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

by James J. Griffin

  "Not right now. We'd give ourselves away," Jim replied. "We'll head back inside and do some more celebratin'. But I intend to strike Cox's place at sunup. Any objections?"

  "Just one," said Smoky. "Dawson, what about your wife? How will she feel about this? After all, if things go wrong you could lose your ranch."

  "Or your life," Malinak added.

  "Doreen will be with us one hundred percent," Jordan answered. "She's as tired of Cox's antics as I am. If someone doesn't put a stop to his ruthless shenanigans we'll lose our place in any event. Better to go down fightin' than to just roll over and play dead."

  "Any other questions?" Jim asked.

  He was met with silence and the shaking of heads.

  "Then let's head back to the party. We'll ride separately to the Double DJ. Figure on arrivin' there so everyone gets a couple hours sleep. But we'll be ridin' at dawn."

  Chapter 20

  The next morning, despite the early hour, Doreen Jordan insisted on cooking breakfast for the lawmen before they rode against the Circle Bar C. The Rangers, sheriff, and their hosts ate silently in the pre-dawn darkness, each one thinking of the chore ahead.

  "Would you like some more coffee, Jim?" Doreen asked Blawcyzk.

  "Another cup," he answered. "And Doreen, I've got to be absolutely certain so I'm gonna ask you once more. Are you sure it's all right our usin' your home like this?"

  "I'm positive," she said. "And I also agree with Dawson's decision to ride with you. The survival of our ranch is at stake."

  "Then all I can say is I'm grateful to the both of you. We all are.

  Once they had finished eating, the men headed for the corrals. It was shortly before dawn by the time their horses were saddled.

  Jim slipped Sizzle a peppermint, then swung onto the tall gelding's back. "You boys ready to ride?"

  "Let's give Dawson a minute with his wife," Smoky suggested.

  "All right. We'll take five minutes." Jim conceded.

  The others waited in their saddles, Smoky as always working on a quirly, while Jordan and Doreen made their farewells. Finally, the rancher kissed his wife and climbed onto his wide-backed bay.

  "I'm ready," he said.

  "Then let's go." Jim dug his heels into Sizzle's flanks, sending the paint forward at a jogtrot. The others strung out behind him headed for the creek which marked the boundary between the Double DJ and the Circle Bar C. It was a thirty minute ride from the Dawson's ranch house.

  Blawcyzk reined to a halt at the summit of the hill overlooking the Circle Bar C. He waved Jordan up alongside him. "All right Dawson, this is your home stompin' grounds. You still think we don't have a chance of gettin' onto the Circle Bar C without bein' spotted?"

  "There's a chance, but it's highly unlikely," Jordan answered. "Cox always has riders out patrolling the perimeters of his spread. And if we get past them he's got Mike Buckley and a few more like him waitin'. So unless I miss my guess we're in for a real shootin' scrape."

  "Where would you choose if you had to pick a spot to try'n sneak up on 'em?" Jim asked.

  "See that bend in the creek. You can't see much of the bank on the other side because the brush is so thick, but it's pretty steep there, so it'll keep us out of sight until we top it. That thick scrub'll help hide us too."

  "Then that's what we'll do." Jim pulled out his field glasses to study the Circle Bar C. "Reese Macklin wasn't lyin'," he said. "That place is gonna be tough."

  The Circle Bar C's buildings sat on a high ridge, with cleared pastures and corrals extending in all directions. There was virtually no cover once past the creek. The main house and bunkhouse were solid brick and adobe, with small windows that would make it difficult to hit a target inside. Once the lawmen started up that hill they would be clear marks for any defenders.

  "We might have one advantage, surprise," Malinak said. "They sure won't be expectin' us."

  "It doesn't look as if anyone's stirrin' yet either," Price added. "Maybe we can get in close before they realize what's happening."

  "You want to go in there on foot or horseback, Jim?" Huggins asked.

  "Horseback, at least until we get in close. We'd be smaller targets on foot, but I'd rather have the horses handy in case we need them. We'll ride to just below the top of that ridge, then dismount and lead the broncs. And we're still gonna try and get Cox to give himself up without a fight."

  "Glad to hear you've changed your mind about killin' him," Smoky said.

  "Yeah. But if I think about Julia too long I might just reconsider," Jim answered.

