Blood Bond 9

by William W. Johnstone

  “Another rancher?” Matt asked. “An outlaw?”

  “One helluva mean sonofabitch,” Brown said, his gray eyebrows arching together. “He’d just as soon kill you as talk with you. He’s got the whole town afraid of its own shadow. Everybody’s scared of him. Other riffraff know a good thing when they see it, so joined up with him. Ralph Smiley’s one of them.”

  Matt said thoughtfully, “I’ve heard of him. A small-time crook. Never amounted to much.”

  “He’s hooked up with Petty and has been stealing this area blind. He finally got to my spread last night. I tracked them for a few miles and like a fool confronted him. Almost got myself killed. But doing nothing leaves as bad taste in my mouth. I haven’t worked this hard for this long just to give it up now.”

  “Any plans?”

  “Still working on them. I know I’m not going to just roll over and play dead.”

  “Don’t blame you. I wish you luck. Now how about showing me that good fishing spot . . .”

  King Petty stared moodily at the ceiling of the Black Bull Saloon, which he owned. He had taken it from the original owner years ago and now used it as his private club. The girls that were usually on his lap were keeping their distance, as were his men. He had an open bottle of whiskey on the table in front of him.

  Petty’s thoughts kept returning to the Brandom woman and how easily the stranger, Sam Two-Wolves, had taken her from him. His draw was almost as fast as Petty’s, and he didn’t back away from a fight as did everybody else in town. Two-Wolves could be a problem.

  On the other hand, Petty was bored with the way things had been. Two-Wolves might present a challenge to him, to make a life a little more interesting before he was killed. After all, Petty could also make life interesting for Two-Wolves.

  Petty was not about to let Two-Wolves get away with humiliating him and killing his men.

  He gulped his drink, poured another, and thought again about Lilly Brandom. She was a desirable woman. He had wanted her before. Now he had to have her. Two-Wolves had seen to that. Nobody told King Petty what to do, when to do it, or who to do it with.

  He slammed the glass on the table and yelled, “Conn! Get over here!”

  The tall man at the bar strolled over to Petty’s table.

  “Find Holt.”

  “Sure, boss. But what do you want with that clown?”

  “I want to talk to him. He ain’t worth much, but he is the marshal. We might be able to use that as a weapon against Two-Wolves. Maybe we can find some way to make his stay in town a little more uncomfortable.”

  “Don’t think Two-Wolves is going to scare easy.”

  “Or, if we can’t get to him, then maybe the widow Brandom. We’ll come up with something. One way or another, I plan to have the widow. And I plan to kill Sam Two-Wolves.”

  Chapter Five

  Lilly had been quiet ever since they had left Ponder’s store. Sam, holding the reins of the woman’s wagon, knew that the reason for her calm was partly due to the mixture that Clarissa had prepared for her. It wasn’t a drug, but a combination of herbs known to some Indians and old-timers used to temporarily soothe nervous problems. It would also help her to sleep when she returned home. Unfortunately, it would not make the following days any easier to accept.

  Sam could tell a lot about a man by the way he treated his animals, and he respected the late Jack Brandom. The two horses pulling the wagon were not fancy, but they were sturdy and healthy. They had been worked, but they had also been well-fed and groomed. Sam figured Jack Brandom would have been a no-nonsense kind of man, a hard worker, somebody who probably tried to take care of his family the best way he knew how.

  Sam watched Lilly as they rode. She was a very attractive woman, with soft hair and curves in all the right places. She seemed to be in her twenties, which would mean that she had married young. That would not be unusual. Even in her grief, she was protective of her son, and the sorrow at the loss of her husband seemed genuine.

  Sam sympathized with Lilly and Tommy. Though in town he had tried to discourage any idea of his taking revenge on King Petty, Sam knew he could not walk away from this fight. This killing was so cruel and senseless that Sam knew he had to do something, though he wasn’t sure what that would be. For now, his action was only to try to see the mother and son safely home. He had placed the supplies purchased from the Ponders in bags on his horse, tied behind the wagon.

