“You think so?” Mack responded. “Maybe we’d best carry him outta there, before he gets too ripe. You wanna give us a hand?”
“Why, sure,” Tuck answered. “I’ll stay out here and help keep these folks outta the way.”
Mack looked at Ben and shook his head, smiling as he replied. “Well, that’s what we need, somebody to control the crowd.” It amused him to think that Ormond Hazzard would have no trouble clearing a path for them without any help from anyone. With stout determination, they set to their task, first wrapping wet cloths around their faces to keep from gagging on the smell. Ben picked up the pistol Pete had finally discarded while Mack unlocked the cell. Then they marched Pete outside, each of them supporting him by his elbows. He was in no shape to resist, but they cuffed him to the steps as a precaution. Before tackling the job of removing the putrefying body from the cell, Ben gave Pete a dipperful of water, which he gulped down immediately. “We’ll see about gettin’ you something to eat in a little bit,” he said. Too weak to talk, especially since his voice was hoarse from yelling, Pete could only nod as he looked up at Ben. It appeared that he had reached a state where he really didn’t give a damn if they shot him or not.
When Merle came with his wagon, he brought a bucket of his own special formula to clean up the area on the floor where Ormond had lain. He also volunteered the use of his wagon to transport the remains out of town to bury them. As Ben had figured, the body was too far gone for Merle to have any interest in taking it to his shop. With the help of two young men in the gathering of spectators, Ben and Mack managed to transfer the body to Merle’s wagon.
Meals were restarted immediately for Pete, and he was returned to the cell room but to the cell next to his prior one. There was still odor but not full strength as he had last experienced it. According to Merle, it would take awhile. The whole ordeal taught Mack Bragg a lesson, and he had Jim Bowden working on some iron bars for the cell room windows before the day was over.
It was three more days before two U.S. deputy marshals showed up with papers from the Austin office officially identifying them and authorizing them to take possession of the prisoner and the bank’s money. They arrived in time for supper one day, stayed in the hotel that night, then had breakfast in the dining room before showing up at the sheriff’s office, ready to take possession of the prisoner. By this time, Pete Russell was a little reluctant to leave the hassle-free treatment from the sheriff and the meals from the hotel dining room. Before he left, he made a special effort to apologize to Ben and Mack for all the trouble he had caused in the town of Buzzard’s Bluff, starting with his rude behavior to Lacy James that first time in the hotel dining room. “I wish you’d tell her I’m sorry about that and thank her for feedin’ me so good while I was in jail.”
Ben glanced at Mack, who returned the look with a grin and a raised eyebrow. Pete’s apology sounded genuinely sincere. The two deputy marshals seemed to be impressed as well. Not fully educated on Buzzard’s Bluff’s history with Pete, they could imagine they were escorting an unfortunate victim of the notorious Hazzard brothers. “If he’s that contrite when they try him, maybe the judge will go easy on him,” Mack remarked as he and Ben watched the deputies leading Pete away.
“Well,” Ben remarked, with a sigh of relief, “I reckon I’d best get back to the Coyote to see if Rachel’s got any chores she wants done. I’ve been kinda scarce around there for the past few days and I have to earn my keep.”
“Knowin’ how Rachel keeps such a tight rein on that place, I can believe you,” Mack said. Getting serious for a moment, he confessed. “I’d be a lowdown dog if I didn’t thank you for all the help you’ve been through all this business with the Hazzards and all the rest of it. So thanks.”
“Glad I could help,” Ben replied. “You had a little too much for one man to handle, and I think it’s every citizen’s responsibility to help keep the peace.” He paused then and grinned. “But next time, call on Tuck Tucker to help you out. He’s your best bet, and he’s rarin’ to go.”
* * *
Not surprising, Tuck was the first person Ben ran into when he returned to the Lost Coyote. “Hey, Ben, we was just talkin’ about you. Have they picked Pete up yet? I was just fixin’ to go down to the jail to see they got him all right.” Ben told him that they had picked Pete up and were already riding out of town. “Dad-burn-it, I was on my way down there and everybody here was askin’ me questions about them deputies till I couldn’t get done talkin’.”
