CHAPTER 10
Walt was back at the church early the following morning, arriving while the outlaws were still eating breakfast. “I thought you mighta already been gone,” he said. “I expected to meet you on the road between here and Waco.”
“We decided we might as well eat breakfast before we left,” Booth told him, “since we’re gonna make it a two-day ride, anyway. Ain’t no sense in gettin’ to Buzzard’s Bluff on wore-out horses, is there?”
“You’re right about that,” Walt replied. “There’s somethin’ else we didn’t say anything about last night, and I figured I’d better say somethin’ about it this mornin’. If you came up this way from the south, you might remember there’s a little store settin’ on a creek about halfway between Buzzard’s Bluff and Waco. That’s the place Lester and Slim got killed by Ben Savage. You boys best ride around that store, so the man and his wife that owns it can’t say they saw you on the trail to Buzzard’s Bluff.”
Booth grinned when he answered. “I expect so, Walt. Don’t worry, we know what we’re doin’. You and Reuben just be ready to help us count up the money when we come back.”
Walt pulled him off to the side and quietly asked, “You think those two new ones can be depended on to do the job?” He was referring to Dick Flynn and John Temple, who had just recently joined the group at the church. “That Flynn feller strikes me as somebody who’s liable to decide he’s gonna play a different game, if he sees an edge for himself—him and his partner both.”
“Don’t worry, me and Charlie will keep an eye on ’em,” Booth assured him. “We talked about it last night after you left and decided to split ’em up. Me and Flynn are gonna go to the saloon to get the party started. And Charlie and Temple are gonna be at the sheriff’s office.” He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one could hear before saying, “One false move and I’ll shoot the sorry dog, if him and Temple get any ideas about takin’ the whole pot and cuttin’ the rest of us out.”
“Good man,” Walt said. “I told Reuben we could depend on you to get that money back here.” Even as he said it, he was concerned that the temptation might be just enough for Booth to forget the way back to the church, especially if his partners in the robbery were killed. One man could set himself up for the rest of his life with that much money. And that was the reason he had told his deputy, Wayne Price, that he was taking a few days off to check on an uncle who was ill. Of the men still there at the church, he felt that Booth and Charlie were the most dependable to honor their given word. But they were outlaws and had killed before, especially Booth, who was exceptionally fast with a sidearm.
When everyone had finished eating, Walt drank a cup of coffee while he watched them bringing their horses, already saddled and packed, to the front of the church. Along with Reuben and Riley, who was on his feet again, but still weak, he wished the men good luck. They remained there on the steps until the gang of four assassins rode out of sight on the Waco road. “Well,” Walt said, as he turned to take his cup back to the kitchen, “I reckon I’d best get back to town before Wayne sends out a search party for me. Maybe we’ll all be rich when we see those boys again.”
“I’m just sorry I ain’t gonna be able to attend the funeral,” Reuben said, referring to the one that would probably be held for Ben Savage.
Walt climbed on his horse and turned the buckskin back toward the Waco road. He rode for only a quarter of a mile before turning off the road when it crossed a tiny stream that cut through a small patch of trees. Following the stream, he rode into the trees until he came to a packhorse tied next to the water, untied the packhorse’s reins, and led it back to the road. He set out then, trailing the four outlaws. He could not risk participating in the ambitious plan to kill Ben Savage, and possibly the sheriff as well, because he could be identified too easily. But he was not willing to gamble on the job ending as planned with all the money brought to the church to be split equally. For that reason, he was going to tail the party of four to protect his interest in the deal. He couldn’t participate in the robbery, but he could keep an eye on the ones who did.
With no reason to hurry, Walt walked the buckskin along the road to Buzzard’s Bluff, and after he had ridden close to twenty miles, he cautioned himself to be more alert. Having already picked up tracks that he felt sure were left by the party he trailed, he watched the road more closely, especially when approaching a stream. If they were intent upon taking it easy on their horses, they should be thinking to rest them after riding this far. Suddenly the buckskin nickered, telling him the horse sensed other horses. Walt reined him to a halt and turned him off the road to take a wide circle until reaching the stream he assumed to be ahead. When he struck it, he knew the riders he followed were somewhere between him and the road. He decided to tie his horses there and make his way back along the stream on foot to make sure the buckskin hadn’t nickered at a deer or some other animal.
