Ranger's Revenge (Texas Ranger Jim Blawcyzk Book 7)

by James J. Griffin

  "We got 'em from Reese Macklin and some of his bunch."

  "Reese Macklin. I've heard that name. He's wanted for horse and cattle stealin' from the Panhandle clear down to the Rio Grande. He's suspected of several murders too."

  "That'd be him. He's a real mean one."

  "Where's he hole up when he's not out rustlin'?" Jim demanded.

  "Somewhere around Bartlett is what I hear tell," Prentiss answered. "He likes that town because it straddles the county line, so he can keep the sheriffs off his tail just by crossin' the line."

  "Rangers don't have that problem," Jim muttered. "County lines don't matter to us. How many in his outfit?"

  "There were seven plus Macklin. One of them was real bad shot. Had a bullet in his stomach. Macklin left him here. Hombre died the next day. We buried him out back of the barn. Name was Smitty Daniels."

  "Another wanted horse thief." Jim grunted.

  "Ranger, I gave you what you wanted. You still gonna kill us?" Prentiss asked.

  "No. I'll run you both back to Dripping Springs and jail you there."

  "If I don't bleed to death first," Morton moaned.

  "I'll patch you up in a minute," Jim said. "Prentiss, get on your belly."

  "Sure. Whatever you say, Ranger. Just don't plug me."

  Prentiss stretched out on the floor.

  Jim lifted a piece of rope from a peg and cut it into lengths. He tied Prentiss's hands behind his back, and bound his ankles. "There, that'll hold you," he said. "Now let me take a look at you, Morton."

  Jim pulled open the wounded man's shirt. Blood was still seeping from the bullet hole in Morton's shoulder. The Ranger pulled the neckerchief from Morton's neck and wiped away the blood. "I can't dig that bullet out," he said. "It's too deep in the bones. But I can stop the bleedin' until you're back in town and can see a doc."

  Jim stepped to the door and whistled. A minute later, Sizzle trotted up to the cabin. He nuzzled Jim's face, and dropped his nose to the Ranger's hip pocket.

  Jim pulled the bandanna from Sizzle's nose. He dug out a peppermint and gave it to the horse, then tied him to the rail. He searched his saddlebags for the rudimentary medical kit and small flask of whiskey he carried. Finding what he needed, he went back inside and knelt alongside Morton. He showed no mercy cleaning out the outlaw's wound.

  "Ow! Take it a mite easier, will you?" Morton yelped.

  "Be grateful I'm even doin' this much for you," Jim snapped back. He poured some of the raw whiskey into the wound. Morton screamed when the fiery liquid bit into the ragged bullet hole.

  "Hold still!" Jim ordered. "You're makin' it worse for yourself."

  The Ranger stuffed a piece of cloth into the wound, doused it with more whiskey, and bandaged it in place. He tied Morton hand and foot.

  "What now?" Prentiss asked.

  "I'm gonna check on my horses. Then I'm gonna drag your pardners into the barn so the coyotes can't get to 'em," Jim answered. "After that I'm planning on a good night's sleep. Tomorrow I'll run you into Dripping Springs. And don't get any ideas about tryin' to work loose."

  Jim left the cabin. He picked up Sizzle's reins. "All right, boy," he said, "time to rub you down and let you have a reunion with your buddies."

  Jim led the paint to the first corral. Sizzle trumpeted a greeting to his corral mates, several of them whinnying in return.

  "Ted! Thank you, Lord," Jim exclaimed when he saw Charlie's pet paint gelding push his way through the milling horses and up to the fence. "How you doin', fella? Charlie's sure gonna be glad to see you."

  Jim pulled the saddle and bridle from Sizzle and turned the horse into the corral to roll. Then he went through the enclosure, checking on his horses. They were all there, even Ben and Jerry, the wagon horses. In addition, the corral held several more horses which bore the Slash Double E brand. They evidently were also stolen.

  Once he'd rubbed down Sizzle, Jim headed to the barn, where he found a half-full grain bin. He took several buckets of feed to the corral and spread them out for the horses. He forked hay into the enclosure and checked the water troughs. Before leaving he scratched each animal's ears.

  The horses cared for, Jim headed back to the cabin. He dragged the bodies of Peterson and Holcomb out of the cabin and into the barn where he loaded them into a buckboard he found there.

