by Ralph Cotton
Her brother, Toby, helped John Garlet hobble through the grass, Garlet’s unbandaged arm looped over his shoulder. Garlet’s bandaged and plastered arm stuck out from his shoulder like an outrigger on a boat. Sam saw fresh blood running from under the thick gauze surrounding Garlet’s head.
Sam watched the four draw closer, curious to hear their story.
“I can’t tell you happy we are to see you, Ranger,” Sheriff Schaffer called out.
“Same here,” Sam replied, although curiously. He stepped over the low window ledge and onto the front porch. He met them at the steps and helped Lindsey walk Schaffer over to a chair and sat down. Toby lowered John Garlet into a chair beside him. John Garlet stared up at Sam with a peculiar idiotlike grin.
“I know you,” said the grinning outlaw.
“Keep quiet, Garlet,” said Toby, carefully removing the gauze to check a bullet graze on the outlaw’s head.
“I’ve got a prisoner in the barn,” Sam said, looking from one face to another, then settling on the sheriff, “but I’ve got to ask, what brings you up here, Sheriff?”
“Chasing these Golden skunks, same as you, Ranger,” Schaffer said. “I’ve never seen nothing like them. You shoot one, and two more pop up in his place!”
“It’s tough, a gang this big,” Sam said.
“Don’t I know it,” said Schaffer. “I started out chasing this lunatic when he escaped from the doctor’s office. He met up with Joey Rose along the way—Rose being the one lying out there dead, I’m pleased to say. They both ran up here, so, here we are. I took a bullet in the leg two days ago. But it’s a clean enough wound.” He grinned and gestured a nod toward Lindsey. “Can’t complain though . . . it gets me attention from this lovely young lady.”
Lindsey smiled and looked down.
“Hush now, Sheriff,” she said modestly.
“So did I,” John Garlet mindlessly cut in, grinning, eager to be a part of the conversation.
Ignoring the outlaw, Sam gave Toby a questioning look.
“I couldn’t just sit still and watch the sheriff go out here alone,” the young man said. “I asked myself what would Ranger Burrack do in a situation like this.” He shrugged. “So, here I am.”
“But I did it because it’s my job, Toby,” Sam said in a cautioning tone.
“And it might be mine too, someday,” Toby replied.
“You’ve been a good influence on my brother, Ranger Burrack,” Lindsey said. “And I admit, on myself as well.” She blushed a little. “I don’t know if he was being brave or being foolish, but I wasn’t about to let him go alone. So here I am, too.”
“Was that the big buckskin I saw go down out there?” Sam asked, already dreading the answer.
“Yes, it was,” Lindsey said. “But he’s all right,” she added quickly. “Toby pulled him down out of the gunfire. He just has a graze along his rump. We’ve named him Easy. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t mind. . . .” Sam took a relieved breath upon hearing the horse was alive. “All right,” he said. “I’m going to go get my prisoner.”
“I’m going to hang myself,” John Garlet called out as Sam turned to walk away.
Sam looked around at Sheriff Schaffer, who shook his head and said, “It’s that loaded mescal, Ranger. It affects everybody different. This one has babbled about hanging himself so long, I’d pay him to do it.”
“Hear me, Ranger? I’m . . . going to . . . ha-ang myself.” Garlet spoke melodiously, as if singing the words to a song.
“Good luck . . . ,” Sam said to him over his shoulder.
• • •
When Sam returned to the house with Bonsell, the others had gone inside, Toby keeping watch at the front window in case any more riders arrived. Now that there were other people around, Sam had cuffed Bonsell’s hands in front of him. On their way to the house, the cuffed outlaw looked down at his wrists and frowned.
“You have no cause to do this, Burrack,” he said. “I have done nothing to warrant such treatment.”
“We’ll be leaving here shortly, Bonsell,” Sam said, the two of them walking on. “Keep behaving yourself. I’ll take them off along the trail a-ways.”
“Keep behaving myself . . . ,” Bonsell chuffed under his breath. “You think you’re talking to a child?”