  "Cox'll never surrender, especially knowing he's lookin' at a long prison term, or the gallows," Malinak predicted.

  "Well, whatever we're gonna do we'd best do it right quick. Sittin' around here jawin' all morning ain't gettin' anything done," McCue said. He still harbored a suspicion Jim would gun Cox down the minute he got him in his sights.

  "You're right, Smoke," Jim agreed. "Check your guns, then we'll head on in."

  He pinned his hand carved silver star on silver circle badge to his vest. Smoky, Jim Huggins, and Frank did likewise.

  The riders eased their horses down the incline to the creek bed.

  "That brush is gonna make a lot of noise when we push through it, Jim," Smoky observed.

  "It can't be helped. We'll just have to be ready for anyone who hears us comin'," said Jim. He heeled Sizzle into a walk. The big paint snorted a mild protest when Jim forced him into the scrub lining the stream bank. The other horses and riders followed close behind as Jim's horse bulldozed a path through the thick bushes and tangled vines.

  Despite the thorny brambles clawing his hide and the whipping branches stinging his flanks, Sizzle plunged across the creek and up the opposite bank. Jim reined him to a stop halfway up the incline. Mike Price pulled his dun up alongside them.

  "If I ever need someone to plow through a thicket I'm gonna borrow your cayuse, Jim," the sheriff said. "He sure made it easy for the rest of us."

  "That's probably as easy as things are gonna get," Malinak said.

  "Let's find out. Dismount. We're walkin' from here." Jim swung out of his saddle. The others followed suit.

  Guns at the ready, leading their horses, they swiftly climbed toward the top of the ridge.

  "So far, so good," Smoky commented when they reached the summit unchallenged. "No one's spotted us."

  "Except for that rider over there."

  Jordan indicated a horseman approaching at a fast trot, his Winchester out and leveled. When six-guns were aimed at his chest, the rider jerked his mount to a halt, tossed the rifle aside, and raised his hands over his head.

  "Get off your horse. No fast moves or we'll blast you to Kingdom Come," Jim ordered.

  The rider dismounted and stood alongside his horse, hands still raised. "What's goin' on here? Who are you?" he demanded.

  "Texas Rangers. We're lookin' for your boss, Justin Cox. Cooperate with us and you won't have any trouble. Don't and you'll be headed for prison," Jim answered. "What's your name?"

  "Zack. Zack King."

  "Well, Zack King, is Cox at home?"

  "He sure is," the shaken King answered. "But you'll never get to him. He's been on the prod for quite some time now. He's taken on half a dozen more gunmen over the past several weeks."

  "You happen to know why?"

  "Just rumors is all," King shrugged. "Word is he's afraid the Rangers are after him. I dunno why. But it looks like he was right."

  "You got names for any of those new gunmen?"

  "Yeah. Haney Scott's one of 'em. Bud Sliney's another."

  "Two of the most vicious killers in Texas," Huggins said.

  "Yeah, but neither of 'em's as ornery as Mike Buckley. He's one mean cuss, and still Cox's head honcho," King answered.

  "Frank, tie our friend up," said Jim, "Gag him too. We'll pick him up later."

  Malinak took a length of rope from his saddlebag and bound King tightly, hand and foot. He took King's own bandanna, knott
ed it, and shoved it in his mouth as a gag. "I wouldn't try too hard to pull that gag out, fella. You might choke yourself to death," he advised.

  "Let's move," Jim ordered. "And stay alert. We can be sure there's more outriders watching for intruders."

  His words proved prophetic. A moment later another rider appeared at the top of the ridge. Unlike King, this man immediately pulled out his pistol and fired a quick shot, which just missed Mike Price's throat. The sheriff jerked sideways when the slug burned a streak along the side of his neck. The lawmen returned fire, their bullets rolling the gunman out of his saddle with his chest full of lead.

  "They'll have heard those shots. There's no chance of doin' this without a fight now. Mount up!" Jim shouted.

  The six men swung into their saddles. Jim urged Sizzle into a dead run, the other horses strung out behind. They topped the hill to see men spilling from the bunkhouse. More were emerging from the main house, while still more riders galloped in their direction. Not expecting trouble, most didn't have guns at the ready. Several were hastily buckling gunbelts around their waists.