  At the oak Jim pulled his knife from Mai Bailey's stomach and wiped the blade clean on the dead man's shirt, then stuck it in his belt. He dragged the body into the barn and tossed it in the buckboard alongside the others.

  Returning to the cabin he checked Prentiss' and Morton's bonds, and then poured a cup of thick, lukewarm coffee from the pot on the stove. He settled in a chair and glared at the two outlaws.

  "I've got your pards loaded in a buckboard," he said. "Tomorrow Prentiss, you're gonna drive that wagon into town while I herd the horses along. Make one false move and there'll be a bullet in your back. Bet a hat on it. And that goes for tonight, too. I'm a real light sleeper, especially when I'm guardin' a couple of wolves."

  Jim downed the dregs from his mug and set it aside. He pulled off his shirt, then cleaned and bandaged the shallow bullet crease along his ribs. He stretched out on a bunk in the corner, six-gun in hand, immediately falling into a light slumber. A half-hour later, when Morton rolled onto his side, Jim was instantly awake. He leveled his Colt at the renegade.

  "I just was tryin' to get a bit more comfortable," Morton said.

  "Long as that's all you were tryin'," Jim answered. Satisfied Morton and Prentiss would stay put, he drifted back to sleep.

  Chapter 12

  Sheriff Jesse Gabbard leaned against the fence of Joe Walier' s main corral. He'd just returned from a report of stolen horses at the Rafter M ranch and had put his roan gelding back in the pen. "It's a warm one today, Joe, that's for certain," he said to Walier.

  "Might be a little rain later to cool things down a bit," Walier answered.

  The sheriff jerked upright at the sound of approaching hoof beats accompanied by a thick cloud of dust. "What the devil is that?" he shouted.

  "Seems to be some horses comin'," Walier replied.

  "Who'd be drivin' in a herd that size?"

  "At the rate they're comin', we'll know soon enough," Walier said.

  Both men stood gazing to the end of the street.

  "Well, I'll be...," Gabbard exclaimed as the horses came into view. "I don't believe what I'm seein'."

  "Well I sure do," Walier said grinning. "There's only one man in these parts who can handle horses like that, and that's Jim Blawcyzk."

  "But who's that with him, drivin' that buckboard?"

  As the herd drew closer, Jim called out to the stable owner. "Open the gate, Joe!"

  Walier waved in response and opened the gate to the main corral. Jim pushed the horses inside, and Walier shut the gate behind them.

  Jim nodded to Gabbard. "Got a couple of prisoners for you, sheriff. One of 'em needs to see the doc. Got three bodies for the undertaker too."

  Gabbard pulled his gun and aimed it at Prentiss. He climbed onto the seat, alongside the outlaw, and glanced at the wounded man lying in the back with the three dead renegades. "Just ease this rig on down to the jail, Mister. I'll get the doc for your friend once you're settled in that cell."

  "I'll be along in a while, Jess," Jim said. "You'll have to hold these hombres for trial. Rustlin', horse stealin', and receivin' stolen property are the charges so far."

  "Not murder?" Gabbard asked.

  "Not yet anyway. These aren't the men who attacked my place. They just bought the horses. I'm headin' after the men I really want soon as I finish up here in town."

  Gabbard looked over the horses milling in the corral. "Looks like there's some Slash Double E broncs mixed in with your stock," he said.

  "You recognize that brand? I'm not familiar with it."

  "I'm not either," Gabbard admitted, "But I'll look it up and have the information by the time you reach my office."

&nb
sp; "Bueno. I won't be long here," Jim said.

  "See you shortly." Gabbard stuck his six-gun in Prentiss's ribs. "All right you, let's get movin'. And don't take any bounces. If you do my gun just might go off."

  Once the buckboard started toward the jail, Jim climbed out of his saddle. He led Sizzle to the trough and let him drink his fill, then tied him to the rail. The paint nuzzled Jim's neck. He dropped his nose to the Ranger's hip pocket.

  "You and your peppermint," Jim said digging in his pocket.

  "Let me get you a cup of coffee, Jim?" Walier said. "You sure look as if you could use one."

  Jim and Walier went into the horse trader's spacious office. Jim sat in a cane backed chair, tilting it against the wall. Walier took two mugs from a shelf and filled them with coffee from the pot he always kept simmering on the corner stove. He handed one to the Ranger. "I see you got a new hat," he said. "It looks good on you".