Ben glanced beyond the little flame-haired gnome to see the grins on the faces of those gathered near the bar. “Well,” he said, “they got underway without any trouble. Matter of fact, Pete was right calm and acted a little bit like he didn’t wanna leave Buzzard’s Bluff.” He walked over to the bar to join the others and told them about Pete’s apologies to everybody he thought he might have wronged.
“So now, he’s gonna ride all the way to Austin, right?” Tiny asked.
“No,” Ben replied. “They’re just gonna ride back to Madisonville and put him in jail there tonight. In the mornin’, they’ll put him on the train and take him to Austin tomorrow.”
“’Least, he’s gettin’ to take a train ride,” Ruby remarked. “That’s something I’d like to do. I ain’t ever rode on a train. Have you, Clarice?”
“Once,” Clarice answered, “when the city council bought me a one-way ticket outta Kansas City. I enjoyed it. I was younger’n you then and had a lotta things to learn.”
“I don’t know how much Pete Russell will enjoy his train ride,” Tuck declared. “I don’t reckon the ride’s so enjoyable when there’s a rope waitin’ for you at the other end.”
Further discussion on the subject of trains was interrupted then when Annie Grey came in from the kitchen to announce that dinner was ready for anybody who planned to eat. She always gave her fellow employees at the saloon a little advance notice before the usual dinner regulars showed up. Also, as usual, Tuck was already there, and Ham Greeley came in the door in time to follow the staff to the one large table in a back corner of the saloon that passed as the dining room. As she often did, Rachel took over the bar so Tiny could go to dinner early. Ben offered to tend the bar in her place, but she insisted that she was a better bartender than he was. He couldn’t really argue the point, because she was right, so he joined the others. Everything was peaceful in Buzzard’s Bluff again. Even the Golden Rail, the noisy competitive saloon across from the jail, was minus the normally raucous crowd of drifters and ne’er-do-wells that hung out there most of the time. Mack Bragg’s jail cells were empty of lawbreakers or drunks. He had a new security bar for his front door and a grillwork of iron bars on the cell room windows that air could pass through but pistols couldn’t.
Since it was Wednesday, Annie stayed a little later than she did on other days of the week, so she could bake several trays of what she called her salty bread sticks. They were a favorite of the Wednesday-night poker game in the little side room next to the office. It was a weekly card game with usually the same four players, all leading members of the city council. Mayor Cecil Howard, Postmaster Sam Grier, Dr. John Tatum, and Freeman Brown, the owner of the River House Hotel, always played and were sometimes joined by Merle Baker. It had become a ritual, so Annie always wanted to prepare something for them to have with their whiskey and beer. Most of the merchants in the town would swear that more council decisions were made at that poker table Wednesday nights than at any of the regular monthly council meetings. Tuck Tucker always contended that it was because there was no one at the poker game to ask questions or register complaints.
With no worries for a change, Ben took advantage of the peaceful time to spend some time with his horse and visit with Henry Barnes. After an inspection of Cousin’s hooves, he told Henry that he was always pleased with Jim Bowden’s shoeing of the big dun gelding. He had said as much to Jim, but he figured, if Henry happened to tell Jim he had complimented his work, it would be worth more to Jim.
&
nbsp; When it was time, and he received the signals from his stomach, Ben walked to the lower end of the street to take supper with Lacy James and the other women at the hotel dining room. Seeing Mack Bragg there, he joined him, figuring Mack had most likely already answered all their questions about the farewell to Pete Russell. A once hardened outlaw and gunman who had acknowledged the error of his ways while a resident of the Buzzard’s Bluff jail was a story that the women loved to tell. “I wish to hell you hadn’t sat down with me,” Mack said when they were left alone for a few minutes. “I’ve had to hear you answer the same questions about Saint Peter Russell that they just asked me. I reckon it is a good story, but how long are we gonna talk about it?” As it turned out, all good stories come to an end.
* * *
It was two days after they carried Pete Russell away when Sam Grier’s son Robert stopped in town on his way back to his farm and gave them the news. Mack Bragg was having a cup of coffee at the Lost Coyote with Ben when Robert came looking for them. “Ben,” he called out as he walked to their table. “I got somethin’ to tell you I think you and the sheriff would wanna know.”