“No,” said Sam, “I think you’re a full-grown man. So act like it. If you were a child, I might hesitate busting your head with a gun barrel.” He stopped Bonsell at the porch steps and gave him a pointed stare. “Do we understand each other?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Bonsell said with sarcasm, “we understand.”
The two walked up the porch steps and in through the open front door. Toby Delmar turned from the open window, looked Bonsell up and down critically, then turned to Sam.
“Now that you’re here, do you suppose I can go fetch the horses and look at Easy’s bullet graze?”
“Go ahead,” Sam said.
“Lindsey found some food in a pantry,” Toby said, turning toward the front door. “She’s fixing us up something to eat.”
“Sounds good,” Sam said. He nodded the twin on, out the door toward the grass and tree line where they had left their horses. As Toby trotted away toward the tall grass, Sam looked at the two dead bodies lying where they’d fallen, one leaning against the wall, the other sprawled on the porch right outside the large front window.
“What a mess,” Bonsell said, looking down at the bloody bodies.
“You know these two?” Sam asked.
“Yep,” said Bonsell. “Take these cuffs off, and I’ll tell you who they are.”
“I told you when I’d take the cuffs off,” Sam replied. “Tell me who they are, else I’ll leave you cuffed until tomorrow.”
Bonsell blew out a breath in exasperation.
“There’s just no dickering with you, is there?” he said.
“Not a whole lot,” Sam said.
“That one is Buford Barnes,” he said pointing to the body on the front porch. “He’s Brax Kane’s houseman, all-around guard and personal assassin.”
“I’ve heard of Buford Barnes,” Sam said. “To tell you the truth, I thought he’d been dead for years. I haven’t seen any paperwork on him anywhere.”
“No, he was alive and kicking,” said Bonsell, “just laid up here, taking it easy, killing anybody the Kane brothers pointed him at.”
“Well,” said Sam with finality, “he’s dead now.”
“Yes, I’d say he is,” Bonsell replied, giving Sam a sarcastic look. “Too bad though. He’s known as a hard-killing dog. I’d have given anything to see you face off with him one-on-one.”
“I just did,” Sam said flatly, returning his look.
Bonsell looked away and grumbled under his breath.
“This one?” Sam asked, nodding at the one leaned against the front wall.
“That’s Stupid Ned Cooney,” said Bonsell. “The last time I was up here, he was tending bar in El Ricon. Struck me he’d kill his ma for a chance to join the Golden Riders.”
“Looks like he got his chance,” Sam said, remembering Cooney’s last words of regret. “Come on, let’s get that one off the porch, carry them both out back.”
“Not with these cuffs on,” said Bonsell.
Sam just looked at him and motioned him toward the front window.
“All right, then. Damn it,” Bonsell said walking over, stepping out the window ahead of the Ranger.
“Say Buford Barnes and Kane were real close?” he said.
“Like hounds in a hailstorm,” said Bonsell.
“You figure Barnes knew where Kane and his men were headed?” Sam asked.
“If anybody did, Barnes did,” said Bonsell. “Kane told him everything.”
The two reached down. Bonsell took the dead outlaw by his bootheels;
the Ranger took the front of Barnes’ bloody shirt in both hands.
“So, it appears you’ve killed the man who could have told you everything you wanted to know, Ranger.” Bonsell grinned as they raised the body, carried it down the front steps and around the house.
“I thought you had it figured they were headed toward a new rail spur near Sonoyta?” Sam said.
“I thought it, for a while,” said Bonsell. “But now I’ve changed my mind. That was foolish thinking on my part.”
Sam studied his eyes as they laid Barnes’ body on the ground and walked back for the hapless bartender.
“I’ve changed my mind too,” Sam said, looking down at all the fresh hoofprints in the dirt that led off in the direction of Sonoyta. “Now that you’re thinking they’re not, I’m thinking they are headed there.”