  This part of the country consisted of gently rolling hills covered with grass and trees, leading to deeper valleys near the town. The wagon moved slowly. Lilly’s body swayed gracefully on the seat.

  “Lilly, I said back in town that I might try to help you. To do that, I need more information. Do you feel up to it?” The woman nodded her head. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  “It all happened so fast, it’s almost like a blur,” Lilly said. “One minute, Jack’s in the field, breaking ground for planting. Tommy’s helping him. I bring them some water and Tommy comes with me back to the house. Next thing I know, I hear two shots and I see that . . . Petty riding over the hill and bragging that he shot my husband.”

  “Did Jack have any enemies? Could he have somehow provoked the fight?”

  “I don’t think so . . . I know he didn’t. Petty bragged that he killed Jack in cold blood. He . . . killed him . . .”

  Suddenly, Lilly, started crying. Sam stopped the wagon, touched the woman on the shoulder, and she fell into his arms, sobs rocking her body. The boy didn’t cry, but he moved closer to her. Sam put his arms around both of them, wishing he could do more.

  Richard Holt had no illusions that he had been appointed City Marshal only because he was so worthless. Petty had killed the previous three men who had held the position, and the “city fathers” had all but given up on appointing another. Holt was handpicked by Petty as a joke. It was a way to thumb his nose at what might have remained of the law in Snake Creek. Holt could handle that, since it meant thirty dollars per month plus room and board for basically sitting around the jail and doing occasional errands for Petty. Even so, he hated to be summoned by Petty, especially after already having such a rough day. Some of the bullets fired by the stranger, Two-Wolves, had come too close to him for comfort. His agreement to serve as marshal hadn’t included any actual bullets being shot at him.

  Outside the Black Bull Saloon, Holt sighed and tucked in his shirt. Conn, holding the door open in front of him, said, “Come on, King’s waiting.”

  “I’m coming . . . I’m coming.”

  Petty was seated at a table in the center of the room, an open whiskey bottle in front of him. Several of his men were with him around the table.

  “About time, Holt,” Petty said. “Next time, don’t keep me waiting. Understand?”

  “Sure, boss.”

  “We’re discussing ideas about how to have a little fun with the widow Brandom and that troublemaker, Two-Wolves. Any ideas?”

  “I don’t know . . . you’re the boss.”

  “Damned right. While we were waiting for you, we already came up with a couple of ideas.”

  “I’m sure they’re good ones,” Holt said. “I’ll be there, whatever you need.”

  “Good. That’s what I want to hear, since you’re going to be paying the widow a visit. I want you to worry her a little.”

  “What do you mean? She might shoot me!” Holt gulped. “Or, worse, Two-Wolves might shoot me.”

  Petty continued as if he hadn’t heard Holt’s words. “The woman seems to think that you could actually do something about her husband’s death.” He laughed. “So let her continue to think that. Ride on out to her place and tell her that you’d be glad to investigate . . . if you have the evidence. So you’ll need proof of the killing . . . her husband’s body!” Petty laughed even harder. “That should give her some pleasant dreams!”

  “Sounds kind of rough on the woman and kid,” Holt started to say, then saw the frown on Petty’s face. He continued. “What if she tries to shoot me
? I didn’t make any points with her this afternoon.”

  “I’ll send Conn with you. And don’t worry about Two-Wolves.” He turned to two of his other men. “Hardesty, Cooper, you two take care of that meddling sonofabitch. He was riding out of town a few minutes ago with the widow. If you ride fast, you can probably catch up to him before he gets the woman home. Ambush him. Catch him by surprise and kill him quick and you shouldn’t have any problem. He just got lucky this afternoon.”

  “How about a drink . . . for the road?” Holt asked.

  “Later. Now get. You all know what to do. Now do it.”

  Matt was almost ready to forget the fishing and just pull out some bacon and beans for supper. It was now a matter of honor, however, to have that fish ready upon Sam’s return. And there was still enough day left to accomplish the task.