“Well, sit down,” Ben said. “You want some coffee, or do you need something a little stronger?”
“I’ll just have some of that coffee,” Robert said, then got right to his report. “I was over to Madisonville today to pick up some plants I had ordered at the railroad depot. That fellow you had locked up here that wouldn’t come outta his cell.” He paused to recall the name.
“Pete Russell,” Mack filled in the blank for him.
“Right, that Pete Russell fellow. Well, he killed both of those deputies that were takin’ him to Austin.”
“What?” Ben recoiled, stunned.
“That’s right,” Robert said and continued his account to the two shocked lawmen, as well as several others close enough to hear his excited report. “They had him ready to get on the train and they took the handcuffs off him so he could lead his horse up the ramp to the stock car. Well, he just grabbed the gun right outta the one deputy’s holster and shot the other deputy before he could pull his gun. Then he told that deputy, whose gun he had, to unbuckle his gun belt and lay facedown on the ground or he’d shoot him. The stationmaster told me he heard the deputy askin’ Russell not to shoot him, said he wouldn’t try to stop him. And Russell said ‘I know you ain’t’ and put a bullet in the back of that deputy’s head. Then he jumped on one of the horses and took off.”
It was hard for either Ben or the sheriff to believe what they were hearing. No comment they could make would explain how the story they just heard could have happened. Finally, Mack asked, “What about the bank money?”
“He took it with him,” Robert said. “He jumped on a horse that one of the deputies was ridin’. They had a packhorse with the money on it and it was on a lead rope tied to the deputy’s saddle. He left ’em layin’ there dead and took off for who knows where.”
There was nothing said by Ben or Mack for a long few moments while they let Robert’s news soak into their brains. Mack was the first to speak again. “I ain’t never been so wrong about a fellow in all my life.” He looked at Ben, but Ben only shook his head, fully perplexed as much as the sheriff was. “Whaddaya reckon we oughta do?”
“Nothing,” Rachel answered his question. She had come to stand behind Ben when she heard what Robert said. “It’s no longer your business what Pete Russell does, unless he shows up again here in Buzzard’s Bluff. You did your job, Mack. He’s the marshals’ responsibility now.” She turned her attention to her partner then. “And it’s certainly none of your responsibility. You don’t ride with the Rangers anymore, remember? And I think you tend to forget you’re not the sheriff’s partner. You’re my partner in this saloon.” She had known him long enough to know how his mind worked, and she was certain he was feeling it his responsibility to go after Pete Russell.
Also standing close by, as usual, Tuck felt the need to offer his opinion. “Rachel’s right, Ben. There ain’t no call for you to worry about that two-faced sidewinder. That’s the business of the U.S. Marshal in Austin. With all the trouble Pete Russell caused here, with him stinkin’ up the jailhouse and all, I know I don’t feel sorry for him.”
“Reckon not,” Ben responded, but he couldn’t shake a feeling that a job he had worked on had gone unfinished. Like Mack, he felt he had been tricked into feeling Pete was truly sorry for his past transgressions. And the fact that he had not seen through the ruse was what bothered him most. Now, with the conscienceless murder of two deputy marshals, he felt a strong desire to see Pete pay for his deceit. He glanced up at Rachel, who was eyeing him like a stern mother scolding an unruly child. He couldn’t help smiling at her. “Reckon we could get some hot coffee?”
“I’ll tell Annie,” Rachel said, still not happy with his reaction to Robert Grier’s news bulletin about Pete Russell.
CHAPTER 13
“Tore a page right outta your book, Malcolm, ol’ buddy,” Pete Russell gloated to himself as he held the gray gelding to a spirited pace after leaving the Dallas road and heading west. When he had hightailed it out of Madisonville, he stayed on the Dallas road for about thirty-five miles before he left it to ride cross-country in the general direction of Waco. If they were quick enough to get up a posse, he figured he had stayed on the northbound road long enough to make them think he was heading to Dallas.