  "Thanks, Joe, and thanks for your lead. It took me right to those thievin' sidewinders. Now I've gotta ask you to hold the horses here until those two renegades come to trial. They're evidence. The state'll pay for their board. And since most of those broncs are mine I sure wouldn't trust anyone else to look after 'em."

  "You won't have to worry about them," Walier assured the Ranger. "But are you certain about going after those other outlaws? You're looking pretty pale, Jim. I'd wager you've got a fever."

  "Don't worry about me!" Jim near spat out the words and then realized how he sounded. "I'm sorry, Joe. I didn't mean to bite your head off. I'm just a mite tired, that's all. I'll grab some chuck and rest a couple of hours before I head out, so I'll be fine."

  "I hope you're right, Jim. I'd sure hate to see anything happen to you."

  "I appreciate that, Joe. Anything crop up while I was up on the Pedernales that I should know about?"

  "Not much. Smoky McCue came by askin' for your whereabouts."

  "You didn't tell him where I was headed, did you?"

  "I had to," Walier said. "He threatened to haul me in for obstructing justice if I didn't. So I pointed him in the same general direction you went, but without being too specific. I'm sorry, Jim."

  "Don't worry about it. You did what you could." Jim scratched the stubble on his face. "So that means ol' Smoke's on my trail."

  "Maybe he's still searching for you up along the Pedernales."

  "Smoke won't be fooled for long. He'll be on my tail before you know it. Bet a hat on it. I'd best get a move on. Oh, and I'll need one more favor. Could you wait two days, and then send a telegram to Ranger Headquarters tellin' them my horses have been recovered and are here? And make sure to mention Charlie's gelding is with them and doin' fine."

  "I can do that, sure, but what about that meal and rest?" Walier asked.

  "I can't chance takin' the time with McCue searchin' for me. I'll stop by Jesse's office to take care of the paperwork on those prisoners. After that, I'll grab some grub and supplies at the general store, and ride out."

  "Which way are you headed?"

  "Joe, I'm not gonna tell you. That way you can honestly say to Smoky when he returns that you have no idea where I was goin'. You won't have to lie, and that'll keep you out of trouble."

  "I still wish you'd reconsider." Walier looked worried.

  "I can't. I won't rest until the ones who hurt my family are dead."

  "Then I guess there's nothing else to say but Adios. And be careful, Jim." Joe Walier stuck out his hand.

  "Thanks, Joe. For everything."

  Jim pulled himself back into the saddle. Less than an hour after taking his leave of Joe Walier, he had his big paint loping northeastward.

  It was late in the afternoon when Smoky rode back into Dripping Spring. Not too long after Jim had left town. When Smoky hauled his steeldust gelding up short he spied Jim's stolen horses in Joe Walier's corral. McCue swung out of his saddle and stalked into the barn.

  "Joe, Joe Walier!"

  "I'm in my office, Smoky. C'mon inside."

  "Never you mind that," McCue shouted back. "How long's Jim been back in town? Don't try and deny it. His rustled horses are in your corral."

  "I'm not denying a thing," said Walier. "Jim got back early this afternoon with two prisoners and the bodies of three rustlers he'd shot."

  "Where's he at now?" Smoky demanded.

  "I don't know," Walier responded. "The men he brought in weren't the ones who attacked his ranch. He stayed long enough to turn them over to the sheriff, then he rode out again. He refused to tell me where he was headed."

  "You'd better not be lyin' to me, Joe."

  "I'm not. Didn't I point you on the right course when I sent you to the Pedernales?"

  "You did, although your directions were a mite off," Smoky said. "But once I ran across a bunch of fresh horse tracks I had a gut feelin' they were Jim's horses. I sure didn't expect to find them in your corral, though." He gazed at the horse trader. "You're sure Jim didn't give you any idea where he was headed?"

  "Not a hint. He wouldn't tell Jesse Gabbard, either. But how about the prisoners? Jim must've found out from them where the men he's after hole up. You might ask them."

  "That's a good idea, Joe. And I'll make 'em talk, one way or another."

  "You gonna head right out after that?"

  "I sure am. But my horse needs some feed and water. Would you grain him while I'm down at the sheriff's office?"

  "I'll do that," Joe said.

  Smoky and Walier headed back outside. Smoky lifted Soot's reins from the rail to lead the steeldust inside. He stopped when he saw the Slash Double E horses mixed in with Jim's stock.

