When the sun came up the following morning, the sheriff and his deputy roused themselves from their beds of hay in the barn to find only smoky remains left of the old church. It was their job to carry the two bodies out of the ruins and drop them into the single grave left there for that purpose. Wayne grabbed the shovel and started filling in the grave. “Too bad Reuben Drum wasn’t here,” he said. “I know you were plannin’ to arrest him and anybody else that was here.” He threw a few more shovelfuls of dirt on top of the women, then remarked, “I figured he was gone, since there weren’t no horses in the corral.”
“Yeah, I figured you most likely noticed that, too,” Walt said. “I think Reuben will get the message that he’s done here when he gets back. If he gets back—he mighta took to heart what I told him the other day when I said it was time to pick up his mess and take it somewhere else.”
“I’ll bet that’s what happened,” Wayne said. “Looks like he left it all to those two women there. It was sure bad luck for them, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was,” Walt answered, “and I feel bad about that. But with a posse like that, all fired up and rarin’ to go, everybody was shootin’ off their guns and bad things almost always happen to innocent people. While you’re finishin’ that grave, I’ll take a look through what’s left of the church to make sure there ain’t nobody else layin’ in there. Then, I expect we’d best get back to town to make sure everything’s all right back there.” He walked through the ruins of the church while Wayne was laboring over a grave big enough for the two unfortunate women. He couldn’t tell his deputy that the late-night raid was not the success in his mind as it seemed to be for Wayne and the eight volunteers. True, they had destroyed the popular hideout, but Walt was counting on dealing Reuben and Riley the same hand he dealt the two prostitutes. Both men knew about the bank money. They knew Pete Russell had come away from Madisonville with it, and he suspected they knew he went after Pete. He would know for sure if they showed up in his town again, looking for a share. If they did, they wouldn’t get away a second time. And with them gone, there was no one else to tie the missing money to him.
Why wasn’t Reuben there last night? That was the question puzzling him now as he poked around the burnt-out remains of what had been Reuben’s room. Hell, he thought, Reuben was always there. He never left the church. Who could have tipped him off and told him a raid was planned for last night? He didn’t decide to propose the raid until yesterday. The thought caused him to turn and look at his deputy, laboring away with the shovel. Is he as naive as he lets on? After a moment studying the young man, he decided he wasn’t capable of deception. Back to the destroyed church then, he poked around the flooring that wasn’t consumed completely, looking for any signs of a hidden safe. He was disappointed to find no trace of Frances Wright, but at least she had not been there to witness the murders of the two other women. Her absence at the time of the raid troubled him, however, for she had no other home that he was aware of. The outhouse, he thought, what if she was in the outhouse? Then he remembered that he and one of the other men had kicked the outhouse over after checking to make sure no one was in there.
* * *
The morning was equally unusual in the small cabin occupied by Billy and Betty Wells and their two small children. During the night just passed, they had a surprise visit from Betty’s Aunt Frances, who had walked almost four miles to their small cabin just short of the bridge over the Brazos. A hardworking young man, Billy did some farming, but his main occupation was raising hogs. He made a living providing pork products to the hotel and small restaurants like Jake’s Rib House. As the only relative Frances had in Texas, Betty did not see her aunt very often and never in the middle of the night with a story she swore them to hold secret. Barely able to talk at first, so frightened was she, then gradually recounting her night of horror, she told them how she escaped the fate that Paulene and Dora shared. When Dora fell dead at her feet, the result of Walt Murphy’s second shot, she could only back into her cubby to hide again. It was soon she realized, however, that if she remained there, she would surely perish. So she forced herself to sneak back by the kitchen door and wait until none of the riders were right behind the church. Taking her life in her hands, she then ran from the burning building to the outhouse, which was lying on its side. She managed to open the door and crawl inside, and she remained there until the posse had gone home, leaving only the two lawmen and two volunteer grave diggers for Paulene and Dora. She hid in the overturned outhouse until Walt and his deputy made their beds in Reuben’s barn, after the gravediggers had gone. Only then had she summoned the courage to sneak out of her hiding place and run for her life.
