Boyd scratched his jaw. “I dunno. Both those hombres are mighty stubborn. However, unless I miss my guess, they’ll be here, if for no other reason than out of curiosity. That, and they’ll both be worried if the other one shows up and they don’t, whoever does come in will gain the upper hand. No, I’d bet they’re gonna walk through the door any minute now.”
Three minutes later, Diego Santos strode into the office. Less than a minute later Earl Tuttle made his appearance. He and Santos glared at each other.
“Earl, Diego, howdy,” Little said. “Pull yourselves up a chair. Get some coffee and roll yourselves a smoke if you’d like. Ranger Bannon’s got quite a lot to say, so you might as well make yourselves comfortable.”
“Good mornin’, men,” Tim said, once the two ranchers were settled. “Glad to see you both here.”
“We didn’t seem to have a choice,” Santos answered. “Besides, I’m hearin’ you are planning to have my land seized, Ranger Bannon. Let me assure you, I’ll fight you tooth and nail.”
“Your land?” Tuttle said. “It’s my land he’s gonna have snatched right from under me. That’s why my boys and the men couldn’t hold back when they ran into ‘em in the El Dorado.”
He looked at Tim, whose face was still swollen and bruised, and sneered. “Seems like my boys weren’t exaggeratin’ when they said they put quite a whuppin’ on you and your pardner, Bannon. You’re lucky I wasn’t with ‘em. I’d have cleaned up the floor with you.”
“Oh, they finally came to?” Tim retorted. “Last I saw of your sons and the rest of your men, they were on the floor of the saloon, eatin’ sawdust. Good to know they managed to run home to lick their wounds. Far as havin’ any land snatched, don’t believe everything you hear. That’s how this whole mess got started in the first place, by people spreadin’ rumors. You get a bunch of men in a saloon and they gossip worse’n a whole gaggle of old women.”
“If you have a point, Bannon, make it so we can get outta here. I’m goin’ to see my lawyer soon as we’re done here,” Tuttle said.
“I also have an appointment with my attorney,” Santos added.
“All right,” Tim said. “As you know, Sheriff Little requested Ranger help to deal with the fight between the Diamond T and the D Cross S. The Rangers sent me and Tate down here in response.”
“Speakin’ of your pardner, where is he, Bannon?” Tuttle asked. “Still laid up from the beatin’ he took from my men?”
“Nope. He and Deputy Lewis are out on a special errand for me,” Tim answered. “Now, if you’ll let me continue. The trouble started when a new creek formed a short distance north of your respective ranches. That creek now basically winds back and forth across the west boundary of the D Cross S and the adjoining east boundary of the Diamond T. Since that creek formed, it has been digging new beds and changing course with almost every rainstorm. Changes which both of you believe are being helped by the other. That is not true.”
“You’d better make yourself clearer, Ranger,” Santos said.
“I’m doin’ just that,” Tim answered. “I’ve ridden all along the creek bed. Tate and I also rode to the top of the mesa at the creek’s headwaters. There is absolutely no evidence of man-made changes to the creek beds, nor the mesa itself. One reason I rode up there was to see if possibly an explosion had caused that landslide. I wanted to make certain there wasn’t another party involved, one who was trying to play you against each other, so he could come in once the dust had settled and take over both your ranches. There is none. All the changes to the creek are made by nature, or acts of God.”
“So you’re sayin’ that creek’s gonna keep shiftin’ course?” Tuttle asked.
“If we let nature take its course, yes. However, I have another solution, one which will be mutually beneficial to you both. Take a look at the map pinned up behind Sheriff Little’s desk. You’ll see the mesa highlighted in red.”
“So what?” Tuttle said.
“Notice the thick gray line penciled in just below the mesa, with two thinner lines running off it, in the direction of your ranches,” Tim answered.
“Those appear to be some sort of structure,” Santos said.
“You’re exactly right,” Tim replied. “That’s a dam. If you’ll look closely, you’ll see two blue lines running from both sides of the dam, one onto the Diamond T, the other onto the D Cross S.”
“Would those be water, Ranger?” Tuttle asked.
