“Quiet, Sulky. You’ll wake your old man,” he whispered loudly.
She increased the rhythm and clenched her teeth to keep from making more noise.
When he finished, she turned and drew him to her for a long kiss. “Again,” she whispered breathlessly.
“What right now? We’ve got to wait a few minutes,” he stammered.
“Why?” she giggled. “Don’t you love me?”
“You don’t have any idea how much,” he laughed.
“Why don’t you come to see me more often? I thought you’d never be back. I couldn’t wait.”
“It’s been three days. How often do you expect me to come?”
“If you’d do what Tom wants, we could be together every night. Every night!”
“Your old man wouldn’t like it.”
“If we had a place of our own, he wouldn’t have a say. All he cares about is my cooking and cleaning and choring. As long as I service him every week or so, he’s happy. I don’t want him doing me no more, Pac. I want you to do me.”
“I’m working on it. Things ought to break loose any day. When they do I’ll come and get you.”
She pulled away and crossed her arms over her breasts. “You said that last time, and the time before that. I can’t wait no more.”
He lifted her and carried her to the stall haystack. He put her down on her back and lifted her knees over his shoulders.
She giggled and let him have his way. “I like it this way too,” she said breathlessly.
“You like it every way,” he groaned.
“Yes, I do. Ah, yes,” she moaned.
II
Black Tom Bent held up his mount and examined the ponies tied in front of the Waterhole. Three of them had Quick 5 brands. He stepped down, led his black to a hitch rail and looped the reins three times. He stepped to the boardwalk and through the swinging doors. Red Meadows, Bartello, Gamble and Burt Blake were at the bar sharing a round of Red Eye.
“You in the habit of hitting the bar in the middle of the day on my time?” Bent asked loudly.
“We are today. Colredge like to got our asses shot off,” Blake answered.
Bent stepped to the bar and signaled the bartender for a glass. “Since I’m probably buying, let me have a few fingers.” He downed a full shot glass and signaled for another. “Now how did you boys almost get your asses shot off?”
“Colredge sent us out to track down a galoot named Pommel McMurphy. He put the rush on us in Nab’s office. I guess he killed Soap Withers then rode into Pampa as brazen as could be and offered to shoot anyone riding south of the Red. We lit out after him and he ambushed us at Solo Mesa. Shot ole Autry clean through the heart at five hundred yards,” Blake said.
“Poor Autry,” Bent said calmly.
“Yeah, shit! Poor Autry. I never saw such shooting.”
“McMurphy was a sniper for Johnston and Hood during the course of the war. He was the only cavalryman I know of that carried a scoped infantry rifle. Shit, I could have told you that,” Bent said before downing a third whisky.
“You weren’t around though, were you?” Nab Colredge said from the doorway.
“I thought the agreement was that I ran the outriders and you ran the accounts,” Bent said.
“Like I said, you weren’t here and I thought McMurphy was in a bad need of killing.”
“He is,” Bent said as he poured another. “He could muck up the whole works. I had everything and everybody in my pocket. I figured with one good raid, we could wipe out most of their outfit and take over the Palo Duro. He could change everything. He’s trail wise and smart. I didn’t want him around and I never expected him to come around.”
“What happened? I thought we had a line on that,” Colredge asked.
“We do. The deal is worked out. Evidently Pommel’s arrival was not in the plans.”
“We can’t change our plans now just because of one man,” Colredge said.
Black Tom poured another whisky and opened his coat showing the custom horn-grip butts of his twin Colts in their shoulder holsters. “No, just the opposite. We need to hit them as soon as possible before the old man figures out what’s going on.”
“What about the kid? I don’t like trusting him. He’s a loose cannon.”
