LeRoy, U.S. Marshal

by Neil Hunter

  Just one.

  Moving in her direction, a rifle canted across his saddle as he closed in…

  ~*~

  LeRoy had picked up the wagon trail late in the afternoon. It had run parallel with the Reno gang’s tracks. His first instinct told him this was simply a coincidence. The wagons had come in from a different direction but were now travelling in a similar one. It was entirely possible the train was the intended target of the Reno bunch. That the outlaws were about to meet up with it somewhere ahead with the intention of…attacking it? Wagon trains for the most part were not liable to be carrying much of value. Personal possessions maybe. Reno went for money and even if the train was carrying cash would it be enough to satisfy the outlaws? If LeRoy was correct in his thinking, and unless Reno knew something he didn’t, any meeting might turn out to be dangerous for the occupants of the train. With its previous record of using casual violence the passengers might very well be in for a hard time.

  LeRoy urged his horse to greater speed. He didn’t favor overdoing it. In the harsh climate pushing a horse too hard could be a foolish mistake. Yet something told him he needed to catch up with the wagon train. He was starting to experience a bad feeling.

  ~*~

  A rule Dixie Reed never broke was to ride in on somewhere without making certain it was safe to do so. That even applied to returning to the cabin unannounced and before it was decided it was clear. In all the months they had been using the place as their base they had only once had a caller and that had been someone Jack Reno knew. The man had come with information Reno had been waiting for. Despite the relative isolation of the cabin Reno still treated it with caution. Always had one man on the lookout. Now, with Yarborough in place and keeping an eye on things, Reed still needed to be sure he was in the clear before riding in. Reno had sent him to collect Yarborough and bring him back to join up with the group. Yarborough was going to have to tough it out, regardless of his injured ribs. With the first part of the job done Reno wanted Yarborough back with the rest of the bunch. With the wagon train and Reverend Tamber out of the way he had decided not to return to the cabin, instead going directly to the rendezvous so he could complete the deal.

  The lanky, gaunt-faced southerner, Reed, was the best man for the job. His tracking and scouting skills were the best in the group. He had proved those skills on many occasions, being able to creep up on an unsuspecting adversary unheard and unseen, getting in close enough to use the razor-edged blade he carried before his target realized.

  On leaving the bunch and returning to meet up with Yarborough, Reed had made a wide loop that, three hours later, brought him to the cabin from a different direction. Staying below the ridgeline of a low rise Reed was able to see the blackened remains of the cabin below. No horse in the corral. The place looked totally deserted. Reed spent close on an hour observing before he moved in, swinging around the rear of the site, rifle at hand. He noticed tracks leading in from the east. A single rider. The trail of the single rider led away from the cabin as he picked up more tracks. There was no doubt in Reed’s mind that the rider was tracking the Reno bunch and that led him to guess the man was some kind of lawman. Or maybe some kind of bounty man. There were numerous handbills out on the Reno bunch and the money offered for them dead or alive was slowly mounting up.

  Reed rode up to the cabin, leaving his horse tied to the corral as he checked out the burned structure. The smell of charred wood held a trace of coal oil. And something else. The odor of burned flesh. It was something Reed had experienced before and it stayed in his memory. He found the charred remains of a body inside the shell of the cabin.

  Yarborough?

  It had to be Yarborough.

  He and Reed had been riding partners for a long time. As close as men could be in their situation. They had shared good and bad times. Faced tough odds and had been forced to shoot their way out of a number of difficult spots.

  ‘I find him I’ll put in a bullet for you,’ Reed said.

  He went to his horse and mounted up, picking up the rider’s tracks. If the newcomer stayed on track he was going to meet up with Reno and the rest of the bunch eventually. Sooner rather than later and Reed wanted to be there when he did. Better still to meet him out on the trail. Alone and without warning.

  ~*~

  LeRoy had followed the tracks for half the day. He lost them a few times where the wind had scoured the earth but picked them up again later. It was tedious work, made harder because he had to spend time bent over, searching the dusty ground and that didn’t do his spine any favors.