She had no place to go, so Billy and his wife assured her that she was welcome in their home for as long as she wanted. “I could use some help with little Gracie and Francine,” Betty insisted, “and you can certainly help with the cooking.”
“I’ll help you any way I can,” Frances said. “I may be little, but I can work hard as anyone.”
“Then it’s settled,” Billy said. “You just stay right here.” This even after hearing Frances’s story about the sheriff murdering the two women. Like most folks around town, he knew Walt Murphy had some rough edges on him, but he wouldn’t have suspected him capable of blatant disregard for human life.
CHAPTER 16
Ben didn’t linger long over breakfast for a couple of reasons. He wanted to leave before Tuck came in for breakfast, and he knew he’d get another lecture from Rachel on letting the law take care of the law’s business. With Tuck, it would be the opposite. He would likely suggest that he should accompany him to Waco. He ate the breakfast Annie fixed for him in short order, thereby being subjected to a shorter dose of Rachel’s insistence that he was needed there at the Coyote. He knew, in fact, that he really wasn’t. She ran the business and everyone at the Coyote knew it. He helped in any way he thought he could, but there was very little call for him to do anything as far as operating the saloon. He was sure that Rachel was just concerned for his safety, and he appreciated that, but it sometimes felt like his wings were being clipped. So he gulped the last of his coffee and said, “I ain’t sure, three or four days, I reckon,” when Rachel asked. “There’s just a couple of things I wanna check on, that’s all.”
He almost bumped into Tuck when he went out the door. “Mornin’, Tuck,” he said and walked on down the steps.
“Where you goin’?” Tuck asked at once.
“Down to the stable,” Ben answered and kept walking, his saddlebags over his shoulder and his rifle in hand. “Annie just pulled a fresh pan of biscuits outta the oven. Better get in there quick, if you want a hot one,” he said over his shoulder, leaving Tuck to stand there undecided. He loved hot biscuits, but he was curious about the saddlebags and rifle. To Ben’s relief, he went on inside to the biscuits and an explanation from Rachel and Annie.
He made good time on the cool clear morning, and Cousin seemed in the mood for traveling. So when he approached the little creek he often stopped at, about ten miles north of Buzzard’s Bluff, he was undecided whether to stop or not. Just long enough for Cousin to get a drink of water, he thought, since the dun was showing no signs of fatigue. When he got closer to the creek, he realized someone was camping there, just off the road. He saw some horses near the bank and smoke from a small fire about twenty-five yards from the road, but no sign of anyone about. Only slightly curious, but cautious as a manner of habit, he scanned the banks on both sides of the creek before he caught sight of someone lying on his belly beside the creek.
Not sure if it was a body he was seeing, or someone lying in ambush, he immediately reined Cousin back and pulled his rifle out of his saddle scabbard. It paid to be ready, whichever it was. Then he saw the body move, lifting his head from the water and getting up on his knees. The man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and reached on the ground beside him and picked up a canteen. Ben had to grin when he realized the man had just filled his cantee
n and decided to get a long drink from the creek while he was at it. An older man, as his white hair testified before he plopped a faded Boss of the Plains hat down on his head, he was unaware of the approaching rider.
Cautious now he might startle the old-timer, Ben decided he’d best announce his presence. He dropped his rifle back in the saddle scabbard and called out a howdy. The reaction of the old man was predictable. He spun around, dropping his hand on his sidearm, looking frantically for an assailant. Ben put his hands in the air. “Whoa, partner!” He called out. “I mean you no harm. I’m just passing through on my way to Waco.”
The old man made no move for a few moments, apparently deciding if he had anything to fear from this stranger or not. Finally, he answered Ben’s call. “Well, your horse don’t make a helluva lot of noise, so I reckon you kinda caught me by surprise. Come on ahead, then, I ain’t got no right to say you can’t use the road, have I?” He chuckled, more embarrassed than frightened. “Tell you the truth, I can’t hear as good as I did when I was your age.”
