the promise Wesley wanted. Being able to count on a friend was a mighty good thing.
The other side of Ft. Worth, Wesley made camp by another stream and caught his supper. Eating a sizable amount of fish, he laid back and stared at the stars. Content that he was headed home, or as close to it as he could ever come, he sighed and closed his eyes.
Maybe he'd buy up some land with his retirement savings and settle down once this Frank thing was taken care of. It sure was time.
The sound of a gun cocking near his head had him rising up fast, "What the…"
"Easy Senior, you should not make us nervous, these guns might go off." The first Mexican said, his face a big grin as sweat peppered down his cheek. He reeked of too long in the saddle, and rotgut whiskey, Wesley grimaced.
Three others surrounded him with their guns.
"Now what are you fella's after?" Wesley snorted; angry he had let them get the drop on him. This would have never happened ten years ago, or even five.
He studied them, two of them were merely dummies, doing what they were told, but the big one was the boss of the outfit and Wesley eyed him closer.
"Your horse, Senor." The same Mexican laughed, his gold teeth flashing against the sun. His sombrero was so wide it nearly hit Wesley in the head. Wesley noted the ammunition they all wore, enough for an army. Their boots were worn and dusty, but their clothes were surprisingly clean, as though they'd done relieved someone of them. "We only want your horse…"
Better Off Without Her (Book One of the Western Serial Killer series) Page 4