  After Lester and Derrell Brown had left, Matt grabbed his pole, found some fresh worms, and tried the spot that the Browns had recommended. It almost seemed too shady to Matt’s eyes, but the fish were biting.

  Unfortunately, the quiet time he had anticipated eluded him. The spot was peaceful enough, and the fishing was relaxing, but he kept thinking about the rustlers plaguing the Browns, in general, and King Petty, in particular. Matt had not offered to help them because it wasn’t his fight. He was also still upset at Derrell’s attack on him, even though it was an honest mistake. Still, Matt hated to turn his back on a fellow rancher. Matt had also previously worked as a law officer, and there was something about King Petty that caused his neck hairs to tingle in warning. It was a vague feeling, but over the years Matt had learned to trust his instincts. He felt like he should be doing something other than holding a fishing rod, even though he was no longer a lawman nor was it his problem.

  By mid-afternoon, Matt had caught plenty of fish for supper. Thoughts of the rustlers kept crossing his mind. Almost in spite of himself, and against his better judgment, he pulled his pole out of the water and saddled his horse. He told himself he wasn’t going to look for anything in particular; he just wanted to see what he could find.

  The Browns had good land, Matt decided as he rode. The grass was thick and there was plenty of water. The signs indicated that they had a fairly large herd.

  Matt came upon the trail of the rustlers near a large watering hole about a mile from where he had been fishing. Tracks showed that many cattle had gathered here, but had been herded together by a few men. Matt counted about five different horses, though there could have been more.

  The workers were also sloppy in their roundup, missing a few dozen of the animals, which were once again gathered at the water. Matt decided that this meant the rustlers were so sure of themselves that they were not concerned about rounding up all the cattle at one time, that they would be coming back when they were good and ready.

  Sam could have read more details in the tracks, but Matt did well enough. He followed the trail for a while, even to the point where Lester Brown had ridden into the moving herd, his horse’s tracks mingling with the cattle in the trampled dirt. The trail then led into some rocky ground, but Matt had learned what he needed to know. The rustlers consisted only of a small group, and they weren’t too concerned about being followed. If he chose to, Matt could track them to where they were holding the stolen cattle.

  His questions answered, Matt turned his horse around to return to his camp. It was time to start cleaning the fish. Sam would probably be back soon, and he might as well be ready.

  Just outside of camp, Matt detected a subtle movement in the brush. This time, a flash of sunlight off a gun barrel showed that it was not a snake or a bull. Matt’s hand dropped to the revolver at his side. He had it pulled and ready to fire when Lester Brown stepped into the open.

  “Hold on, son!” he cried out, holding his rifle in front of him. “Don’t shoot!”

  “Good way to get yourself killed,” Matt said. “You came damned close.”

  “Hell, I didn’t expect you to be so fast. Damned, you had that gun out of its holster before I could even blink. That’s about as fast as I’ve ever seen!”

  “So what are you doing out here?”

  “I wanted to catch you before you got to your camp. Derrell and I brought you a little gift—some fish that we caught for you—to kind of make up for what you lost earlier. I wanted to warn you that Derrell and me are here, so you wouldn’t come in shooting. Looks like a good thing I did!”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Matt agreed.

  “And, with your permission, we’d like to cook supper tonight. It’s the least we could do, seeing as to how Derrell tried to take your head off earlier.”

  “Are you good cooks?” Matt asked, smiling.

  “I was a bachelor for most of my life,” Brown said. “I learned to be a pretty hot-damned good cook, if I do say so myself. And I taught Derrell everything I know.”

  “My partner, Sam, is coming in later with some supplies.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got plenty of everything.”

  “Somehow I don’t think Sam would object, as long as he doesn’t have to cook. Make yourself at home.”

  Lilly had stopped crying and had moved to the outside edge of the wagon seat. Sam kept his eyes on the road ahead. The way was clear, but he didn’t trust Petty at all. It would be just like him to try an ambush of some sort, and there was no use taking chances.