“I’ve got the kid right where I want him. He’ll keep quiet. When he finds out our whole plan it’ll be too late.” Black Tom’s straightened his tall frame and carried the bottle and glass to a table. With his thick black beard, unruly hair, heavy eyebrows and dark eyes, he looked like a Cossack in a western suit. He found a place for his knee high, fancy stitched boots and removed his coat and hat before sitting. As was his custom, he planned to remain at the table until the bottle was empty. “You men need to head for the ranch. Red, I want you to bring in the riders as soon as possible. In two days we’ll ride for the ranch. They’re going to gather the herd. I want to hit the cattle and the main ranch at the same time. We’ll burn the buildings to the ground and take their north herd in one sweep. When they come north after the herd, we’ll wipe out what’s left of them. I figure that in a week, it will all be over with the McMurphys.”
The riders left the saloon, leaving Blake, Colredge and Bent. Colredge ordered a beer and Blake brought another bottle to the table. They sat across the table from Bent as if he was a Black Jack dealer.
“I wish you had been able to take out the old man. If I know him, he’ll be outriding, playing the lone hand, and hitting us from long range. With his experience in the war he could be a handful. We may have to move at night to avoid detection. Unless you think we can take him out.”
Blake shook his head. “I don’t have any idea where he’d be. Our only answer would be to try to draw him into the open.”
“There’s a way to do that if we can’t get him before the raids. Reese McMurphy has a wife and two daughters. If we took them we might get Pommel to do something stupid,” Bent said.
“I don’t like using women that way,” Colredge said. “It don’t wash well with a lot of people.”
“I don’t give a damn how it washes. When this is over I don’t want a McMurphy left standing, male or female,” Bent said coldly. The liquor was having its usual effect.
“I don’t know.”
“I do. You saw how McMurphy walked into your office without warning. That’s the way he played the game in the old days. He never knew of me, but I knew him. I saw a lot of comprades taken by that son-of-a-bitch. He hung more than a few of them when he took control of the Palo Duro. He’s unpredictable and that makes me nervous.”
“How do you know he’ll take after the women?” Blake asked.
“Because he can’t do anything else. Whatever may have passed between him and his old lady in the past they’re still his granddaughters. He won’t stand for it and he won’t waste time waiting for help. He’ll ride in after them even if he knows it’s a trap.”
“I don’t much like killing women,” Blake said.
“We ain’t gonna kill them. Blond girls like that are worth a fortune in Mexico. The mother will bring good money as well with her looks. Where I plan on selling them, no one will ever hear of them again.”
Blake smiled and shook his head. “You’ve got it all figured, don’t you?”
Tom poured another whisky, almost emptying the bottle. “I’ve waited for twenty years to take my revenge. Plenty of time to think and plan. When I drop the hammer on her, I want her to know that I’ve destroyed everything she’s built. Then I’ll have it all. The land, the cattle, and her ass in a sling.”
He flung his empty glass across the room. It exploded into bits of flying glass. Colredge and Blake raised their arms to protect their eyes.
Bent smiled and stared at the barren wall, his left hand fondling the empty bottle of whisky.
Chapter IX
The raid had been sudden and the cowboys had no warning. A half-burned body was lying across the campfire ashes. Another body was bloating under a mesquite bush, a Ye
llow Boy Winchester still held in his death grip.
Pommel sighed and tipped back his hat. “You know who they were?”
Temple nodded and stepped cautiously from his mount. “They’re mine. The one on the fire is Waco Bob and the other is Arch Davis. Waco has ridden for the brand for eight years.”
Pommel read the evidence without dismounting. “It’s been a day and a night, no longer. Looks like there were four maybe five of them.”
I sent Waco and three riders up here to clear the mesa of cattle and join us at the west box canyon in the Palo Duro. They rode out when I did.”
Pommel nodded and started his sorrel in a circle of the camp. “Your other men ran this way, on foot.”
“Check it out,” Temple ordered as he lifted Waco Bob from the ashes.
Shotgun pellet wounds were strung across Waco’s chest and neck. Davis had identical wounds.
Temple laid the men side by side and wondered what he could use other than his Bowie to dig the graves.
