The Red River Ring

by Randy D. Smith

  Black Tom Bent chuckled silently and shook his head.

  Sulky smiled wickedly and gave out a shrill giggle.

  Chapter XVII

  It took three days to gather the north and west herds into Pine Canyon. Over fifteen hundred head were brought in and the sorting began immediately. Temple was pleased that more than seven hundred steers, and heifers would make the cut. At twenty-five dollars a head he could gross more than seventeen thousand dollars which meant he could meet his notes, make his payroll for the coming year and have several thousand left to meet any note demands the bank might make. He still had two herds left to sort. For the first time, he was going to see some real earnings from a lifetime of work. In another season, if he could hold on to the place, the McMurphy brothers could be wealthy men.

  Pommel and his black cowboys worked the roundup with the precision of a military campaign. Doing day swings into the mesquite canyons, they were shaking out cattle that most crews would have missed and bringing them in with a minimum of busting and roping. Even the McMurphy cowboys were impressed with Pommel and his crew. After the second day, Cap Morgan told Temple that he thought the roundup was going smoother than any he’d ever seen in the Palo Duro. Even Pac was working hard and taking orders. There hadn’t been a word from him about having to work with Negroes, something Temple had expected from the beginning. At the end of the third day, the cows and calves were separated and branded. There were seven hundred and forty steers, heifers and cull cows to go to Amarillo.

  Each night, besides the regular night herders, four men with Winchesters were posted on the rimrock above and on both sides of the herd. If rustlers hit, they would be riddled in a crossfire before they could even get at the herd. After supper Pommel usually positioned himself at the mouth of the box canyon with his rifle and pulled guard duty for most of the night. At least one of the black cowboys would join him.

  As Cap was gathering supper plates and serving a few last cups of coffee, Pac saddled a fresh horse.

  “You don’t have to pull night guard tonight. It ain’t your turn.” Temple said.

  “Is there anything you need from town?” Pac asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going in to see Mom and get some smokes for the boys.”

  “We’ve got plenty of tobacco,” Cap Morgan said.

  “Maybe so, but I’m going in to check on Mom and the girls.”

  “I’d rather you stayed here,” Temple said.

  “Nope, I promised Mom that I’d ride in and tell her how things were going.”

  Temple nodded and sloshed his coffee grounds. “I wish she’d have said something to me about it.”

  “I figured she did,” Pac said as he swung into his saddle.

  “Don’t do nothing stupid and watch your back. I know the Ring is waiting for us to foul up.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll be back in the morning in time for branding.”

  “Take your time. Sleep there. I won’t expect you before noon.”

  Pac nodded and smiled. “Thanks, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  As Pac rode out of the canyon, Pommel and Bill Wiley watched him swing to the southeast.

  “You up to a ride tonight, Bill?” Pommel asked.

  “Sure, what do you want?”

  “Go with Pac and see that he gets where ever he’s going alright.”

  “If that’s what you want, Major. I’ll leave directly.”

  “Go on, I’ll tell Sam what you’re up to.”

  Pommel watched Bill swing into the saddle. “Maybe you just better follow him and watch his back trail. He probably won’t want your company and I don’t want you having any trouble with him.”

  Bill nodded and swung his mount in Pac’s direction. He followed Pac to the east for less than two miles before he turned north toward Fire Canyon.

  Red Meadows and Pud Gamble waited by the campfire positioned on the high side of Fire Canyon. They heard Pac’s horse and grabbed their rifles.

  “Hello to camp,” Pac called.

  “Come on in, McMurphy. I recognize you,” Meadows said.

  “You boys a little nervous?” Pac asked as he eyed the cocked Winchesters and dismounted.

  “You damned right,” Gamble said. “I don’t like being anywhere south of the Red what with that bushwhacking daddy of yours ranging about, let alone on Three Circles range.”

  “Give us your message and we’ll ride,” Meadows said.

  “How about some coffee?” Pac asked.

  “Pour him some coffee so we can get the hell out of here,” Meadows ordered.