  "Spread out, and keep them covered," Jim shouted.

  The lawmen pulled their horses to a halt. They kept their revolvers leveled at the men gathering in the yard, as well as the horsemen.

  Two more men emerged from the main house and stood on the porch. One was young, in his early twenties, big and husky and broad through the body, with a good-sized paunch pushing out his gunbelt. He had dark hair and eyes; a thin brown beard framed his jaw. His movements were slow and indolent, but the hand resting on the butt of a heavy Remington .44 on his right hip belied his sluggishness. His general appearance marked him as a dangerous man and a pitiless killer. This was Mike Butler. The other, Justin Cox, was middle-aged, with thinning salt and pepper hair and dark eyes that glittered malevolently. He glared at the intruders, then his gaze settled on Jim Blawcyzk. His expression turned to one of pure hatred.

  "The upstairs windows, Jim," Huggins whispered. He lifted his Winchester from its scabbard to cover them.

  Two men with rifles had appeared in those windows.

  "I see 'em," Jim whispered back. "Don't see Sliney or Scott anywhere. That's probably them."

  He raised his voice. "Don't anybody move, or there'll be a bloodbath here today," he said. "We've got no argument with most of you men."

  "What exactly are you doing here, Lieutenant Blawcyzk?" Cox demanded. "I heard you were dead, killed in an attack on your ranch. Later I found out the news of your demise was obviously premature, and you had somehow survived. I must say I was extremely disappointed to hear that. And I am just as surprised to find you invading my home."

  Wordlessly, Mike Buckley started to lift the Remington from its holster.

  "Don't do anything yet, Mike," Cox ordered. "I want to hear what the lieutenant has to say."

  Buckley let the gun slide back in place.

  "Well, Lieutenant?" Cox urged.

  "You weren't surprised about that attack, since you planned and paid for it." Jim said through clenched teeth. "That's why we're here. To arrest you, Justin Cox, for conspiracy to murder a peace officer, and conspiracy to commit murder, robbery, rape, assault, and horse stealin'. I'm sure we can add a few more charges too. We'll also be checkin' to see how many men on the Ranger Fugitive List might be here."

  "That accusation is so patently absurd it would be laughable, but the impugning of my reputation is something I cannot tolerate," Cox responded. "I had nothing to do with the invasion of your home. And I certainly have no idea who was responsible. I also must emphatically state all of my men are merely cowhands. None of them are wanted."

  "Hold it, you!" Malinak suddenly shouted. "Less'n you want a slug through your guts!" He thumbed back the hammer of his Colt and aimed it at the belt buckle of a lanky gunman who'd attempted to ease his six-gun from its holster unnoticed.

  "Cox, tell your men to keep their hands clear of their guns," Jim reiterated.

  "Let the lieutenant finish speaking his piece," Cox said.

  "Mike Buckley's standin' next to you. He's a wanted man in several jurisdictions," Jim replied. "Moreover, you hired Reese Macklin and his outfit to kill me and attack my family. And you might've gotten away with it, except Macklin made one big mistake. He didn't make sure I was dead."

  "That ridiculous allegation is completely false," Cox retorted. "I have no idea who this Reese Macklin is."

  "You sure do," Jim shot back. "He's in jail right now in Cameron, along with a couple of his men. I put him there. He confessed to everything, and implicated you."

  "Why would I be involved with such a scheme?"

  "To get revenge on me for what happened to your brother."

  "That's insane. It's true I despise you for killing Thaddeus, but I would never stoop to cold-blooded murder. And you have no way to prove otherwise. All you have is the word of a common criminal, who no doubt came up with this wild story to save his own neck."

  "Macklin kept a record of his dealings with you, Cox. I've got them, and they're the evidence that will send you to prison for a long time, maybe the rest of your life."

  Mike Buckley spoke up for the first time. The threat in his otherwise soft-spoken voice was plain. "I think we've wasted enough time palaverin', Ranger. I've killed me a couple of lawmen in New Mexico and Nebraska, but none yet in Texas. I figure it's high time I made up for that oversight. You just say the word, and we'll go for our guns whenever you're ready. It'd give me pure pleasure to sink a couple of slugs in your belly."

  The sleepy-eyed killer tensed, his right hand hovering over the butt of his Remington.

