LeRoy, U.S. Marshal

by Neil Hunter

This was in his second week trailing the Reno bunch across the desolate southwest Texas landscape. Liam Yarborough had been his first contact.

  That left Jack Reno himself, along with Hank Malloy, Dixie Reed and Reeve Donnelly.

  The Reno bunch.

  A hardnosed collection of social misfits who were too lazy to work but figured the world owed them a living. Between them they were responsible for numerous killings and a long list of money oriented crimes. They were easy in their choices of venues. Banks. Stores that had cash registers to clear. Stagecoach strongboxes. Likewise, though distinctly harder to pull off, were railroad’s carrying cash. Lower on the scale were simple holdups of individuals carrying money. Winners of hefty gambling pots, followed from a long session at the tables had suffered the indignity of a gun muzzle poked in the ribs before being relieved of their winnings. As bad as those events were there was always the misfortune of being physically attacked during and after the theft. Violence was also a stock-in-trade of the Reno bunch, there being the thought that if a victim was set upon it was going to be remembered by the next unfortunate who fell afoul of the bunch, so would generally reduce the possibility of anyone resisting in the future. In most instances it worked but on occasion some hardy individual took exception at being robbed and fought back. That had been the case when Liam Yarborough had been attacked by a tough cattleman who had won a sizable pot poker. The bunch had stopped him on the way home, demanded he hand over the few thousand in his pocket. The man resisted, had pulled a gun and shot at Yarborough, cracking a few ribs before he took a number of bullets himself – they had been fatal – the bunch took the man’s money and rode away.

  A week later LeRoy had shown up in the small town where the incident had taken place, his closest to the Reno bunch for some time, and took off in the hope he might be able to catch up with them. He trailed them steadily, aware he was a fair distance behind. LeRoy kept going, certain he would catch up with then in time and hoping he might close the gap before they carried out any further crimes. His dogged pursuit would eventually succeed, though when he did small he only came upon Liam Yarborough…

  ~*~

  LeRoy rode until the light faded, then made camp in a cottonwood grove where a thin, clear stream meandered between the trees. After off-saddling he tended to his horse. He gathered fuel for a fire, then heated water for coffee. He had some beef jerky in his sack. It was tough fare but it would give him sustenance until he reached the next place where he could buy himself a decent meal. LeRoy had learned over the years to exist on small meals on the trail. He had beans in his possibles bag but right now didn’t have the wherewithal to go through the motions of cooking them. He downed a number of mugs of coffee when it was ready, accompanying the hot brew with a cigar from the dwindling supply in his saddlebags.

  After seeing to his physical needs, and before he settled down for the night, LeRoy took his weapons and gave them a wipe over with a soft cloth he carried, checking the action of each and making sure they were all loaded. Even though he knew they were well cared for it was a ritual he carried out regularly. In his line of work his guns were often all that stood between him and injury, or sudden death. Alvin LeRoy was not about to allow himself to fall into the trap of having his guns let him down. As an afterthought he took the Remington from his saddlebag and gave it a thorough check. No point in having a spare weapon if it wasn’t clean and ready for use. Once he had finished he replaced the pistol, the hammer resting on an empty chamber, back on his saddlebags.

  It had been a long day, so when LeRoy wrapped himself in his blankets against the night’s chill, sleep came quickly.

  ~*~

  Laura Wakefield saw the group of horsemen even while they were a distance away. The flat Texas landscape they were crossing hid very little. When she first saw the four riders, their image shimmering in the heat waves rising from the baked earth she imagined it was a mirage. One of those false images produced by the heat and given an ethereal projection. She passed a hand over her eyes, blinking against the brightness, expecting the images to vanish, but when she cleared her vision the riders were still visible.

