“Can’t argue with that,” Ben said at once, well aware of Mary Jane’s efforts to help him prevent a gunfight, “fair and square.” He was still very much alert to the possibility of an attempt by Reuben to go through with the assassination he had planned. The older man was licking his fingers and tidying up his mustache after his big meal with no outward indication that he was still of a violent nature. When Reuben took the last gulp of his coffee, Ben declared, “Well, I reckon I’d best pay up and get on back to the jail, so Wayne can come to supper.” He watched Reuben closely for any signs of renewed aggression, but there were none evident. The older man seemed at peace with himself. Ben glanced at Mary Jane and shrugged. It appeared their attempt to tame the offended father had succeeded. So, Ben got to his feet and paid for the two meals, leaving Reuben with no further comment.
After Ben walked out the door, Reuben got up from the table, and without a word to Mary Jane, retrieved his .45 from the weapons table, and followed Ben out the door. He didn’t holster his gun, which caused Mary Jane to wonder, so she followed him outside. Much to her horror, she saw Reuben calmly raise the weapon and take dead aim at the broad back of the unwary Ranger walking away from the hotel. “Ben!” She screamed.
He didn’t know why he dropped to the ground when he heard her scream. It was simply an unthinking reflexive action on his part. But he heard the bullet snap over his head while he was still in the air and the sound of the shot when he hit the ground. Knowing he had only seconds before the next shot, he rolled over on his back even as he hit the ground and fired one shot while his six-gun was still holstered. He was lucky. His shot caught Reuben in his thigh, spinning him around to drop on one knee and giving Ben time to draw his weapon and cock it. Scrambling to his feet, he rushed back to the wounded man in time to knock the .45 from his hand before he could cock it again. With the life-or-death moment past, Ben’s strongest emotion was one of anger at himself for being so stupid, for thinking he had talked the old man out of his original plan to kill him. “Really?” he demanded as he looked down at Reuben. “In the back? I oughta go ahead and shoot you in the head, you yellow dog!” He aimed his six-gun at Reuben’s face. He held it there for only a few seconds, however, until he took control of his anger. “All right, let’s get you up from there. Can you walk, if I help you?”
“I don’t know,” Reuben replied weakly, so Ben handed Reuben’s pistol to Mary Jane and asked, “Can you hold this for me?” She nodded and he thought to say, “And thanks for the warnin’.” She nodded again, still wide-eyed in shock at having witnessed the shooting. Back to Reuben again, he said, “Might as well walk you on over to the doctor before I take you to jail.” He turned him toward the doctor’s office and started to walk, but Reuben had too much pain to put any weight on the leg. Ben picked him up on his shoulder and carried him to Dr. Griffin’s office. “I’ll pick up the gun later,” he yelled back at Mary Jane, who was still standing there cautiously holding the weapon as if it was a live thing. With Reuben over his shoulder, he didn’t want to worry about keeping two guns out of his reach, and he had already stuck his own gun in his belt, instead of back in the holster where Reuben might be tempted to try to grab it.
When he reached the doctor’s office, he was met with the cynical smirk of Dr. Fred Griffin. “Another one? I suppose I oughta start payin’ you a percentage for bringing in gunshot wounds. First one was the sheriff, who’s this one? Never mind, just bring him on in here and dump him on the table. Is he violent?”
“Not anymore,” Ben answered, “but I’ll stay here with you while you work on him to be sure he don’t cause any trouble.”
After Dr. Griffin examined Reuben’s wound, he determined that the bullet was embedded deeply in the muscle next to the bone. “I’m going to have to do some cutting to get that thing outta there. I’ll have to knock him out for a little while to keep him still. He’s not going to be out for long, and when he comes to, I might need you to hold him down.” Staying with him was no problem, since Ben was in no particular hurry to get back. Wayne might want to go to supper, but with Nancy down at the jail, he might not be in any hurry at all. Reuben wasn’t very enthusiastic about being knocked out, so Ben held him down while Griffin held a cloth with chloroform on it under Reuben’s nose. It didn’t take long before Reuben relaxed, and the doctor could go to work. Griffin worked quickly, but the surgery added to the time Ben was away from the jail, unaware as he was to the events taking place while he had been occupied at the dining room and now in the doctor’s office.
* * *
Wayne had been surprised to see Nancy arrive at the sheriff’s office carrying a plate of food for his prisoner. “When did you start deliverin’ prisoners’ food to the jail?” Wayne had asked.