  ‘I have to do this much longer I’m going to end up with a damn hump. Just like that Quasimodo feller out of that book I read one time.’

  The chestnut he was riding made a sound that might have been in sympathy, but LeRoy had the feeling not.

  ‘Hoss, you’re no help.’

  Mid-afternoon and LeRoy was ready for a break. The weather was hot, the air stifling and LeRoy was sweating beneath his shirt. Sleeving his face he halted the chestnut and eased himself out of the saddle, reaching for one of his canteens. He moved around to ease the kinks out of his spine, taking a small swallow to rinse out his mouth before he had a drink proper. He could feel the chestnut’s eye on him, heard the impatient nicker of sound.

  ‘Now you got something to say.’

  He tipped water into his upturned hat and let the horse satisfy its thirst. After a second mouthful of his own LeRoy checked out the immediate area and almost missed the flicker of movement as a single rider showed briefly a few hundred yards from his own position. The distant horseman eased back out of sight behind a ground hump. LeRoy stepped slowly back alongside the chestnut, hanging the canteen from the saddle and with his back to the ground hump slid the Winchester from its sheath. He kept the rifle tight against his body as he walked around his horse until he had it between himself and the hump. He worked the lever to put a round into the breech.

  ‘I seen you, boy, now don’t be shy and we can dance whenever you’re ready.’

  He took the reins in his right hand and walked the horse slowly, keeping the Winchester between himself and the chestnut. LeRoy was taking a chance. Placing himself where he might already be under the watcher’s gun. True, the bulk of his body was covered by his horse, but his head would be visible if the other man decided to take a shot. If the fellow was a marksman he might make it, and LeRoy had to admit the thought was strong on his mind. In a situation such as this a degree of risk was necessary. He wanted to draw the other man out. It was that or make the attempt to mount up and ride out of range, which LeRoy didn’t really favor. No matter how fast he might be climbing into the saddle he was going to present an irresistible target.

  In the end the decision was taken out of LeRoy’s hands.

  A gunshot tore apart the silence. LeRoy’s horse gave a terrified shriek as a slug burned across its flank. It pulled away from LeRoy’s grasp, bolting aside, still making a lot of noise, leaving LeRoy exposed. He froze for a couple of long seconds, his eyes picking out the shooter as the man angled his lean body from full cover, his rifle swinging round as he picked out LeRoy. The Winchester in LeRoy’s hands snapped into position and he tracked his target, fired and levered and fired again a split second before the shooter triggered his own shot. A tug at his shirt told LeRoy where the other man’s shot had narrowly passed. Then a puff of dust showed where LeRoy’s first shot had hit over the man’s left side. His follow-up shot cored into the man’s chest, knocking him back and down. As he saw the man fall LeRoy moved in his direction, rifle lining up and he put a third shot into the man’s head, directly over his left eye. It was a final shot, the one that took the shooter out completely. The maxim was true that even a wounded man might still have it in him to make a final shot, but a dead man’s hand was stayed for good. The shooter slammed back against the ground and lay still.

  LeRoy walked forward, up the slight incline until he was standing at the dead man’s feet.

  He recognized
Dixie Reed from one of the issued handbills for the Reno bunch. The man was known as a relentless killer, with little regard for human life. He was known as a skilled tracker, LeRoy recalled.

  ‘Not any more, boy,’ LeRoy said.

  He became aware of the irritating bullet sting where Reed’s slug had left its mark. It had been close, but LeRoy always considered a close miss just that. He rubbed his hand across his side, feeling the seep of blood. LeRoy gathered up the dead man’s rifle and slid his pistol from it holster, along with the long-bladed knife in his boot. Dead or not LeRoy always felt comfortable when he removed weapons from an adversary.

  He returned to where his horse stood some yards off, restless and agitated. When he checked he saw the bloody furrow Reed’s shot had burned along the horse’s right flank.

  ‘Easy there, hoss,’ he said. ‘We’ll doctor that.’

  He talked to the animal, stroking its neck and head, calming it down. He took torn cloth and a jar of salve from his saddlebags. Wet the wound with water from his canteen before applying the salve.