  She hauled on the reins and pulled the oxen wagon to a stop. It creaked and swayed. Dry joints in the wood and on the wheel hubs made a slight noise. If she had told the Reverend Tamber once she had told him countless times, but he always passed her advice off as merely the whining of a mere woman who should better know her place. After time she stopped making comments and simply drove the wagon. After all she was only there to cook and clean, tend the stock and keep her views to herself. Tamber, a self-proclaimed messenger who carried the word of the Lord, was the guiding light within the small group. As long as they did his bidding he was content. If they challenged him his rebukes came thick and fast, and no one, not even the men in the group, were willing to go against his authority.

  Behind Laura the other three wagons halted. Moments later she heard the thud of hoofs as Tamber spurred his horse alongside.

  ‘I gave no command to stop,’ he said, staring at her with a grim expression on his angular, weathered face.

  As always he wore his black clothing, now dust lathered and salt-rimed. Shadow from the stiff brim of his dark hat fell across his unsmiling feature, and not for the first time did Laura wonder of the man ever smiled.

  ‘Riders coming in,’ she said evenly.

  It had come to her early on that the way to stand up to Tamber was never to respond to his downright aggressive posturing. Unlike the other four females in the party, who cowered under his bleak authority, Laura refused to allow herself to be dominated. If anything it made him even more determined to break her spirit. She had told herself many times that would never happen. Though she was only in her mid-twenties Laura had faced hard times and she had survived. She had been down to her last few dollars when she had heard Reverend Tamber was seeking a female who could cook and drive a wagon pulled by oxen, and who was willing to join his group as they crossed the Texan wilderness, taking the word of the Lord and a precious cargo to the settlement that had been established near the Pecos river. The journey would be a spiritual experience, according to Tamber, with the Lord’s blessing and protection. Laura was less interested in those matters and more in the fifty dollars in cash and meals along the way that the work promised. The wagon she drove, holding food supplies and equipment, proved to be a tough job but as Laura had dealt with an oxen team before she handled it well enough to satisfy the Reverend. He disapproved of her working attire – butternut pants and a check shirt, rawhide boots and a wide brimmed hat to keep the sun off her, but Laura ignored his scathing looks, telling herself there was no way she could do the job clad in a dress and sun bonnet.

  Tamber followed her pointing finger, screwing up his eyes as he studied the quartet of horsemen as they emerged from the distant haze and took on corporeal form.

  ‘Friendly travelers on the road,’ he said as if that answered all. ‘They are brothers to be welcomed.’

  Laura bit her lip. She could have said something but decided it was too hot to engage with Tamber so she didn’t share her feelings. Now that the riders were closer she could see they were all heavily armed and there was something in their manner that told her they were far from friendly. She hoped she might be mistaken but wasn’t about to believe it. She accepted she might just as easily be mistaken and the newcomers would bear no malice towards them. Even as she had the thought a feeling of apprehension settled over her.

  Tamber, you are going to reap what you might try to sow, she thought.

  The Reverend eased his horse around the front of her wagon and set himself in the direct path of the four riders as they closed in. Up close Laura’s misgivings were compounded as she took in the stained, dusty clothing. The unshaven faces and the unconcealed expression in their eyes as they set their horses in a loose line. They made no attempt to conceal the avaricious looks as they scanned the wagons and horses.

  ‘Do you travel far, brothers?’ Tamber said.
/>
  The obvious leader of the bunch – Jack Reno himself – hunched forward in his saddle, tipping his sweat-stained hat back.

  ‘No damn need for that fool password now. We all know who we are and why we’re here.’

  Tamber nodded, recognition in his eyes.

  ‘You have shown earlier than was arranged.’

  Reno managed a toothsome grin, twisting in his saddle to glance at his partners. ‘Hell, yes, parson. Damn right we found you. We been lookin’ for you and your flock long enough. Been a hot ride. Too hot to waste any more time. Now show me where you got that package stashed away.’

  As he spoke he let his right hand drop to the holstered Colt on his hip, drawing it slow and deliberate.

  Tamber sensed an impending problem.