“I don’t, usually,” she had replied with a sweet smile for him. “I just thought I’d do it today, since we’ve got a new sheriff and he hasn’t come in the dining room in a while.”
He could feel himself flush, although he fought hard not to show it. “Well, I ain’t officially the new sheriff yet, but if they do give me the job, I expect I’ll be eatin’ in the dinin’ room pretty regular.”
“Well, we’ll be pleased to serve you,” Nancy said sweetly. “Mary Jane said you usually give ’em coffee or water, so we don’t have to carry a pot down here.”
Before Wayne could answer, there was a shout from the cell room, interrupting their conversation. “Hey, Wayne, is that my supper? Bring it on in here. I’m ’bout to starve to death.”
“I’m sorry,” Wayne apologized to the young woman. “I left that door cracked, so I could hear anything goin’ on in there.”
Curious to see Walt Murphy locked up in a jail cell, Nancy went to the door and eased it open a little farther, enough to see in the cell room. It was also far enough for Walt to see her face. “Well, hello there, Nancy, darlin’. Did you bring me my supper? How come Cal didn’t bring it? You just wanted to see for yourself if they really had the sheriff in jail, didn’t you? Well, I’m right here, just like they told you, and I’m ready to eat whatever you got with you. Bring it on in.”
“You’d best let me have that plate,” Wayne told her. “You can stay here in the office.”
“It’s just ol’ Walt and his usual nonsense,” Nancy replied. “I’m not afraid to go in there with you to protect me. I ain’t ever seen the inside of a jail before,” she said excitedly.
“All right, if you really want to, but there ain’t gonna be nothin’ for you to see. I’ll just put the plate on the bench he uses for a table and come right back out of the cell.” She gave him the plate of food and slipped inside the cell room door behind him. From a peg by the door, Wayne took a ring that held the cell keys. “You know what you’re supposed to do, Walt,” he said as he inserted the key.
“Oh, right,” Walt said. “I forgot, go to the back of the cell. I’ll tell you the truth, I just got a happy feelin’ when I saw you two young people come in. I almost forgot I was in jail. I almost forgot I was wounded, too, till it started painin’ me again. You just go ahead and do it like you’ve done it before.” He backed away to the back of the cell. “I always enjoy the food from the hotel, but I’m hopin’ maybe tomorrow you might send me some ribs from Jake’s.” He looked quickly back at Nancy. “That ain’t sayin’ nothin’ against the food Charlotte Booker cooks at the hotel. Wayne knows. Right, Wayne? I love Jake’s ribs.”
Walt continued a constant stream of meaningless chatter while Wayne unlocked the cell door, drew his pistol, and picked up the plate from the floor where he had set it while he opened the cell. He had failed to notice until then that the bench was missing from the front of the cell. “Where’s the bench? Your table?” Wayne asked, standing just inside the cell, his .44 in one hand and a plate of beef stew in the other.
“Oh!” Walt blurted. “I forgot about my table! I had it back by the bunk, playin’ some two-handed cards on it. Here, I’ll get it!” He hustled to pick up the bench and hurried to the front of the cell
with it. Pretending to favor his wounded shoulder, he seemed about to drop the heavy bench. In an apparently desperate effort to place it near the cell door, he suddenly lunged at Wayne. Using the bench like a battering ram, he drove Wayne backward against the cell wall. While Nancy stood helpless, Walt easily overpowered the startled young man, forcing his arm backward until he could no longer grip the gun. When it dropped from his hand to land on the floor, Walt threw Wayne aside and picked up the weapon. Lying stunned on the floor, his shirt covered with beef stew and blood running from a cut on his forehead, Wayne’s worst nightmare was unfolding right before his eyes.
Gripped by the frightening turn of events, Nancy let out one short scream before Walt stopped her. Pointing the gun at her, he ordered, “Shut up!” That was all it took, for she could no longer make a sound had she even tried, as she stared at the gun in his hand. Back to Wayne, who was trying to get up from the floor, Walt stated, “You’ve got a lot to learn, son, before you’re ready to take over my job. I’m back in charge now, and if you don’t do exactly like I tell you, I won’t hesitate to put some daylight in your head.” He motioned to Nancy then. “You come on in the cell, honey.” When she hesitated, he snapped, “Now, damn it, or I’ll shoot you down where you stand!” As soon as she walked into the cell, Walt stepped outside and locked them in. He placed the key ring back on the knob by the office door and asked Nancy, “Is Ben Savage up in the dinin’ room?” She nodded her head vigorously. It was at that moment they heard gunshots that sounded as if it might have come from that end of the street.