  "Joe, were those other broncs also rustled?" he asked.

  "They were. Nobody seems to know who owns them, though. None of us are familiar with that brand."

  "That Slash Double E blaze-faced bay looks familiar. Think I'll take a closer look at him. I want to check those brands anyway."

  "I'll take care of your horse while you do." Walier led the gelding into the barn.

  Smoky ducked under the rail and up to the bay gelding. He spoke in soft tones to the horse while he ran a hand down its shoulder, then examined an old scar on its neck.

  "I thought so. You're Kurt Stoneham's old bronc. I always did wonder what had happened to you."

  Smoky turned away from the horse straight into a vicious punch to his belly which jolted the air from his lungs. He began to fold when a second punch to his jaw straightened him. He staggered back against the fence. Through blurred vision he saw his attacker go for his gun. Before the gunman could clear leather, Smoky lunged forward and sank his fist into the man's gut. With a whoof of expelled air, the man doubled over and went to his knees, gagging. Smoky grabbed his wrist and wrenched the gun from his hand. He pulled his own Colt and leveled it at the man's chest.

  His assailant was a youth of no more than sixteen or seventeen. Smoky's blow had knocked the boy's hat from his head, revealing a shock of dark curly hair.

  "Don't make a move unless you want a slug clean through you," Smoky ordered. "Why were you tryin' to plug me, boy?"

  Arms wrapped around his lean belly, the kid gasped for air. Tears of pain streaked his cheeks. He glared up at the Ranger, his eyes glittering with fury. "'Cause... cause I vowed to kill the men who shot my pa and stole our horses. Since I found you first, I figured to start with you."

  "Wait a minute, son. You've made a mistake. I'm no horse thief. I'm a Texas Ranger. I'm on the trail of my pardner, who's after the same bunch."

  "Then what're you doin' with our horses?"

  "You're a stubborn cuss, ain't ya, kid?" Smoky half-smiled. "I'm a Ranger. I was checkin ' their brands. Those Slash Double E broncs yours?"

  "Yeah, they are."

  "What's your name, son?"

  "Eric Esposito."

  Smoky pulled the boy to his feet. Eric was tall, almost as tall as Jim Blawcyzk, and extremely lanky. It was hard for the Ranger to believe a kid that thin could have hit him so hard his guts still ached
.

  "Well, Eric, you've got plenty of sand, I'll give you that," Smoky said. He rubbed his sore belly. "And for a skinny kid you pack a mean wallop. But you might want to make sure who you're dealin' with before you just go chargin' in next time. You'll live a lot longer that way."

  "I reckon you're right. Sorry, Ranger."

  "Call me Smoky. You say the men who stole your horses shot your pa?"

  "Yeah, they did. They bushwhacked him. Drilled him in the back. Lucky for my pa the bullet took him high, plus it missed his spine. He's gonna be laid up a while, but the doc says he'll be all right."

  "Where's your spread at?"

  "It's a day's ride or so outside of Bartlett. That's about seventy miles northeast of here."

  Joe Walier appeared in the barn doorway. "Everything all right out here, Smoky?" he asked.

  "Yep, it sure is," Smoky replied. "This here's Eric Esposito of the Slash Double E. He was trailin' his horses. Eric, this is Joe Walier. He owns this stable."

  "Pleased to meet you, sir."

  "Not sir, Joe. And I'll say the same."

  "Joe, I'd imagine Eric'll want to take his horses back home. How much'll he owe you?"

  "He won't owe me a dime, but I'm afraid he can't have his horses quite yet. They're being held as evidence until those two men Jim arrested come to trial. The circuit judge isn't due for at least three weeks, so the horses have to stay here until then. Meantime, the state is paying for their board."

  "You mean two of the men who shot my pa are in jail here?"

  "No, the men Jim brought in bought the horses from the hombres who did the rustling. Jim is still after the real thieves."

  "Joe, I've got an idea Eric might be able to help me find those men. I'm gonna head down to the sheriff's office now, and take him along. Eric, where's your horse?"

  "He's hidden right around the corner, in the alley alongside the millinery shop."

  "Get him. Joe, take care of the kid's horse, will you? Once we're done with Jesse, we'll be riding out."

  "Sure thing," said Walier.

  "C'mon, kid," Smoky said. "I think we'll know right soon where to look for those rustlers."