Pommel returned to camp with the body of Josh Allen slung over his saddle. “There’s another out there. They made it less than forty yards. Both were shotgunned in the back.”
“That would be Kroger. These were four of my best riders.”
“I’d use rocks and cover the bodies together if you’ve a mind to put them under now. We don’t have time for that much digging.” Pommel said.
“You think we can catch them?” Temple asked.
“They’ve got twenty, maybe twenty-five cattle. I figure that even pushing them hard, they only made eight or ten miles. Eight or ten yesterday, that would put them no more than twelve miles out today. We could catch them by dark if we ride now.”
“They need burying.”
“That’s all they need. It will take at least four hours to rock them under, a whole day to dig graves. Every minute we wait makes a better chance of losing our sign.”
“I can’t leave them like this. They were my friends.”
Pommel nodded. “Let’s get to it.” He stepped from his sorrel and slipped his saddle. “You’ll want to get your saddle off. We need to give these ponies as much rest as possible.”
It was nearer five hours before enough rocks were gathered and piled on the bodies to satisfy Temple. He placed each cowboy’s hat under a rock at the top to show that four bodies were present. Pommel waited patiently as his son said the words.
The trail was easy to follow and they pushed their horses at an easy lope. By noon they were breaking out of the canyons and onto the flats stretching to the northeast. They rode without stopping and forded the Red at dusk. From the top of the bluffs of the north bank, they saw a campfire a half-mile further north. They stepped from their exhausted mounts and let them blow.
“You got a plan?” Temple asked.
Pommel pulled the Winchester and examined its condition. “I was hoping we’d still have some light when we caught up with them. This thing won’t do us much good tonight. If we wait till morning to hit them, chances are we’ll lose a couple when they scatter. I’m for hitting them tonight, take the night guard with knives and kill them in their bedrolls.”
Temple shook his head in disgust. “Bushwhack them like they did our men.”
“Exactly. Leave them where they lay with three rocks under their heads so’s folks will know why they were killed.”
“Is that the way you did it in the old days?”
“No, I wouldn’t have wasted a whole morning burying four dead men. I could have done that on the way back. And, it’s not the old days. We buried two rustlers at home last April.”
“After you bushwhacked them?”
Pommel’s voice showed his impatience. “No, we hung em. We had a posse of seven and the numbers were in our favor. These men are tough and at least one of them is packing a shotgun. How much of an even break do you think you owe him?”
“You think this is the right bunch?”
“Of course. We’ve followed their trail to this spot. They should be running a cold camp but I figure they never expected your riders to be found so quickly.”
Temple nodded. “How do we do this?”
“I’ll find the outrider and take care of him. You locate their horses. If they’re tied to a picket line, check for a guard and take care of him. If the ponies are hobbled, get between the camp and the horses with the rustlers silhouetted against the fire. Use that Yellow Boy and don’t let them make it to the dark. It’s hell to pay if you do.”
Temple hesitated. Pommel could tell he was uneasy.
“What?” Pommel asked.
“What if they’re not the right men? You’re talking about killing innocent men if they aren’t?”
“If I come in shooting, they’ll be the men we’re after. I’ll know before I do anything. I’ll check the brands.”
“No chance of taking them alive?”
“Damn! If we had a posse of twenty, we could worry about their rights. With only you and me we can’t worry about such polite niceties. Either we get your cattle or you go back, sell your herd and become a storekeeper with your step-daddy.”
Temple flashed anger.
“Boy, you got to fight to hold on to what is yours out here. They’ve killed four of your best men. They’ll drain you dry as long as they’re alive.”
“Alright,” Temple said, still defiant but unwilling to take the argument any further. “I’ll wait for you to make the first move.”
“Don’t get me mixed up with the others. I’ll go for the shotgun man first. I don’t fancy trying to outgun him in the dark.”
“I’ll know which one is you,” Temple said as he stepped into his stirrup.