With no way of knowing if they were of any consequence to him or not, Walt hurried through the office to the front door. He opened the door partially and looked toward the hotel. Unable to see the outside door to the dining room from that angle, he had no clue as to the cause of the shots. He didn’t see anyone in the street in front of the hotel. His intuition told him it had something to do with Ben Savage, however, and he thought to get ready to welcome him with a hot reception when he returned to the jail. He hurried back to the desk and traded Wayne’s pistol for his gun belt and weapon from the drawer. Then he took his rifle out of the gun case behind the desk and his saddlebags out of a cabinet. By that time, he heard some voices of people in the street, so he went back to the door to have another look. There were several of the usual spectators going toward the hotel, bold enough to gawk now that no additional shots were heard. It occurred to him that, with a distraction at the end of the street, it would be the ideal time for him to walk up to the stable and get his horse. It seemed a better plan than his original idea to wait in ambush for Savage at the jail. As much as he would love to surprise Savage with a bullet in his chest, he realized he would still be in the jail after he killed Ben. Then he would run the risk of getting hit with a bullet from some would-be hero in one of the stores.
He stuck his head inside the cell room door just long enough to make sure his two prisoners were secure. Feeling he was on top of his game once again, he couldn’t resist japing them one last time. “Don’t you young folks do anything improper in there while I’m gone.” They could hear him chuckling as he walked back through the office and out the front door.
Outside, there were a few people on the street, but they all seemed interested in seeing what was going on at the hotel. He was pleased to see that no one paid much attention to him as he casually walked toward Bob Graham’s stable at the end of the street.
CHAPTER 22
Hearing someone coming in the stable behind him, Bob Graham turned around only to be startled to see it was Walt Murphy. He didn’t speak, not sure what to say. His confusion caused Walt to grin when he told him he wanted to saddle his horse. “What the hell’s the matter with you, Bob? You act like you’re seein’ a ghost.”
“I swear, Walt, I thought you were in jail,” Bob finally stammered. He was afraid to say anything about the fresh blood seeping through Walt’s shirt, a result of his action in the jail cell with Wayne.
“Oh, that little misunderstandin’s all been straightened out. I’m back in charge again. There was some little somethin’ up at the hotel a little while ago, but Ben Savage is up there, so I’m lettin’ him handle it.”
“I just got back from there,” Graham said, still confused. “Ben shot Reuben Drum.”
That caused Walt to pause for a moment. “Well, I’ll be . . .” he started but stopped to think what that might mean to him. That was why Ben was taking so long to get back to the jail. Maybe it couldn’t have happened at a better time. Savage would most likely be tied up for a while with that, giving him all the time he needed to do what he had to do. “I’ll have to remember to thank ol’ Ben for takin’ care of Reuben for me.” He headed for the corral. “Right now, I’ve gotta take a little ride tonight. I’m gonna need a packhorse, too, if you’ll lend a hand.” Not without his black sense of humor, even in situations like this, he said, “Throw my packsaddle on that big dun over yonder.”
“That one?” Bob asked pointing toward Cousin. Walt nodded. “That’s Ben Savage’s horse,” Bob said.
“Right,” Walt replied. “I told him I might need to take him. Just throw them packs on him.” He took great satisfaction in taking the dun, remembering that it was the theft of Savage’s horse that first brought him to Waco. Let’s see if he comes after the horse again, he thought. This time, it’ll cost him his life.
Knowing he was helplessly abetting a horse thief and a jail escapee, Bob Graham saddled Cousin with the packsaddle, which had nothing in the packs. For his own safety, he had no intention of trying to stop Walt, certain it would more likely lead to his own death. So he walked Cousin out to the front of the stable and handed the reins to Walt when he rode his buckskin out. Still wearing a contemptuous grin, Walt took the reins and started out on the north road at a gentle lope. Graham stood watching him until he rode out of sight, all the while dreading the encounter with Ben when he had to tell him his horse had been taken. But first, he had to go to the jail to see if Wayne was all right.
He was relieved to find that Wayne was not wounded or dead, but he was confused to find Nancy in the cell with Wayne. They both tried to explain while he unlocked the cell and freed them. He told them that Ben had shot Reuben Drum, so all three hurried to the hotel to find out what had prompted the shooting. After Mary Jane and some of the customers from the dining room told them how Reuben came to be shot, Wayne and Bob went to Dr. Griffin’s office to look for Ben. They found him preparing to transport a wounded Reuben Drum to jail.