  “Shit, I got better things to do than wet nurse you,” Gamble said as he poured a cup and handed to Pac.

  “I’ve never known you to be so jumpy,” Pac said.

  “You weren’t at Solo Mesa when old Autry got nailed at four hundred yards.”

  “Don’t worry about Pommel. I saw him sitting on the rim of Pine Canyon with one of his nigger cowboys pulling night guard.”

  “So, what’s the word?” Meadows asked.

  “I figure we got another day’s work to finish up the branding. Knowing Temple, he’ll want to push the herd as soon as he can. That means you probably want to hit the herd tomorrow night. Pommel usually has four riflemen along the rimrock on either side of the canyon. Someone’s going to have to take care of them. I figure that if you take the rim you can pin most of the crew down while you rustle Temple’s fat herd.”

  “What if Tom decides to wait and not hit the canyon?”

  “The way I understand, we’re going to take those cattle straight up the Palo Duro as far as possible before breaking out on to the flats for Amarillo. Pommel said something to Temple about fording the Red at Prairie Dog Fork Crossing.”

  “I know where that is,” Meadows nodded. “That wouldn’t be a bad spot to hit em. There’s some small hills on the north side of the river that would make a good place for a fight.”

  “Do what you want. Just let me know so I don’t get my ass shot off,” Pac said.

  “And what about this one’s ass?” Burt Blake said as he pushed Bill Wiley into the open with his Winchester.

  “What the hell?” Pac asked.

  “I figure your daddy had you followed,” Blake said. “I was waiting for somebody to follow just like this one.”

  “This is one of his nigger riders,” Pac said as he drew is revolver. “What’s your story, hambone?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bill said.

  Blake struck him across the back of his head with the butt of his Winchester sending Wiley to his knees. “Don’t lie to me, nigger. Who sent you?”

  Wiley shook his head to clear his senses. “Weren’t nobody sent me. I was just riding and saw the light of the camp fire, that’s all.”

  Blake’s rifle butt struck Wiley between his shoulder blades sending him face forward into the dirt. “Talk, gott-damn it, or I’ll beat you to death,” Blake ordered.

  Wiley shook his head as he lifted himself to his knees. “That’s all I know.”

  Blake hammered his Winchester to full cock. “Talk or I’ll start filling you full of holes.”

  As Wiley tried to stand, Red Meadows put the heel of his boot into Bill’s mouth knocking him backwards into the ground, blood flying from his busted lip and nose.

  “You ain’t going to be very pretty when this is over if you don’t talk,” Blake laughed.

  Pac watched silently as Meadows and Blake began kicking Bill in the guts and ribs, his right hand unlooping the hammer of his Colt from his holster.

  Meadows stopped to catch his breath. “What’s the matter, Pac? Ain’t you got no stomach for this?”

  Gamble shoved a knife against Pac’s back. “Hell, he ain’t nothing but somebody’s nigger. Why don’t you join in?”

  Pac glared into Meadow’s eyes. “You tell this fool to get that knife out of my back.”

  “Or what?” Meadows grinned.

  “I’ll kill both of yo
u before you know the other’s dead.” Pac said coldly.

  Blake turned away from Wiley. “What’s going on here?”

  “I guess Pac don’t like us roughing up his daddy’s nigger,” Gamble said.

  “No man should be beaten like that. Not without a chance to fight back,” Pac said.

  Meadows stepped toward Pac menacingly. “Maybe we need to work on you a while.”

  “Hold it,” Blake ordered. “What do you want done with him? We sure as hell can’t let him ride back to the Three Circles.”

  “There ain’t no call to beat him to death without a chance to fight back.”

  “Little Packy is squeamish,” Gamble said as he increased the force of the blade against Pac’s back.

  Bill Wiley rose weakly to his knees, blood flowing from his face.

  “I’m not going to tell you again,” Pac warned.

  Gamble increased the pressure of the blade. “I’ll do the telling.”

  Pac stepped forward and turned with lightning speed to face Gamble, sweeping the knife hand away with his left hand and drawing the Colt Lightning with the right. Two quick shots from the Lightning tore into Gamble’s guts.