Pommel dismounted a hundred yards from the cattle, drew his Remington carbine and made his way to the cattle. It was dark and progress was slow in the rocks and cactus. When he found the herd, he sat against a rock and waited for some sign of the night guard’s location. Most of the cattle were down, exhausted from the day’s drive. He couldn’t make out the brands.
The night guard’s horse rolled rocks as it made a pass down a slope. When the horse passed Pommel, he made out the Quick 5 brand. It was one of Black Tom’s riders and that’s all Pommel needed for justification. He followed the horse on foot at a distance. Once the rider held up his mount and half-turned in his saddle. Pommel figured that the rider had heard him.
After a moment the rider urged his horse forward. A quarter circle later, the rider drew up his horse and stepped to the ground. Pommel could tell that he was fishing out his prick to take a piss. Pommel drew his knife and closed the distance.
Another voice sounded from the darkness. “What you doing, Calhoun? Playing with your jig line?”
The guard jumped and stepped back. “Gott-damn it Sloan. You made me piss on my boots.”
A second rider appeared from the darkness and brought his horse alongside Calhoun. “If it weren’t so damn short, you wouldn’t have to worry about wetting your boot tops,” he said. “Maybe you should squat like a squaw.”
“You’re a right funny son-of-a-bitch tonight.”
“What’s the matter Cal? You seem a bit nervous.” Sloan said.
“I don’t like this business. We were told to hit the ranch hands. Nothing was said about rustling cattle.”
“Might as well take a little extra profit when we can.”
“Yeah, shit. If Red or Black Tom find out that we’re grabbing a few head for our own, they’ll be hell to pay.”
“Relax. We’ll make a quick sale, pocket a few dineros and be back south of the Red afore any of them know it.”
“And what’s Clancy’s idea of running a fire? Shit! What if they put a posse on our tail?”
Sloan spurred his horse forward. “Quit playing with yourself and mount up. We’ve got another hour before we’re relieved.”
Calhoun looked toward the stars. From the location of the Big Dipper he figured it was more like thirty minutes. “I don’t think we got that long.”
Sloan di
dn’t answer.
Calhoun turned and whispered louder. “I don’t think we got that long. Sloan? Sloan?”
The sound of a horse’s hooves on the rocks came toward him. When the animal was close enough for Calhoun to see, the saddle was empty.
Calhoun took hold of its reins and drew his revolver. “Sloan? Sloan?”
Pommel put his arm around Calhoon’s neck, drew his head back, and shoved his Bowie knife up under his sternum.
Calhoun dropped his gun and tried to cry out but Pommel choked off his air. When his air ran out, he slumped.
Pommel gave the knife another push upward and allowed Calhoun to slip to the ground. He wiped his knife on Calhoun’s leggings and made for the camp.
Clancy put his full cup on the ground and placed the pot near the fire. He sat back on his heels and watched the mounts standing at the tie line facing the fire. He watched Holmes and Crutchfield sleeping in their bedrolls before pulling his shotgun, breaking the action, tipping the barrels down and checking his shells.
He heard a mount on the rocks making toward camp. “Calhoun, is that you? Don’t be riding into camp without calling out. I’m likely to blow your head off.”
“Yeah, Yeah,” the voice answered from the dark.
“You’ve got at least an hour of night guard left so get your ass back out there.”
“Yeah, Yeah,” the voice said.
Clancy lifted the shotgun and cocked the hammers. “Who’s out there?”
A flash of gunfire slammed Clancy back into the fire. He scrambled from the flames and crawled toward his shotgun. A second shot dropped him in the dirt.
Holmes and Crutchfield rolled from their bedrolls grabbing their revolvers. Holmes managed to get off a shot before a bullet ranged through his chest. An instant later Crutchfield’s legs gave out as he took a bullet to the head.
Temple rose from his spot next to the picket line, his Winchester unfired. Pommel stepped to the ground, the revolving carbine still smoking.
“I never had a chance to draw a bead on any of them,” Temple said quietly.
The Red River Ring Page 6