Chapter 23
In the afternoon, the Ranger and Bonsell climbed back into their saddles, ready for the trail. The twins and Sheriff Schaffer stood at the hitch rail to see them off. John Garlet sat in a chair on the front porch, barefoot, an ankle shackled to a support post. He babbled and laughed under his breath as if engaged in conversation with a room full of people. Sam looked up at the bandaged outlaw.
“Do you expect he’ll ever be right?” he asked Schaffer.
“I doubt it,” said the sheriff. “I believe he’s as good now as he’ll ever get.” He sighed and added, “I don’t know if mescal made him crazy, or if the crazy was already there and all the mescal, peyote, cocaine and God-knows-what-else did was let it seep out.”
Sam watched the babbling outlaw look out at him with a blank grin and wave his plaster-casted fingertips.
“Ah . . . don’t worry about him, Ranger,” Schaffer said. “He ain’t in so bad a shape for a man who poisoned himself blind drunk and got himself blown up—rode a jail cell door near a hundred feet before lighting in the dirt.”
“I expect you’re right,” Sam said. He turned and looked at the twins standing near Schaffer. Seeing the Ranger’s concerned expression, Schaffer tipped his hat up and looked up at him.
“And don’t worry about me and these young folks either,” the sheriff said. “We’ve got this covered. I’ll get that poor idiot out of sight, in case any Golden Riders show up.” He gestured off toward Sonoyta. “Take care of your business out there.”
Sam nodded and looked down at him.
“I will, Sheriff,” he said.
“I still say I ought to ride along with you, Ranger,” Toby said, standing a few feet away beside his sister. He smiled. “What better way for me to get experience as a lawman?”
“Hush, Toby,” Lindsey said, hitting her brother halfheartedly on his arm. “You’ve got no business traipsing off chasing outlaws. We’ve got to get back and get Dan and our wagon.”
Toby ignored his sister and looked back up at Sam.
“I mean it, Ranger,” he said. “First chance I get I’m casting my lot as a lawman.”
Sam looked at Schaffer.
“See if you can talk some sense into him, Sheriff,” he said, only half joking.
“Why, Ranger?” Schaffer said clasping his hand down on Toby’s shoulder. “He’s a strong, brave lad. Somebody’s got to pin themselves to a badge once fellows like you and I are too old to trim our whiskers.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Sam said. He touched his hat brim toward the twins, then the sheriff.
“Blah-blah. What a mess of pig slop,” Bonsell said between Sam and himself as they backed their horses away from the hitch rail and turned them to the trail. “‘First chance I get I’m casting my lot as a lawman,’” he mimicked the young twin, his cuffed hands on his saddle horn.
“Shut up, Bonsell, if you ever want to get rid of those handcuffs,” Sam said.
The outlaw fell silent, realizing he’d just touched upon a raw nerve, making fun of the twins and the old town sheriff. He smiled to himself with satisfaction.
Nudging his coppery dun forward, the Ranger led them along, following the new tracks that could have been made only after the storm had washed all other tracks away. After a mile and a half, he brought the dun to a halt; Bonsell stopped his horse beside him. Sam turned in his saddle, the handcuff key in hand and motioned for the outlaw to hold out his wrists. Bonsell complied.
As Sam loosened the cuffs and withdrew them, Bonsell rubbed his wrists and gave a thin smile.
“I didn’t mean to get under your bark back there, Ranger,” he said.
“Sure you did,” the Ranger said flatly, putting the cuffs away behind his back.
“But you have to admit, folks like those two and the old sheriff are hard to listen to, them and their goody-goody ways,” Bonsell ventured.
“Not for me, they’re not,” Sam said in defense of Sheriff Schaffer and the orphaned twins. “I’ll take their kind over your kind any day.”
“Ha!” said Bonsell. “I don’t believe that. Look where you live your life, Ranger. You’re more at home in my world than you are in theirs. I know you are. I can see it in you. You like it where you live, and how you live—”
“You don’t see anything, Teddy,” said Sam. “That’s why you’re here, having to wait for somebody to turn a key for you.” He paused, then said, “You don’t know nothing about me. All you need to know is when we get close to Kane and his men, if you give us away, try to run out, I’ll kill you before you get ten feet.”