  ‘No need for that, brother. I have kept my part of the bargain. Your goods are safe in my wagon. But this was not…’

  From where she sat on her wagon Laura saw Reno’s move and as fear clutched at her throat she understood what was about to happen. She was about to call out a warning, but Reno’s draw accelerated and the big pistol leveled, hammer back, and spoke with a heavy blast of sound. The .45 lead slug hammered into Tamber’s chest, tipping him back out of the saddle. Reno followed him as he fell and placed a second shot into his skull as he slammed to the dusty ground.

  Smoke curled from the muzzle of Reno’s weapon as Laura rolled across the wagon seat and threw herself clear. Even as she braced her fall with both hands she landed hard. A degree of panic began to roll over her. She fought it back, scrambling to gain her feet. Without a warning she heard more gunshots. A rolling crackle of sound that mingled with yells of alarm and screams of terror. As she pushed upright, with no coherent thought as to what she was going to do, she heard the stamp of hoofs on the ground. They were closing in on her and she turned around. A horse and rider loomed up in her vision. The man in the saddle was grinning as he brought up his gun hand, aimed the pistol at her and fired.

  Laura felt something smash into her head, pain blossoming, followed by an overwhelming darkness that shut out everything – sight and sound and she didn’t even feel herself fall. Or feel the impact as she struck the hard ground…

  ~*~

  When consciousness returned, in a ragged, jumbled form, where she had no idea where she was, for a while even who she was, she lay motionless. The first real sense she regained was pain. A savage ache that was threatening to tear her skull apart. The hurt frightened her, sickened her, her body alternately shivering, then pulsing with a feverish heat. Laura lay, scared to move, eyes closed because she was wary what she might see. Confusion crowded her mind, fragmented images all demanding attention.

  The four horsemen appearing.

  Approaching the wagons.

  Reverend Tamber moving to greet them.

  ‘I have kept my part of the bargain…your goods are in my wagon…’

  The leader smiling.

  Lifting his gun and shooting Tamber.

  And then her own panicked attempt to escape, the air full of screams and gunfire.

  The rider looming over her…his face dominating her vision…the gunshot that delivered pain and then nothing…

  ~*~

  …and now she was awake, struggling to make sense of it all. Fighting the hurt in her skull. The blinding pain that burned her very senses.

  Then she was aware of the silence around her. A silence that was frightening in its intensity. An unnatural quiet.

  The four riders were gone.

  She knew she had to move. To get to some kind of cover. The sun was hard overhead, burning through her clothing and searing her skin. Laura pushed up off the ground, hands against the gritty dust as she sat up, groaning against the persistent ache in her head. It took a while before her eyes focused and things took shape but when they did she wished she hadn’t looked.

  The wagon she had been driving was yards away, the ox team down on the ground with bloody bullet holes in them. Turning her head she saw the other wagons. All still. And the horse teams shot and still in their traces where they lay.

  Then she saw the bodies. Every member of the party. Men, women, even the children. Sprawled on the unyielding ground, riddled with bullet holes, clothing stained with their dried blood. She sat for a long time, simply staring, struggling to understand the reason why. She felt tears form and spill down her face.

  The simple question formed in her mind.

  Why?

  What had generated the slaughter of those people? By strangers who had appeared from the wasteland. Who had cut them down without pause.

  ‘Your goods are in my wagon…’

  Laura rose to her feet, swaying as a dizziness swept over her. She fought the sensation, refusing to let it claim her. Pushed back the nausea. She raised a hand to the left side of her head and felt the dried, crusted blood that covered her cheek, let her fingers move up until she felt the ragged wound across her skull. Her hair was matted with blood. She recalled the gunshot. The brutal pain as she had fallen. Her probing fingers found the long gash, the torn edges of flesh, still moist where she touched. Her fingers came away slick with blood. A moment of terror made her realize how close she had come to dying. Then her resolve took over and she forced herself to take stock. She was alive. And she intended to stay that way. Whatever had happened she had survived. She needed to face that.