  Blake and Meadows went for their guns.

  Bill Wiley dove into Blake knocking him from his feet.

  Pac spun on his heels and put his third bullet into Meadow’s right shoulder causing him to drop his revolver.

  Blake grabbed his revolver and sent a bullet tearing across Pac’s forehead before putting another into Wiley’s chest.

  Pac spun from the impact of the bullet grazing his skull and shot a round into Blake’s thigh as he fell.

  “That crazy son-of-a-bitch!” Meadows cursed as he retrieved his revolver.

  Blake jerked his bandanna to make a tourniquet for his leg. “I told Bent he couldn’t be trusted. Shit! He put a hole clean through my leg.”

  Meadows knelt to roll Gamble on his back. Gamble groaned in pain.

  “You’re gut shot, Pud. There ain’t a hell of a lot I can do for you here,” Meadows said.

  “I never saw no one jerk a pistol and go to work as quick as that,” Gamble groaned. “I sure screwed up.”

  “He killed ya for it,” Blake said as he slid over to examine Bill Wiley. “The nigger’s dead. I must a heart shot him.”

  Meadows knelt to examine Pac. “He’s still alive. I’ll put another in him for luck.”

  “No, we take him with us. Bent ain’t going to like this and if anybody kills the kid it will be him,” Blake said.

  “Let me at him,” Gamble groaned.

  “No, we take him with us.”

  “Let me kill the little prick. He’s killed me for certain and I want to get even.”

  Blake struggled to his feet. “If Black Tom says you can kill him, I’ll hold him for you. But until then we take him with us to the Roost.”

  “I can’t make it to the Roost. I’m too bad shot up.”

  Meadows helped Gamble get to his feet. “You can make it. You may not be as hurt as you think.”

  “That’s fine for you to say. You ain’t never been shot in the guts,” Gamble said.

  Meadows lifted Gamble into the saddle then helped Blake sling Pac over his paint and tie his hands to his feet under the gelding’s belly.

  “How bad did he get you?” Blake asked as Meadows helped him get his foot into the stirrup.

  “Like you. In and out. I don’t think he hit bone, just the meaty part.”

  “You’re bleeding pretty good.”

  “Yeah,” Meadows said as he mounted. “I’ve bled before.”

  They rode off at a walk, Blake leading Pac’s horse and Meadows leading Gamble’s.

  Bill Wiley’s hand moved slowly in the dirt, grabbing then gripping a handful of pebbles.

  Chapter XVIII

  I

  As darkness settled, Pommel unsaddled his horse and stiffly made for the chuck line. Sam Ketchum and Temple were quietly eating by the fire. Cap Morgan ladled up a plate and poured Pommel a hot cup of coffee. Rather than sit on the ground Pommel stood by the tailgate of the chuck wagon.

  “I figured Pac would be back by now,” Temple said.

  “If not Pac, Bill should have returned.”

  “What do you think, Major?” Sam Ketchum asked.

  “First thing in the morning, I’m going to saddle my sorrel and look for them. Sam and the boys can start the herd for Amarillo.”

  “We could ride for town tonight,” Temple said.

  “Maybe, but what if they didn’t go to town?” Pommel asked.

  “You think he went to visit Pearson’s daughter?”

  “Maybe, but if that’s all it was both of them would be back by now. I afraid something has happened to our boys and both of them could be in a bad way.”

  “Damn, I should have never let him go,” Temple said.

  “How could you have stopped him?”

  Temple shook his head.

  “You can’t let a bronc run wild all his life then expect him to accept a saddle without bucking. You’ve all let Pac run and now no one can control him.”

  “And you’d done differently,” Temple snapped.

  “No, I wasn’t here. I should keep my mouth shut,” Pommel said after some thought. “Sam, why don’t you get one of the boys to take my night guard position. I’ll turn in so I can get an early start.”

  Sam motioned to Champ Riggs to take the guard position.