Ben nudged Cousin and continued along the road until he reached the old man, who was standing close to the road now. “You travelin’ all by yourself?” Ben asked.
“No, there’s two of us,” he said. “My partner’s gone a-ways down this creek. I keep listenin’ to hear a shot from that direction.”
“Why is that?” Ben answered, more interested now. “Have you had some trouble?”
“No, no trouble,” he quickly replied. “When we pulled up here, ’bout a half hour ago, we run up on a couple of deer, drinkin’ water right in the middle of the road. My partner’s younger’n me, so I told him, ‘You run down that creek and see if you can get a shot at one of ’em. I’ll stay here and build a fire and water the horses.’ Well, I’m still waitin’ to hear a shot that’ll tell me what’s for dinner.”
“I reckon you were lucky to run up on deer this late in the mornin’,” Ben allowed. “They musta been lookin’ for a place to lay low and didn’t know it was the middle of the road.”
“Maybe so,” the old man allowed. “But ignorant deer taste just as good as smart ones. If you ain’t in a hurry, you can stick around to see if my partner has any luck and you can help us eat some venison.”
“Why, that’s mighty neighborly of you, and I’m tempted to take you up on that. I ain’t had deer meat in quite some time.” He was tempted, but he had other things on his mind. “I expect I’d best keep on goin’, since I’m figurin’ on makin’ Waco tomorrow. Thank you just the same, though.”
“You’d be welcome,” the old man said. “I notice you ain’t leadin’ no packhorse, so you must be travelin’ light.”
“I am at that,” Ben said, “but, like I said, I’ll be in Waco tomorrow. I might pay a visit to Jake’s Rib House to make up for travelin’ light. You ever eat there?”
“Nope, never have, but I’ve heard of it,” the old man said.
“I best be gettin’ along,” Ben said. “I hope you hear that gunshot pretty soon. If I hear it before I get outta earshot, I might turn around and come back.”
“You do that, young feller. We’d be glad to share.”
It was fully three-quarters of an hour before Riley emerged from the trees hugging the bank of the stream, clearly disappointed. “I got just close enough to get a glimpse of ’em about a quarter of a mile downstream, but I didn’t have a shot. I followed them damn deer for two miles, I bet, and never got close enough to shoot. I really wanted me some deer meat, too.”
Disappointed as well, Reuben said, “And I ain’t even got any bacon cookin’, either. I was countin’ on that deer meat so much that I ain’t got any coffee started. I spent half the time jawin’ with some jasper that came by on his way to Waco.”
“Who was he?” Riley asked.
“I don’t know,” Reuben replied, “just some jasper. Seemed like a decent enough feller, though. We just passed the time of day. I told him you was off chasin’ a deer.”
“Is that right? Wonder what he woulda thought, if somebody told him he was jawin’ with Reuben Drum?” Riley asked and they both chuckled. “Hand me that coffeepot and I’ll go get some water.”
After leaving the old man by the creek, Ben rode for another fifteen miles before stopping to give Cousin a rest by a wide stream. He decided he would be there long enough to build a little fire and make some coffee while the big dun gelding grazed and drank. Thinking back on his chance meeting with the old man at the creek, he appreciated the meeting with a fellow traveler that would gladly share his food with a stranger. And I didn’t even ask his name, he thought. Doesn’t matter. Odds are I’ll never run into him again. When Cousin was rested, Ben’s mind was back on the mission he had set for himself. At this point, he was only a short ride from Cletus Priest’s store, and he had considered stopping by there on his way to Waco. Thinking about it now, he decided he would skip it, since his horse was freshly watered and rested. Maybe he would stop there on his way back to Buzzard’s Bluff.
* * *
It was close to noontime when Reuben Drum and Riley Best pulled up short of Henry Barnes’s stable. “Before we go ridin’ down to the Lost Coyote Saloon, you ain’t told me just exactly what you’re plannin’ to do.”
“I told you already,” Reuben insisted. “I’m gonna walk in that saloon and tell ’em I come to see Ben Savage. And when he comes out, I’ll tell him I’ve come to kill him, just like he killed my boy. He can face me like a man, or I’ll shoot him down where he stands.”