He walked for what he estimated to be about fifty yards when he caught sight of a thin ribbon of smoke drifting up through the trees. He knew then he was right. There was no need to get any closer and take a chance on being spotted. He returned to his horses and sat down to wait them out. He envied the four outlaws and their fire, but he didn’t chance building one of his own and having to explain his existence there. He settled for some beef jerky and water.
When he figured it had been plenty of time to rest the horses, he walked back down the stream, past the point where he had turned back before, until he could see where they had camped close to the road. They were gone, and from the feel of the wet remains of their fire, it had not been long since it had been extinguished. With still no cause to hurry, he led his horses back to the road and climbed up into the saddle again. In about ten or fifteen miles, he would circle wide to miss Cletus Priest’s store, then continue on until time to camp for the night. Tomorrow, he would continue the same routine until reaching the little town of Buzzard’s Bluff. At that point, he would have to find a spot to watch the sheriff’s office, for that was where the money had to be.
* * *
The four riders walked their horses past Henry Barnes’s stable and continued on past the blacksmith shop where Jim Bowden was fitting a dun gelding with new shoes. “Nice quiet little town, ain’t it?” Charlie Taylor remarked to no response from his companions.
“Yonder’s the Lost Coyote,” Booth pointed out. “Jail’s down there on the left, across from that other saloon. Everything’s just like Walt said it was. Everybody know what to do?”
“Yeah,” Flynn replied, “as long as they know what they’re supposed to do. It might be that Ben Savage don’t know he’s supposed to be in that saloon right now.”
“If he ain’t, then we’ll wait till he shows up,” Booth said. “We’ll ask the bartender where Savage is and when he’s comin’ back. But it’s important that we put him down first. We don’t want him sneakin’ around after we get the party started.”
“I swear, you and that yellow-bellied sheriff sure are worried about that one man,” Flynn crowed. “He must be hell on a stick.”
“I reckon you could ask Lester Drum and Slim Dickens and Riley Best,” Booth answered, “three pretty good men.” He turned his attention to Charlie then. “You and Temple find you a spot to watch the sheriff’s office. The front porch of that saloon down the street looks like a good place. Just wait for me and Flynn to start the dance, and as soon as you hear the shootin’, get over to the jail to catch the sheriff. Take your horses with you, and we’ll all take off across that creek after we’ve got the money.”
“We can handle that, can’t we, John?” Charlie asked, and Temple said they sure could. So Booth and Flynn pulled over in front of the Lost Coyote while Charlie and Temple rode down to the Golden Rail.
* * *
“Howdy, men,” Tiny greeted the two strangers when they walked up to the bar. “What’s your pleasure?” They both seemed to scan the saloon from one side to the other, as if someone might be waiting in amb
ush. Tiny’s first thought was they were most likely men on the run from the law and would have been more in their element in the Golden Rail.
“I’ll have a whiskey,” Booth said.
“Gimme one, too,” Flynn ordered. “You ain’t too busy in here today. It ain’t Sunday, is it?”
Tiny chuckled as he poured a shot for each of them. “Nope, today’s Thursday, I think, and this is about normal for a Thursday.” He corked the bottle and asked, “This your first time in Buzzard’s Bluff?”
“That’s right,” Booth answered. “Who owns this place?”
Tiny shrugged and said, “That’s one of ’em sittin’ at the table by the kitchen door, eatin’.” He nodded in Rachel’s direction. “Her partner’s Ben Savage.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Booth said. “I’d sure like to meet him.” He looked across the room again. “Is he in here?”
“No, sir, not right now,” Tiny answered. He thought he read disappointment in the faces of both men. “If you’re wantin’ to meet him, he just took his horse to get new shoes. He oughta be back in a few minutes.”
“Good,” Booth declared. “I’ll have another shot of that whiskey. How ’bout you, Dick?” Flynn said he would, so Tiny poured a couple more. Then he moved down the bar to pour a drink for a young cowhand who had come into town to see Ruby. He paused to talk to them for a few minutes until the young man paid for his drink, then Ruby took his hand and led him upstairs. Tiny came back to the two strangers and asked if they wanted another drink. “Not right now,” Booth answered. “Maybe we might have a drink with Ben Savage when he gets back.”