  She moved to her wagon and climbed up on the box, seeing the way the interior had been torn apart.

  ‘Your goods are in my wagon…’

  She searched beneath the seat for the wrapped bundle she kept there. It was still in place. A roll of thick cloth that concealed a heavy Remington .45 caliber pistol, along with a bundled leather holster and belt with filled bullet loops. The Reverend had not approved of her displaying the rig, so she had concealed it under her seat. Not that it would have saved her from the guns of the men who had attacked the group. Holding it now offered a little comfort. The weapon had belonged to her deceased brother. The only possession he had and on his death a few years ago Laura had kept it. Something to remember him by? Not that they had been overly close but it was something. Every so often she would take the gun and clean it. Hold it before wrapping it up and putting it away again.

  Back down off the wagon and feeling self-conscious she put on the belt and holster, dropping the Remington into the leather. It lay heavy against her hip. Her gaze fell on the water barrel fixed to the side of the wagon. Seeing it made her realize how thirsty she was. When she went to it she saw the ragged bullet holes near the base. Anger flared. The raiders had shot into the barrel, letting precious water drain away. Laura moved to the other wagons, checking the water barrels on each one. All had suffered the same fate, ragged holes where bullets had splintered the wood, allowing the water to drain away.

  No water, no horses. Even though the wagon occupants had been killed the raiders had destroyed the livestock and emptied the water supply. She tried to work out why they had done that. Some kind of perverse pleasure? A need for destructive action simply because they could do it? Too much thinking at the moment only increased the ache inside her head. Laura chose to check each wagon in case the attackers had missed any canteens that might have been kept inside.

  She had to avert her gaze when she came into close contact with any of the dead. Seeing the children was the worst. Their bloody, sprawled bodies affected her the most and Laura was unable to hold back the tears. This time she didn’t even try.

  She found a couple of filled canteens in one of the wagons, hardly believing her good fortune. A moment of guilt washed over her as she saw the dead bodies slumped beside the wagon. People she had known, talked to, even though it had only been for a short time. Her need for water overrode her misgivings and she lifted one of the canteens and drank sparingly. She splashed more of the water on her face, letting it wash away the dirt that clung to her hot skin. She avoided wetting the wound in her head for fear of loosening the caked blood and starting it running again. Resti
ng against the wagon, away from the dead, she took in more water.

  Something was running around the edges of her conscious mind. Only now, as she managed to concentrate her thoughts, Laura found herself making sense of it. An image of Reverend Tamber watching the four riders move in towards the wagons. The way he had reacted to their appearance. Surprised. A little annoyed because they had shown up unexpectedly. Before they should have…Tamber’s reaction to the riders.

  And then the words she recalled.

  ‘I have kept my part of the bargain.’

  Things fell into place.

  Tamber had known the riders. Had expected them but not as early as them showing up when they did. Whatever arrangement they might have had was changed the moment the lead rider shot Reverend Tamber. And then they had murdered the rest of the small wagon train as a way of silencing any talk as to what had happened.

  ‘Your goods are in my wagon…’

  Which made Laura realize the riders had wanted something from the train. Something concealed in Tamber’s wagon. It had to be something like that. Whatever it was had been valuable enough to kill for. And reverend Tamber had known what it was because he had been working with the killers. Transporting an unknown object to a rendezvous with the three men. To a lonely spot where they could collect the item away from curious eyes and ride away with it. Leaving behind the only witnesses dead and unable to tell the tale – including Reverend Tamber.

  Only they had failed to eliminate one witness. Left for dead, Laura Wakefield, had survived.

  She had witnessed the whole scene.

  She had seen the faces of the four men and would be able to identify them.

  Her first reaction was to snatch the pistol from its holster, dogging back the hammer as she raised the weapon. She found herself staring about her, for a brief moment imagining the four riders had come back.

  For her.

  She was partially right. As she turned about she saw a horse and rider appear out of the heat haze, moving in towards the wagons.

  Not three riders…