He thought of Malcolm Hazzard’s long charade as a religious convert that resulted in his early release from prison. It might have been a greater challenge to pull the wool over the judge and the warden’s eyes, and Malcolm had won his freedom as a result. But Pete had to give himself credit for causing two deputy marshals to become careless enough to get themselves killed. And the biggest difference between Malcolm’s hoax and his was the fact that he was leading a packhorse carrying over twenty thousand dollars, give or take a dollar or two. Too bad about Ormond, he thought. “Man,” he blurted, “he worked up one helluva stink!” He was afraid the sight of the big man’s body as it passed through the stages of putrefaction was a picture that might come to revisit him. It bothered him some that he had finally broken down and surrendered the handgun he had held them at bay with. But, he allowed, he was weak from lack of food, water, and sleep. As it turned out, it had been a good thing, for it caused his pitiful state, which, in turn, inspired his charade as a repenting soul, sorry for his crimes. And they bought it, lock, stock, and barrel, even the big stud Ben Savage. “Sorry I ain’t gonna get a chance to have another little visit with you, Savage, but I expect I’d best make myself pretty scarce around these parts.”
The thought of Ben Savage triggered thoughts of other things he had to consider. He was almost to the eastern end of the road to Waco, the road that went right by the church. Ben Savage knew about the church. He had come there and ambushed him and Ormond, resulting in their capture. Pete thought it might be risky going back to the church now, but it was a place for him to recover his packhorse and trade the gray he was riding. There was also some personal property he left behind when Savage snatched him and Ormond right out from under Reuben Drum and Walt Murphy’s noses. Other than the need to ride a different horse, he had to admit that he wanted to plant a seed in Reuben’s and Walt’s minds that he no longer had the money. It might seem dangerous to return to the church, even for the short time he planned. But there was no reason to suspect that Savage would show up there again. Conversation he had heard between Savage and Sheriff Bragg when he was in jail indicated that Savage was not prone to leave Buzzard’s Bluff. He had a business there. Chances were good that Savage had not even heard that he had escaped. And if he had, what would be his incentive to come after him?
He decided it not to be that great a risk to go to the church and reclaim his property. He might have considered the fact that he was now wealthy enough to replace everything he had left at the church. And the best thing for him to do was to ride as far away from Texas as he could get. At this point, he was actual
ly worried more about Walt Murphy than he was about Ben Savage. Walt may not know what happened after he had fled the unsuccessful jailbreak in Buzzard’s Bluff. But as sheriff of Waco, he would most likely receive Wanted papers, telling him that one, Pete Russell, had killed two federal deputy marshals and escaped in Madisonville. He didn’t know if they would say anything about the stolen money or not. He knew, however, that Walt was obsessed with the money. The fact that he had risked everything to participate in the attempted jailbreak told Pete that Walt was determined to get his share of that money. In view of that, Pete was convinced that he would be dogged by Walt forever, trying to get his hands on the twenty thousand dollars. For that reason, Pete thought it important to return to the church and tell Reuben and the others that he had escaped, but not with the bank money. He would convince them that he had come back to get the possessions he had left behind because he needed them to survive. The first order of business, then, was to hide the canvas bags filled with money. The place he picked was less than a mile from the church, on the same creek that the church was standing beside. When he came to the point where the road crossed the creek, he turned his horses into the water and walked them about fifty yards upstream to a low rock ledge that created a tiny waterfall. Spotting a fallen tree lying several yards from the creek, he decided that was the place to hide his fortune. So he left the horses beside the creek and carried the canvas bags the deputies had put the money in over to the tree. Using a small hatchet that had belonged to one of the deputies he killed, he carved out a hole underneath the rotting trunk large enough to hold the bags.
After he buried the money and tidied up his work, he went back to the creek, where he waded into the water and pulled some of the larger rocks out of the little waterfall. Then he put them back, but not quite in their original positions, so that it might look like there had been something hidden there at some time. He hoped that his effort was pointless. But in the event someone should think he might have hidden money up that creek, maybe they would see the displaced rocks and think that had been the place. He climbed back on the gray and rode back down to the road, prepared to give another performance to rival Malcolm’s.
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