“Might at that,” Tiny said cheerfully, even though he suddenly realized he had an odd feeling about the two men, and he wondered why they were so keen on meeting Ben. It didn’t help when he looked over at the table where Rachel was eating because he saw Annie staring back at him, a deep frown etched on her face. It was only for a few moments, however, then she filled Rachel’s cup from the big pot she was holding and returned to the kitchen. Tiny shook his head to clear it of a thought. Clarice and Ruby, now they’ve got me thinking that Annie’s a spook. “What?” he blurted when he realized one of the men had said something. “Sorry, I think my mind wandered off somewhere for a second. What did you say?”
“I said I’d appreciate it if you’ll tell me when you see Ben Savage come in,” Booth said. “I’ve got somethin’ I’d like to talk to him about.”
“Oh . . .” Tiny responded. “Sure thing, I’ll let you know.” He reached under the bar and started drying some shot glasses from a bucket of rinse water. It wasn’t but a few minutes after that when Ben walked in. “There’s Ben now.” He barely got the words out before Booth spun around, his pistol out of his holster. “Ben!” Tiny yelled and grabbed the heavy oak club he kept under the counter. He swung it against Booth’s shoulder at the same time Booth pulled the trigger, causing his shot to miss Ben, who was only a fraction of a second behind with a shot that doubled Booth over. Before he hit the floor, Flynn stepped aside to give himself a clear shot, only to stagger backward from the impact of Ben’s second shot in his chest. He howled with the knowledge that he was a dead man. But, determined to take Ben with him, he refused to go down and defied the pain that filled his chest as he aimed his pistol at him. A hammer-like blow from Tiny’s oak club on his forearm forced Flynn’s aim to point to the floor. There was no shot fired, since he died before he could pull the trigger.
The sudden explosion of gunfire stunned everyone in the saloon, including Ben, but only for a moment. It struck him that it had to do with the money, and he had to believe these two men were only a part of it. Without a word to anyone, he turned around and ran out the door, certain the two men were done for. His six-gun still in hand, he ran toward the jail, looking right and left for threats from any more suspicious strangers. He paid little attention to the two men sitting on the porch of the Golden Rail.
“What tha hell . . . ?” Charlie Taylor blurted when he saw the big man bound up the steps at the sheriff’s office with his gun in hand. Having heard shots fired in the saloon up the street, he and John Temple were both on the edge of their chairs, ready to spring out of them as soon as they saw the sheriff come out of his office. Charlie leaned forward and craned his neck to look up the street toward the Lost Coyote for any sign of Booth or Flynn. “This don’t look too good,” he declared. “And I’ve got a feelin’ that big jasper that just ran in the sheriff’s office might be Ben Savage.”
“Whaddaya think we oughta do?” Temple asked. “We heard them shots. Somebody musta got shot, and it don’t look like it was Ben Savage. Him and the sheriff might be lookin’ for us next.”
“Maybe,” Charlie replied. “But maybe, if they shot Booth and Flynn, they don’t know about us. If they did, they’da come here lookin’ for us. I’m thinkin’ this whole deal has got boogered up and the best thing for us is to get on our horses and ride outta here.”
“I’m thinkin’ the same thing, partner. I hate to pass up a chance to get a-holt of a bunch of that money, but I doubt there’s any place to spend it in hell. If Booth and Flynn weren’t dead, they’da been chasin’ that feller to the jailhouse.”
“Well, there ain’t much use in hangin’ around any longer,” Charlie commented. “Let’s just take our time climbin’ on our horses, so nobody gets a notion we’re anxious to get outta town.” Temple nodded in agreement. So they got up from their chairs and went to their horses as casually as they could affect. Then with hardly a glance toward the sheriff’s office, they turned away from the rail and slow-walked their horses back up the street, returning to the road they had ridden in on that morning.
“I swear . . .” Temple uttered involuntarily as they plodded past the Lost Coyote, for the bodies of Booth and Flynn were already being carried out of the saloon and laid on the porch for the undertaker. It was a sobering sight.