“That’s exactly what they are, water. I spent a lot of time lookin’ over where the creek flows from under the mesa. If someone goes in there, cleans out most of the fallen rock, and digs a bigger opening at the mesa’s base, the flow will increase tenfold, at least. Then if a dam is built, diversion channels can direct half of the flow to your ranch, and half to Santos’.”
“But we don’t own that land,” Santos objected. “It’s never been claimed… unless someone has recently, and quietly.”
“No, it hasn’t been, and that’s the beautiful part,” Tim said. “I checked with both the county land office and the state. Since up until now that land was virtually worthless, no one wanted it. What I’m proposing is that you two file a homestead claim on it jointly, build that dam, and assure both of you receive equal shares of water. Unless I miss my guess, there should even be enough flowage you’ll be able to sell the excess durin’ dry spells.”
“How do you know all this, Ranger?” Tuttle asked.
“Took some figures and ran ‘em by the state hydrologist up in Austin,” Tim explained.
“So you’re saying we should be partners, Earl and I?” Santos said. “What about the vandalism… the cut fences, the damaged buildings?”
“I was comin’ to that,” Tim said. “You’re both equally guilty, so as long as you both promise to bury the hatchet I won’t pursue those incidents. There’s two copies of an agreement on the sheriff’s desk, as well as the necessary forms to file your claim on the mesa land. I’d suggest you sign them right away. You’re danged lucky someone hasn’t beaten you to it.”
“I’d need to have my lawyer read it over,” Tuttle said.
“I would also,” Santos agreed.
“Of course you should,” Tim said. “But I plan on leavin’ Sierra Blanco tomorrow. If I’m not on the eastbound train because you two haven’t come to your senses, I’m not gonna be happy. You know, all of this trouble could have been avoided if you’d spoken to each other, rather’n listenin’ to tales bein’ spread. The Rangers shouldn’t have had to be involved here at all. So stop bein’ a couple of chuckleheads, get those papers to your attorneys, get ‘em signed and back here before the land office closes.”
“Chuckleheads? He called us chuckleheads, Earl. I don’t even know what that means,” Santos said.
“I’m not certain either, but I don’t think it was a compliment,” Tuttle answered.
“Bannon means you’re bein’ a couple of doggone stupid fools,” Little answered. “If I were you I’d take his advice and sign those papers.”
“I dunno,” Tuttle said. “You want to be pards, Diego?”
“I’m not certain,” Santos said. “It is the Christmas season, and the New Year is coming. A good time for new beginnings. However, what if we decide not to accept your suggestion, Ranger?”
“Then you’ll force me to use the other ace I have up my sleeve… and I’m certain you don’t want to see that happen,” Tim answered. “In fact, you’d probably rather be gut-shot.”
“Just what might that be?” Tuttle asked.
The door opened. Tate and Rick walked in. With them were Amy Tuttle and Consuela Santos.
“Sorry we’re late, Tim,” Tate said. “Piece of harness broke on our way in, so we had to stop and patch it.”
“Your timing couldn’t have been better,” Tim answered. “Men, the other ace.”
“What are our wives doing here?” Tuttle said.
“Ranger, have these two old goats said they’ll do what you’ve asked yet?” Amy asked.<
br />
“I believe they’re considering it,” Tim answered.
“Earl, there’s nothing to consider. Sign those papers,” Amy ordered.
“The same goes for you, my stubborn mule of a husband,” Consuela said.
“You can’t tell me’n Diego what to do,” Tuttle spouted.
“Oh, but we can,” Amy answered. “You see, Consuela and I have arranged for your favorite meals to be prepared at the El Toro. We’ve also taken the best rooms at the Sierra Blanca. We have a real special evening planned for both of you. Another reason we’re late, which Ranger Slocum was either too polite or too embarrassed to mention, is we stopped by Miss Hattie’s and picked up some real lacy new… things. If you ever want to see those, you’ll sign. If not…”
“Then you’ll both be sleeping in the bunkhouse for a long time, perhaps the rest of your lives,” Consuela concluded. “As far as our new … things… we could always put on a show for the boys at the El Dorado.”
“You wouldn’t!” Santos exclaimed, horrified.
“Try us.”
“I reckon they’ve got us over a barrel, Diego,” Tuttle said. “Besides, I’m tired of fightin’, and ready to take some money from you over cards again.”