  “Will you be staying with us?” Tommy asked.

  “Afraid not,” Sam answered. “I need to check on my partner, Matt. He and I are camped a little ways downstream.”

  “Can’t Matt get along without you?”

  Sam smiled. “I figure Matt can take care of himself. It’s more a matter of decorum . . .”

  Tommy looked puzzled. “De-corum?” he asked.

  “It wouldn’t look right for a strange man to be staying with you all so soon after your daddy’s death.”

  Tommy looked disappointed.

  “But I’ll see you the rest of the way home. And I’ll stop by first thing tomorrow.”

  “Is your partner anything like you?” Lilly asked, with what was almost a smile. Sam figured Clarissa’s tea must be working pretty well. “If so, you must make an interesting pair.”

  “Matt’s supposed to be fishing and staying out of trouble,” Sam said. “He’s a fair fisherman, but he’s not any good at all at staying out of trouble.”

  Lilly looked at him with big, sad eyes.

  “Of course, I’m not too good in that department myself,” Sam concluded softly, so Lilly wouldn’t hear.

  The next mile was spent in a pleasant silence, which was interrupted suddenly by a rifle shot from a hill near the Brandom place. Sam immediately pulled Lilly and Tommy to the floor of the wagon. Another shot was fired, hitting the seat just inches from Sam’s head.

  “I suspect they may be after me,” Sam said, returning the fire. “I seem to have that effect on some people.”

  More shots were fired from the hill and from the other side of the road. It was a classic ambush, but the bushwhackers had gotten careless and made their move too soon. Sam spotted the flashes from the gunshots and spaced his shots carefully. He knew he hadn’t hit anything, but he figured he’d probably get the bullets close enough to make his attackers nervous.

  The air was suddenly quiet, only to be broken again by the sound of hoofbeats fast approaching. Two masked riders came into view, saw the stalled wagon and opened fire again. The bullets splintered parts of the wagon, but Lilly and Tommy remained safely on the wagon floor.

  Sam aimed at the moving target, squeezed off a shot. The bullet grazed the shoulder of the rider on the right. He yelped in pain but did not stop. Both riders raced past the wagon, more interested in getting away than in continuing the fight.

  Sam slipped out of the wagon and untied his horse. “I’m going after them,” he said. “Can you make it the rest of the way home?”

  “It’s just a little up ahead,” Lilly said. “You’ve helped us plenty. Don’t yo
u worry about us.”

  “I’ll check on you later,” Sam said as he put his foot in the stirrup.

  “Be careful,” Lilly said.

  The two riders had taken off from the main road and were headed straight to the fishing camp Matt and Sam had set up.

  “I’ll be careful, but those two are the ones that need to worry,” Sam said. “They’re headed straight for Matt . . . and I think he might get kind of ornery when they interrupt his fishing!”

  Chapter Six

  Hardesty and Cooper had seen Sam face King Petty earlier in the day. They gave the stranger credit for having guts and a quick draw, but figured an ambush would be an easy matter. Things had gone wrong. Sam was not only still alive, but was now on their tails, and the two still weren’t quite sure what went wrong.

  “Damn, we should have had him,” Hardesty, a tall red-haired man, yelled.

  “I came close,” Cooper said as he tried to keep his balance while his horse went up a small hill. He was slightly pudgy and now favored his left shoulder, which still stung from Sam’s near-miss. “Would have had him if not for that lucky shot.”

  “Tell that to Petty. He won’t accept that as an excuse.”

  “You tell it to Petty,” Cooper continued. “I’m tempted to just skip this area. Anywhere would be safer than here when Petty gets riled.”

  “I’m not sure our friend will go along with that idea.”

  Cooper looked behind them and saw Sam riding through the trees. Sam had wasted no time in going after the two bushwhackers. After his quick goodbye to Lilly and Tommy, he was racing after his attackers. Sam didn’t have to worry about trying to follow the trail since they were not that far ahead of him and were more interested in escaping than covering their tracks.