“What tha hell . . .?” Another observer blurted his reaction to the scene he was witnessing. From a natural blind of laurel bushes near the creek bank, Walt Murphy adjusted his field glass to focus on the two riders casually riding up the street. “They’re cuttin’ out!” He shifted his glass back to the sheriff’s office and when he saw no activity there, he shifted his focus back on the two riders. When he did, he also saw the bodies when they passed the saloon. “Ben Savage,” he spat, as if cursing. He had seen Ben running to the sheriff’s office. And while he could not know the reason, he had hoped he was running for his life. Now, he knew what the shots had been. Savage killed them, and he couldn’t understand how that could have happened. The plan had been a simple assassination, shoot on sight, with no warning whatsoever. How could they have messed that up? Then they passed on a second chance to put Savage down when he ran out in the street, right by Temple and Charlie Taylor. Why didn’t they shoot him down? Walt was beside himself with frustration. He left his post in the laurels and ran to his horse, anxious to intercept the two retreating outlaws.
Once they were out of sight of the town, they increased their pace to a fast walk, thinking to put distance between themselves and Buzzard’s Bluff. They had gone no farther than a few hundred yards when a rider leading a packhorse suddenly cut across in front of them and pulled his horse to a stop in the middle of the road. They both reached for their guns before they realized it was Walt Murphy. “Why didn’t you reach for your guns back there when Ben Savage ran right in front of you?” he demanded.
“Walt!” Charlie Taylor exclaimed. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Tryin’ to make sure we don’t just kiss an opportunity to get rich good-bye,” Walt answered. “Where the hell are you two goin’? What happened back there?”
“I don’t know, Walt,” Charlie replied. “We did exactly like we talked about back at the church. Booth and Flynn said they’d gun Savage down and me and Temple were ready to jump the sheriff as soon as he came out the door. Well, we done our part. We was ready, but somethin’ went wrong in that saloon.”
�
��Somethin’ went wrong, all right,” Walt complained. “What did Booth do? Did he go in there and call Savage out? The plan was to shoot Savage on sight, not have a duel with him.”
“He never said he was gonna call him out,” Temple said. “He said he was gonna shoot him without even a howdy-do.”
“Why didn’t you shoot Savage when he walked down the street?” Walt demanded. “You couldn’ta got a much easier shot.”
“That weren’t supposed to be our part in the plan,” Charlie insisted. “They was supposed to shoot Savage, and we was supposed to jump the sheriff when he came out to do somethin’ about it.”
“So you just decided to just stick your tail between your legs and slink off, did you?” Walt scoffed. “And leave over twenty thousand dollars in the sheriff’s office to let Ben Savage and Mack Bragg split it between ’em.”
“I don’t see what else we coulda done,” Charlie maintained. “Me and Temple woulda more’n likely got ourselves shot tryin’ to go up against the two of them.”
“Well, there’s three of us now, and I ain’t ready to leave all that money for Savage and Bragg to retire on without tryin’ to get a piece of it for myself. We’ll circle back to that spot I was watchin’ from. They gotta eat sometime. Both of ’em ain’t gonna be settin’ on that money all the time. Come to think of it, Savage wasn’t helpin’ guard it anyway. He was in the saloon when Booth and Flynn went in there after him. We might just raid that jailhouse tonight.”
“I thought you couldn’t come on this job because you were afraid somebody would recognize you,” Temple remarked.
“That was true for the plan we had that Booth and Flynn messed up. This is gonna be at night, and I’ll bet you Ben Savage ain’t gonna be settin’ in that jail tonight guardin’ that money. I had a feelin’ there’d be a screwup on this plan. That’s why I showed up, and that’s why I brought this.” He reached in his saddlebag and pulled out a sack with eye and mouth holes in it to pull over his head. “I won’t be takin’ any chances on somebody here seein’ me.” He held it up for them to see. “Now, whaddaya say we get ourselves outta the middle of the road before somebody comes along? I’ve got coffee and hardtack on my packhorse.” That brought a question to mind. “Where’s that packhorse you left the church with?”
The Devil's Boneyard Page 12