  “I guess none of us watched out for Pac much. Reese was busy with his family and business. I was worried about the ranch,” Temple said.

  Pommel nodded. “Pac sort of fell through the cracks, I guess. I’ve said too much already.”

  “I’d like to ride with you in the morning,” Temple said.

  “You’d be welcome. Pick your best mount. It’s hard to say how long we’ll be out.”

  Pommel unrolled his bed and slipped off his boots. He slipped his belt and holster carefully next to his saddle. He pulled the Winchester and laid it beside his bed roll within easy reach.

  Temple watched as Pommel prepared for sleep. “Why the Winchester rather than the revolver in his bed roll?” he asked Sam.

  “He’s always done like that,” Sam said. “Used to be the carbine but now it’s that big rifle. I think it must go back to the old days.”

  “Never use a handgun if you can lay your hands on a rifle,” Pommel said as he rolled to his side.

  “That must be the reason,” Sam Ketchum said with a soft chuckle.

  Temple nodded.

  II

  The mantle clock ticked with a steady mechanical rhythm as Reese adjusted himself in the reading chair. He reached to the lamp table and pulled the Colt Peacemaker a bit closer to the edge. The clock read ten past two and he wanted to go to bed. It was the fourth night he had spent in the reading chair since Blomberg’s burial but he wasn’t comfortable without someone watching the front door. He knew he couldn’t depend on John Fellows. John hadn’t said ten words to him since the night the sheriff tried to arrest Pommel. He thought to himself that he would be glad when this business as concluded and he could go back to life as normal. He missed sleeping with her and he missed his bed.

  Mary entered the room quietly in her dressing gown. “Are you going to sit up again tonight? Why don’t you go to bed?”

  “I’m fine. Did John go to bed?”

  “No, he stepped out for a game of cards while you were upstairs with your girls. I thought it was best to let him go.”

  “I’m glad you told me. It could get a little dicey if he came back without my knowing who he was.”

  “You boys hurt him deeply, I’m afraid. Fritz was his best friend.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Mom. This mess has affected all of us.”

  “I realize that. I think he’s beginning to as well. Maybe he’ll be easier when this has been resolved.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I wonder how they’re doing with the roundup?”

  “I don’t know. I
figured Pac would have ridden in to tell us by now.”

  The back door lock could be heard clicking and the door gently opening.

  “There’s John,” she said. “I’ll go fix him a cup of tea. Would you like some?”

  “Yes, I would, if its not too much trouble.”

  Mary went to the hall and started for the kitchen.

  After a few minutes she called. “Reese, could you come back here for a minute.”

  Reese got up from his chair and started for the kitchen. Half way across the room he realized he had left his Colt on the table. Rather than going back he stepped to the front door grabbed one of the Winchester carbines and carried it to the kitchen. He leaned the carbine in the corner next to the door jam. When he entered the room Bartello leveled a revolver and motioned for him to come on in. Segundo was standing behind his mother with a revolver barrel resting against her ear. Her face was etched with fear and anger. Valdez waited by the window with a cocked revolver looking out into the street.

  “Where are the others?” Bartello whispered.

  “Upstairs, asleep,” Reese said.

  “You and I will go up to get them.”

  “What for?” Reese asked angrily.

  “We are taking a little trip. I need the ladies to come along.”

  “Who are you?”

  “That is not important, senor. The important thing is that I know who you are.”

  Reese looked toward his mother with an expression of defiance.

  “I would not do what you are thinking. You are thinking that you could make a fight of it. Believe me when I say that my man will kill your mother with no hesitation.”

  “Don’t think of me,” Mary said with a trembling voice. “Think of the girls.”

  Segundo placed his hand over her throat and firmly increased the pressure.

  Reese took an antagonistic step toward him but felt the cold steel of Bartello’s revolver placed against his neck.

  “Think twice, amigo. Your death will solve nothing and she will surely die before you.”

  Reese stared into his mother’s face and watched her mouth a silent, “No.”

  “Don’t hurt her. I’ll do as you say,” he said as he glared into her eyes.