  ‘Be fine when the stinging goes away.’

  LeRoy rein-tied the horse to a low bush, returned to where Reed lay, his corpse already attracting flies. He searched the man’s pockets. Found little of interest. He saw Reed’s tethered horse back in the brush and crossed to it. He unsaddled the animal, shucked its harness and slapped the animal on the rump, sending it away. He went through Reed’s possibles and saddlebags. There was little of interest in the gear. A few items of clothing. Extra ammunition. A bundle of dark cigars and a squat bottle labeled whisky. LeRoy uncorked it and took a sniff. The bitter smell was enough to deter him from taking a drink. He left everything except the cigars and the ammunition. Unfolding the blanket roll LeRoy wrapped Reed in it and secured the makeshift shroud with lengths of cut saddle rope. He placed Reed’s weapons inside the blanket alongside the man.

  ~*~

  Less than an hour later LeRoy was back in the saddle, picking up on the faint trail he had been following before meeting up with the now deceased Dixie Reed. As he rode he was working out in his mind the way things had transpired.

  Reed had come to the cabin from a different route and knowing the way Jack Reno’s mind worked Reed would have been sent ahead to see if their hideout had been discovered. The man had a survivor’s way of thinking. Dixie Reed would have made sure he was on safe ground before he rode in, even if he was returning to a previously safe haven. He never took anything for granted. Always rode the cautious trail. It was most likely why he had survived for so long. The minute he had discovered the burned out cabin Reed would have searched around until he found LeRoy’s tracks, saw they were heading out along the earlier trail Reno and his bunch had cut. He had fallen in behind LeRoy, intent on cutting him down once he had him spotted.

  And he had come pretty close to doing that LeRoy admitted. Close enough that it mattered. With that in mind he had replenished the used ammunition in his Winchester before he slid the rifle back in its sheath.

  The main thought in LeRoy’s mind centered on the fact that if Reed had been back in the area, checking out the cabin, then Reno and his bunch could be on their way back to the cabin. Which thought warned him to stay on the alert for any signs the outlaws were heading his way.

  He recalled the place on the map he had seen on the cabin wall, circled in pencil. A deserted water tower alongside an abandoned railroad spurline. A man named Rufus Buckmann had sunk a great deal of money into the notion of building a line that would eventually connect with the main east-west tracks to bring more people to the area. A railhead junction would create a need for a town. There was the added attraction of the natural water supply that came from deep within the earth. It splashed out of the ground, creating a steady supply of natural water. With that in mind Buckmann had marked out lots, driving wooden stakes into the earth, showing where buildings would stand. Buckmann’s dream never got further than his intended plan. It was a noble effort that had ended up to be known as Buckmann’s Folly. The enterprise had been a costly mistake. Problems had followed one after the other and after repeated efforts to keep the project going Buckmann ran out of enthusiasm and eventually money. Two months after the failure of the business, with his creditors closing in, Rufus Buckmann stuck a pistol under his chin and blew off the top of his head. That had been five years ago. The water tower, cabin, and the rusted steel rails were all that was left of Buckmann’s dream. The spring continued to flow, creating a shallow stream that watered the immediate patch of dry earth and allowed the already established greenery to flourish. The spot of watered earth attracted any who rode that way, becoming a drinking hole. LeRoy had ridden by the abandoned spot a number of times, never paying it much heed before, but right now it took on some significance.

  He heeled his horse around and cut across the dusty Texas landscape. It was worth the ride to check out the location. LeRoy was thinking Reno was going to head for the spot, rather than return to the cabin. He was taking a gamble. If Reno and his bunch chosen to visit Buckmann’s Folly they could have already been and gone. On the other hand they might still be there, or possibly intending to visit. It was in the nature of his business to at least check it out. It was worth the ride, even if it proved to be a futile one.

  A few hours later he came down a long dip in the landscape, with his destination still a fair distance ahead, and hauled his horse to a stop. Leaning forward LeRoy studied the group of wagons sitting motionless under the hot sun. When he saw the ox team and the horses down on the ground LeRoy slid his Winchester from the scabbard and held it close.