As expected, Ben was not at all patient when he was told that Walt Murphy had escaped. “Escaped? How did he escape?” He asked while staring at the cut on Wayne’s forehead, but was more fascinated by the food stains all over his shirt. When Wayne had finished his confession, Ben actually felt some compassion for the young man. It was a tough way to learn a lesson in handling a prisoner. “That was just a tough piece of luck,” he said. “But you’ll sure as hell never repeat that mistake again, right?” Wayne swore that he never would.
Ben was not so dismissive of the news that Bob came to tell him, however. “What?” He demanded in disbelief. “He stole my horse? How could he steal my horse? Were you there when he took it?”
“Yes, sir, I was,” Bob admitted. “That’s how I know it was him that took it. I told him that dun was your horse, and he said you told him it was all right if he took him.”
“That lyin’ dog,” Ben swore. Walt was offering him a challenge to come and take the horse, if he thought he could. He knew the only reason Ben had come to Waco in the first place was to get his horse back. He knew Ben would come after him. It was an invitation to prove who was the better man. He looked at Wayne and said, “I’ll help you take Reuben, here, to the jail.” He looked back at Graham again. “And while I’m doin’ that, you go to the stable and put my saddle on the best horse you’ve got, hopefully, one that don’t belong to somebody else.”
“You can use my gray,” Bob said. “He’s as strong a horse as you’r
e likely to find.” He hesitated before adding, “And there won’t be no charge.”
“You’re damn right there won’t be any charge,” Ben replied. “Now, let’s get movin’.” With Wayne on one side and Ben on the other, they made a chair for an uncomplaining Reuben Drum and carried him to jail through a small gathering of spectators still hanging around in the street. Standing a little apart from the others, near the harness shop, one interested spectator followed at a distance until they reached the sheriff’s office. Not certain what he should do, Riley Best turned about and headed back toward the Reservation and the Hog’s Breath Saloon. He was confident that Ben Savage had not spotted him, but he didn’t know what he could do for Reuben now.
* * *
Walt rode his horses hard for the short distance up the river, past the Johnson farm and the Stewart farm, never letting up until reaching his cabin in the trees. His first priority was to get his money and supplies for his pack horse. He fully intended to kill Ben Savage, but he wanted to pick his place for the ambush. And there was too much cover around his cabin for Savage to move about in while he was holed up inside the cabin. He had it in mind to head to Houston. He was finished in Waco, also thanks to Ben Savage, so he would collect his money and what belongings he had at the cabin and pick a spot for Savage to catch up. Even though he was sure he had a good start, he wasted no time at the cabin. Satisfied to see the floor of his small barn had not been disturbed since he was last there, he raked the dirt and hay off the thick planks and unlocked the heavy padlock on the door of his safe-box. He quickly packed the money in two canvas bags and loaded them onto Cousin. Then he went into the cabin and got what stores he had of salt, coffee, sugar, flour, dried beans, and bacon. These he loaded on Cousin as well.
In the process of loading his supplies, he checked his money again to make sure the packs were secure. He couldn’t resist opening one of the canvas sacks just to take another look at the packs of bills and gloating over the rough path the money had taken before it all landed in his hands. A worrisome thought entered his mind then. His deliberate invitation to Ben Savage to follow him might not have been the smart thing to do. He wished now that he had not stolen Ben’s horse and had determined to escape free and clear of the relentless saloon ranger. As much as he wanted the pleasure of killing Ben Savage, he now decided it was best to play it smart and put distance between them. He had friends in Navasota, and that was on the way to Houston. If he wasn’t certain he had lost Savage by the time he reached Navasota, that would be his best place to stop him for good. The more he thought about it, the better he liked the idea. He told himself not to dally. It was about one hundred miles to Navasota. He would plan on making it in two hard days of riding, and he had two good horses to do it with. The first thing to do, he decided, was to leave Savage a trail heading north, to make him think he was heading to Dallas, then cut back to follow the Brazos south. In an attempt to buy more time for himself, he lit his lantern and left it on the table to give Ben something more to consider. As soon as he was ready, he climbed aboard the buckskin and led the dun north along the riverbank, going in and out of the shallow water at the edge for a distance of about half a mile. When he came to a grassy plot that looked like a good place to exit the water, he stopped. But instead of leaving the river, he turned his horses around and went back downstream. Heading south now, he left the river when he was about fifty yards short of his cabin, took a wide detour around it, then returned to follow the river south toward Navasota.
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