“Which I will gladly take back with the dice,” Santos answered. “Ranger Bannon, I believe you have a deal. We’ll take these papers to our attorneys, make sure everything is legal and proper, sign them and get the claim filed before two o’clock.”
“You’re makin’ the right decision,” Tim said.
“And for that.” Consuela leaned over and whispered something in her husband’s ear. Santos blushed, then smiled.
“Not too soon, Consuela,” Amy advised. “They have to get the papers in order first. While they take care of that, you and I can do some more shopping.”
“What a wonderful idea,” Consuela said.
“Diego, looks like we’d better hope we get enough water to sell some off… to pay for our wives’ shoppin’ spree,” Tuttle said. “Ranger Bannon, sorry for all the trouble we’ve caused. And I apologize for my men beatin’ on you, especially my sons. They’re gonna have some scars to remember that fight by; that’s for certain.”
Tim sighed, then winced when pain shot through his bruised ribs. He rubbed his swollen jaw and smiled.
“Reckon I can say the same. So can Tate and Rick. Your crew sure puts up one heckuva fight. Wouldn’t want to have to take ‘em on again. And I’m glad you weren’t there that night. Dunno if I’d have been able to take you. Far as the apology, none needed. They were drunk and mad, for good reason they thought. No real harm done, so we’ll let it go.”
Despite his having twenty or more years on Tim, Earl Tuttle was still a powerfully built man. Tim had no doubt he could more than hold his own in a fight.
“You two had best get goin’ if you want to get all this done by two,” Little said. “We’ll meet you right here then.”
“All right,” Santos said. “We’ll see you at two.”
***
While Tim remained in their room to write his report, Tate went out on the town to celebrate the completion of their assignment. Tim was half-asleep in a chair when, at one in the morning, the caterwauling of a cowboy singing “Goodbye, Old Paint” in an extremely loud and off-key voice pierced his fogged brain.
“What the…?” Tim muttered. He opened the window and leaned out, too see Tate at the corner, hanging onto a post with one hand and a half-empty whiskey bottle in the other. Tate opened his mouth and attempted a yodel, which came out as more of a banshee’s wail.
“Better get down there and get that fool kid before he gets himself into real trouble,” Tim muttered. He stamped into his boots and hurried outside.
“Tate!” he yelled. “Time to call it a night.”
“Tim Bannon! There you are, my ol’ pard, my pal. C’mon and have a drink with me.”
Tate staggered toward Tim, who hurried to intercept him. When he reached the drunk youngster, he put a hand on his shoulder.
“C’mon, Tate, time for you to settle down.”
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Tate retorted. He took a swing at Tim’s jaw. Tim easily ducked the punch and sank his fist into Tate’s belly. Tate’s eyes bugged, he gulped, vomited down the front of his shirt, then jackknifed. He fell to his hands and knees, still vomiting. Tim yanked the whiskey bottle from his hand and grabbed his shirt collar and belt.
“Time to get you sobered up, and cleaned up.”
He dragged Tate to a nearby horse trough. The water it contained was covered with a thin sheen of ice. Tim dumped Tate into the trough, face first. Tate popped up, yelling and screaming curses, then fell back in. Tim reached in and pulled him out of the water.
“Guess I’m gonna have to haul your sorry carcass back home, kid.”
“Mister, you shouldn’t be treatin’ that hombre thataway,” a voice called. “He wasn’t hurtin’ nobody.”
“Curly Wolfe!” Tim let go of Tate, spun, and dropped his hand to the butt of his Colt.
“Tim Bannon! Of all the blasted luck!” Wolfe turned and started to run. Tim pulled his gun from its holster and put a bullet in the dirt, right between Wolfe’s feet. Wolfe hunched, threw his hands in the air, and halted.
“Don’t shoot, Ranger. I give up.”
Tim went over to Wolfe and checked him for weapons. He found a short-barreled revolver tucked in the small of his back. Tim removed that, then cuffed him.
Frank Casey came hurrying up.
“What’s the trouble, Ranger?” he asked Tim. “Heard a gunshot.”
“No trouble now, but I’ve got a prisoner for you,” Tim said. “This here is Sebastian Wolfe, better known as Curly. He’s an embezzler and con man, wanted in at least three counties back East. I’ll be takin’ him back with us. I’d appreciate it if you’d hold him overnight until then.”