Bonsell shut up quickly again and turned facing the hoofprints and the trail ahead.
They rode on, neither of them speaking for the rest of the afternoon. Yet, as they reached the place where the hoofprints turned upward off the sand flats trail onto a rocky hillside, Sam stopped and drew his Winchester from its boot. He checked the rifle and held it ready.
“What’s the deal, Ranger?” Bonsell said. “Are you getting fainthearted on me?”
“This whole trek, Kane’s had men waiting at every stop and turn,” Sam said. “I don’t expect it to be different now.”
“If you’re scared,” said Bonsell, “maybe you’d best give me a gun and let me lead us.”
“No gun, Teddy,” Sam said sternly. “But I’ll take you up on leading us, only because if anybody’s waiting up there I’ll have my hands full. I don’t want you behind me.” He gestured Bonsell forward with his rifle barrel.
“Now, you see? That’s the kind of talk that would hurt most people’s feelings, Ranger,” Bonsell said, nudging his horse forward, ahead of Sam onto the upward path. “But I have come to overlook it, knowing how you are—”
Sam saw Bonsell fly backward from his saddle just as a rifle shot resounded from up among a tall stand of rock on the sloping hillside. As if in reflex, Sam threw the butt of his Winchester to his shoulder and fired three shots in rapid succession at a drift of rifle smoke. With nothing but the smoke as a target he hadn’t expected to hit anything. But his cover fire bought him and the dun a few precious seconds to get off the path and in among the rocks while the shooter ducked down.
It worked. By the time the ambusher had collected himself and fired again, the Ranger was down from his saddle, had pushed the dun farther out of the way, and raced out in a crouch and dragged Bonsell back into cover. A shot nipped the earth behind his bootheel as he and the wounded outlaw fell among the rocks. Bonsell’s horse raced away along the hillside.
“My . . . horse,” Bonsell said, choking on blood.
“Lie still, Teddy,” Sam said; another rifle shot ricocheted off the large rock.
“Lie still . . . ?” Bonsell said through bloodstained teeth. “Look at me . . .” He spread his bloody hands showing Sam his gaping chest wound, and gave a pained grin. “You . . . can’t tell me . . . what to do no more. . . .” His head fell to the side even as the Ranger tried to stop the blood by wadding the front of Bonsell’s shirt and pressing it to the wound. Another shot rang out from up the hillside.
The Ranger leaned the dead outlaw against the large rock, stood and picked up his rifle. He gathered the dun’s reins and hitched the nervous horse to a stand of brush. Then he unlooped his canteen strap from his saddle horn, calmly sat down at the edge of the large rock and waited, knowing there was no cover worth trying for up the side of the hill.
Hun-uh, not with rifle sights on his chest. . . . He’d seen how well the ambusher could shoot.
Looking out at the evening shadows growing long across the hillside and the sand flats below, he realized darkness would be his best way out of here. The ambusher wouldn’t give up his advantage and come down and face him in the open—it would be foolish. It would be just as foolish for the shooter to wait up there and let darkness even the odds between them. Besides, Sam told himself, no outlaw would want to waste their time here, taking a chance on getting shot while the rest of the gang rode on to gather up the spoils of their trade. No way. . . .
He looked over at Cutthroat Teddy Bonsell, sitting dead in the dirt, leaning against the rock in a pool of blood. He uncapped his canteen, took a long sip of water and leaned back against the rock, and waited.
• • •
Fifteen miles from the new rail spur outside of Sonoyta, Mexico, Braxton Kane and his men sat in the morning sunlight atop a high bluff overlooking the wide badlands below. Woods and the Bluebird sat in the seat of an empty freight, Bluebird with a satchel full of dynamite slung over his shoulder. He held an unlit cigar between his fingers. In another wagon Jimmy Quince sat in the driver’s seat hunched down in his trail duster, a rifle propped against the seat alongside him.
From the other side of the tall bluff, Prew called out to Kane as he spotted the lone rider racing up the trail toward them.