“Damn it, Reuben, I’ve told you how fast that man is. If you face that man in a showdown, he’ll cut you down like a cornstalk.”
“He might,” Reuben allowed, “but he’ll have to be pretty damn accurate to stop me with one shot, and I know I’ll get one in him before I’m done.”
“Maybe,” Riley admitted. “It’s hard to say what you’ll do when that bullet hits you. And it sounds to me like we took a long ride just so you can commit suicide. If that’s what you were thinkin’, you coulda just told me and I coulda shot you back in Waco. And me and the women coulda give you a proper funeral.”
Reuben gave his younger friend a patient look, the kind a father gives his son. “Did you think I was really plannin’ to dry-gulch this gunslinger? I want him to know why I’m fixin’ to kill him. I brought you with me ’cause I don’t know what he looks like, and if I saw him outside the saloon, I wouldn’t know it was him. I figure I don’t need you to go in the saloon lookin’ for him or you’re liable to get shot when he saw you. So you find you a place outside where you can watch to see if I come out and we’ll high-tail it outta here when I do.”
“Whatever you say, old man,” Riley replied. “Looks like nothin’ I say is gonna keep you from gettin’ your crazy head blown off, is it?”
“Reckon not,” Reuben said with a grin. “I don’t deny I might be a little bit crazy, but don’t call me old.” He gave his horse a touch of his heels and started down the street. “That looks like a saloon right down there on the right.”
After passing the stable, they saw the sign that told them the saloon was the Lost Coyote. There was no one in the blacksmith shop across the street from the saloon, so Riley pulled his horse to a stop there, as Reuben directed, and stood watching as Reuben rode up to the saloon. In Riley’s mind, Reuben looked older than he had the day before. And while he disagreed with what he was doing, he thought he understood why. It made him feel kinda sad because Reuben had always been mighty good to him when he was down and out. Another thought struck him then. What will happen to the church with Reuben gone? Who would take the reins? Not me, he said to himself. With Reuben gone, I’m done with it.
Reuben tied his horse at the rail and stepped up on the porch. He paused a second to ease his forty-five up and down in the holster a couple of times to make sure it was riding easy. It had been a long time since he had been called upon to do so. Ready then, he stepped inside the bat-wing doors and stood for a few more moments to look the room over. More than hal
f the tables were empty, and most of the customers were eating dinner. It struck him that it was relatively quiet for a saloon. However, there were a couple of men standing at the bar. Near the kitchen door, a woman sat alone, speaking occasionally to a short, red-haired man who seemed to be bouncing back and forth between a couple of the tables, talking to the men seated at them. He acts like he’s in charge, Reuben thought, but he wasn’t the picture he had painted in his mind of the owner of the saloon. So, he walked on over to the bar.
“Howdy,” Tiny greeted him cheerfully. “What’s it gonna be? You lookin’ for a drink of whiskey or just wantin’ to eat dinner?”
“Right now, I’ll just take the whiskey,” Reuben answered. He watched the room while Tiny poured.
“Ain’t seen you in before,” Tiny said. “You new in town?”
“That’s right,” Reuben answered. “I’m just passin’ through. I’m lookin’ for Ben Savage. Is that him over at that table?”
“Him?” Tiny responded with a chuckle. “No, that ain’t Ben. That’s Tuck Tucker. Ben’s outta town, but Rachel Baskin’s here.” He nodded toward her. “She’s Ben’s business partner, if you’re lookin’ to talk about business.” Although Reuben wasn’t dressed as a salesman, Tiny thought Reuben might be trying to sell something to the saloon, so he looked over toward her and called, “Rachel,” and motioned her over before Reuben could stop him. Rachel came over promptly, and Tiny said, “This gentleman is looking for Ben. I told him Ben’s outta town.”
Rachel favored Reuben with a smile and said, “That’s right, Ben’s out of town, and I expect he won’t be back before three or four days. I’m Rachel Baskin, Ben’s partner. Is there something I can help you with?”
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