  The wagon train from the tracks he had seen. It had to be.

  Easing his horse forward, eyes searching, LeRoy rode in towards the wagons. The scene was unnaturally still. No movement. No sound.

  Until a figure stepped into view from the far side, a raised Colt in one hand.

  A young woman, dried blood caking one side of her head and staining the front of her dusty shirt.

  ‘You better have a good reason to be here,’ she said. ‘Make it convince me not to shoot you out of that saddle because I can’t miss from where I’m standing…’

  ~*~

  LeRoy let his rifle lie across his saddle as he turned his body so the woman could see the gleam of his badge pinned to his shirt.

  ‘LeRoy, US Marshal, ma’am. I mean you no harm. Truth be told you look as if you could do with some help yourself.’

  ‘Marshal, step down. You need to see this. I’m Laura Wakefield.’

  LeRoy dismounted and followed the young woman to the other side of the wagons where he was confronted by the multiple bodies. Hardened as he was to the grim sights he sometimes came across LeRoy came to a shocked halt. He looked over the men, women and children, at a momentary loss for any words to convey his feelings.

  ‘I could have been one of them,’ Laura said. She touched the side of her head. ‘I took a bullet as you can see. They must have thought I was dead. When I recovered enough to move I was alone. This is what those men left behind.’

  ‘Three riders?’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Been tracking them for a while. Jack Reno and his bunch. I dealt with two of ’em along the way. That leaves the bunch who hit you.’

  ‘The Reverend Tamber was leading the group,’ Laura said. ‘Heading for the Pecos River where he was to set up a church. People were waiting for him to arrive.’ She paused in reflection. ‘They’ll wait a long time now. Marshal, Tamber knew those men. The ones who rode in. I heard the way he spoke to them. Like he’d been expecting to meet them but not here. Didn’t catch all that was said but enough to know he was surprised. Like they caught him unaware. He… was still speaking when one of them pulled a gun and just shot him.’

  The wanton killing didn’t surprise LeRoy. It was Reno’s way. Taking life meant nothing to the outlaw bunch. What did puzzle him was Reverend Tamber’s involvement with them. A man of God mixed up with the likes of Jack Reno? It made
little sense. Unless Tamber was carrying something in one of his wagons that Reno wanted.

  ‘Was Tamber transporting anything of value?’

  Laura shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘If he was he kept it to himself. A few of boxes of new bibles. Prayer books and the like. Things for the church. He might have had some money he’d collected. Donations. But even that would have been a small amount as far as I knew.’

  ‘Doesn’t make much sense then. If Reno knew the man and rode out to meet him it had to be more than that.’

  ‘I heard Tamber say I have kept my part of the bargain. He had something hidden in his wagon. I heard him say that just before he was shot.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  LeRoy saw Laura sink to her knees, head down, a low sound escaping from her lips. As he moved to her side she collapsed completely and lay still.

  ~*~

  When Laura regained consciousness she found it was dark. She was stretched out on a thin mattress from one of the wagons, a pillow beneath her head and blankets covering her. Daylight was fading around them. To one side she saw a fire burning and she could smell coffee. She became aware of something around her head and when she reached up there was a wrapped bandage there. The ache inside her skull had lessened. Not exactly gone but tolerable.

  ‘Did what I could to clean that wound,’ LeRoy said, appearing at her side. ‘I found some medical supplies in one of the wagons. I’m no doctor but I managed to clean you up and cover it.’

  ‘I feel foolish falling down like that.’

  ‘Miss Wakefield you took a bullet to the head. I believe falling down is excusable.’

  LeRoy helped her sit up before handing her a mug of coffee. She took it gratefully. The hot brew was strong but she drank gratefully.

  ‘How long have I been unconscious?’

  ‘A few hours. Rest was what you needed. I took the liberty of removing your old shirt and replacing it with a clean one. You spilled a considerable amount of blood down the old one.’

  With all that had happened having LeRoy partially undress her didn’t seem important.