“That’ll be a pleasure,” Casey said. “Meantime, you’d better get back to your pardner. He seems a bit the worse for wear. C’mon you.”
Casey nudged Wolfe with the barrel of his shotgun. Tate was still lying where Tim had let him fall. Tim rolled him onto his back.
“I need a drink,” Tate mumbled.
“A drink’s the last thing you need,” Tim muttered. He slung Tate over his shoulder and carried him back to their room. Once there, he dumped the young Ranger unceremoniously on the bed. He pulled off Tate’s boots, then stripped him of his dirt and vomit stained clothes.
“Guess you’re gonna be needin’ some new duds before we leave town,” Tim said. “And I’m sure not stayin’ in the same bed with you, not until you’re cleaned up.” He rolled Tate off the bed and let him fall to the floor. Tate merely moaned. Tim pulled off his own boots and undressed, then slid under the covers.
6
Earl Tuttle and Diego Santos had done as promised, so Tim and Tate were leaving on the afternoon train for Fort Worth. Sheriff Little was with them as they loaded up Rowdy, Buddy, and Horatio, Curly Wolfe’s chestnut. Snow was coming down lightly at the moment, but seemed to be intensifying. The wind was picking up out of the North, and the temperature was dropping rapidly.
“Tim, Tate, appreciate everything you did,” he said. “You boys are welcome back here anytime. Can’t say the same for you, Wolfe.”
“I don’t reckon I’ll be comin’ back anytime soon, Sheriff,” Wolfe said.
“Glad to be of help, Boyd,” Tim answered. “We’d better get aboard. The train’s about to pull out. Adios, Sheriff.”
“Adios,” Tate echoed.
“Vaya con Dios,” Boyd said, as they climbed into the car.
The train was crowded with travelers heading back East to visit with family for the holidays, but the Rangers did manage to find three seats together. Tim placed his handcuffed prisoner in the window seat, took the one next to him, and Tate took the seat across the aisle. A few rows in front of them a middle-aged man sat, clinging to a leather valise. He looked at his watch, then anxiously out the window as th
e train chuffed into motion. He clutched the valise even more tightly.
“Tim,” Tate said once the train was rolling, “I’m sure sorry for that stunt I pulled last night. It won’t happen again, I promise you.”
Tim looked Tate straight in the eyes.
“Tate, it don’t make no nevermind to me what you do on your own time. I’ll never deny any man his liquor. But when a Ranger’s drinkin’ brings shame on the outfit, or endangers his life or those of his partners, that’s another story. Suppose some renegade happened upon you last night while you were blind drunk? Or some kid lookin’ to make a reputation for himself by downin’ a Ranger? They would’ve put a couple of bullets in you before you even knew what happened. And even if you somehow did manage to get your gun out, you’d never have been able to hit anything. Plus if your pardner realized what was happening and tried to save your sorry hide, he could’ve gotten killed too. Just think about that.”
“Don’t need to.” Tate shook his head. “Ow! Still feels like a hundred hammers poundin’ away in my brain. I learned my lesson. I’m not gonna drink that much again ever. Besides, you half-drowned me, and my belly still hurts where you slugged me.”
“Hated to have to do that, but you took a swing at me, and were fixin’ to again,” Tim answered. “It was the only way to stop you.” He glanced out the window. “Snow’s gettin’ heavier. Can’t hardly see. Sure hope it doesn’t slow us down too much. I’m ready to get home.”
“I hope you understand I’m not, Bannon,” Wolfe said. “Of all the people to run across in Texas, it had to be you.”
“If it wasn’t me, another lawman would’ve rounded you up sooner or later, Wolfe,” Tim answered. “You’re a smart hombre. Never understood why you didn’t straighten out after your last conviction and time in jail.”
“I’m not really sure either,” Wolfe said, with a shrug. “Just seemed easier to fall back into my old bad habits, I guess.”
The passengers settled down for their long journey. Snatches of conversation drifted through the car. Some went to sleep, others munched on sandwiches they had bought at the station, while a few played cards, and still others read as best they could under the swaying, dim coal-oil lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The man with the valise kept looking at his watch, then out the window.
A Ranger Named Rowdy Page 8