  Cox put a restraining hand on Buckley's arm. "Not quite yet, Mike," he ordered.

  "Lieutenant, all I have to do is give the word for you and your men to be cut to ribbons. And Jordan, I don't have to tell you what will happen to your wife once you're dead. I'll have your spread for pennies on the dollar, and toss her out on the streets. She'll end up making a living as a common trollop. You might want to think about that."

  "I've made my choice, Cox. So's Doreen. You're finished in this county," Jordan responded.

  "If that's how you want things," Cox shrugged. "I think we've said everything that needs sayin'."

  "Not quite," Jim said. Before Cox could protest, he turned to the gathered Circle Bar C men. "Your boss here arranged to have me killed. Now, that might not bother many of you all that much. But the men he hired attacked and brutally violated my wife. They also shot down my son. That's the kind of man you're working for, a man who would have an innocent woman beaten and raped and a thirteen year-old boy gunned down. You all think about that, and if that's the kind of man you want to die for."

  "I've heard enough," Cox screamed. He snaked a hand inside his coat and pulled out a short-barreled revolver. He fired one quick shot, then dove back inside the door. His hastily fired bullet missed Blawcyzk by two feet. Mike Buckley also jerked his gun and fired. His slug took the hat from Smoky McCue's head. McCue's return shot missed as Buckley followed Cox through the door. Sizzle whinnied in pain when a bullet scored his flank, but stood steady under Jim's firm hand.

  Instantly, the grounds of the Circle Bar C erupted in gunfire. Jim and his men dove from their saddles, shooting as they scattered for cover. A number of Cox's men went down at the first volley. Others raised their hands and raced for cover, wanting no part of this fight. Evidently Blawcyzk's speech had had its effect, at least on some of the Circle Bar C hands.

  Jim Huggins had blasted the second floor window panes to bits, his rifle fire driving the men behind them back so quickly they hadn't been able to get off a shot. Now he took up a position at the corner of the house, blazing away. One gunman's bullet drove splinters of wood from a board just over Huggins' head. Huggins return shot tore through the man's right shirt pocket and into his lung, spinning him to the dirt.

  Mike Price, Frank Malinak, and Smoky McCue had taken shelter behind a woodpile, from where they had a good field of view of th
e bunkhouse. Several of the Circle Bar C gunmen had retreated there. Others had withdrawn to the protection of the barn. All these were exchanging a heated fire with the three lawmen.

  Dawson Jordan was huddled behind a rain barrel. Bullets punctured the barrel, sending spurts of water over the rancher as they sought him out. One gunman attempted to rush the Double DJ owner, only to die when Jordan put a bullet through his chest. Jordan settled back to outwait the siege, his carefully timed bullets taking some of the pressure off the lawmen.

  Jim Blawcyzk rolled down the yard's slight slope and bellied down behind an ornamental shrub. One of Cox's men managed to circle behind the Ranger and draw a bead on Jim's broad back. Just before he pulled his trigger, Malinak spotted him, whirled, and snapped off a shot. The gunman screeched in agony as Malinak's bullet buried itself in his stomach. He clamped a hand to his middle, staggering. Malinak put a finishing slug into his chest.

  Jim spun at the gunman's scream, saw him go down at the second hit, and waved his gratitude to the sergeant. He emptied the spent cartridges from his Peacemaker and reloaded.

  Mike Buckley climbed, unseen, onto the roof of the main house. He aimed at Blawcyzk, thumbed back the hammer of his Remington, and pulled the trigger. His bullet took Jim in the right side just below his ribs. Jim was knocked back by the shock of the slug's impact.

  Buckley once more took deliberate aim at Jim's chest. Before he could fire again, the Ranger put two bullets into his belly, then slammed three more into the center of his chest. The brawny gunman crumpled, and rolled down the roof and over the edge. He crashed onto a ramshackle outhouse, his bulk collapsing the dilapidated structure. Buckley's body lay motionless amidst the shattered boards and muck.

  Two men climbed to the barn's hayloft where they had a better angle to blast Price, McCue, and Malinak from cover. One's bullet punctured Price's left arm. The sheriff's return shot ripped through the gunman's stomach. He screamed, dropped his rifle, half-rose, then doubled over and plunged from the loft, thudding in the dirt below.