The Breckenridge Boys

by Carlton Stowers

  Of all the saloons in town, the Longhorn would be the rowdiest.

  “Being as I’m the only one your man doesn’t know,” said Rankin as they reached the city, “I think it best we split up. I know the Longhorn from visits in my younger days, so I’ll arrive early and locate me a good place from which to view your sit-down. Whether it goes off as planned or not, I still might be able to follow our man back to the location where Lonnie’s being held.”

  Clay was the least optimistic about success. “I’m afraid if he doesn’t see cash in a canvas bag, he ain’t going to be inclined to hear anything else we’ve got to say.”

  “That’s why I’m thinking following him might wind up being our best bet,” the marshal said. “Could even be good if he gets mad and storms off.”

  * * *

  * * *

  SINCE THE ARRIVAL of the boy, Baggett’s mood had changed constantly. One minute he was excited, the next wary and impatient, then angry over having to babysit. Rather than sleep, he repeatedly played out the Saturday meeting. First, he’d considered sending the brothers while he remained with the boy. But since he didn’t completely trust Doozy and Alvin, despite the fact they’d done everything he’d instructed them to do, he felt it best he attend the meeting himself. One of them could babysit while the other would provide him protection and stand by to signal that the money had been received and it was okay to release the youngster.

  Alvin could stay with the kid and Doozy could accompany him to the Longhorn. He was sure there would be two waiting for them—the boy’s new pa, whose name he couldn’t recall, and his friend Clay Breckenridge.

  The only detail he’d not completely worked out was how to distance himself from them after he got the money. If he had more men, he could simply order them done away with, but there wasn’t time to put a plan like that in motion. Maybe Doozy could occupy them for a time by suggesting his brother would harm the boy if they chose to become aggressive.

  Hopefully, the men coming to town had no interest in violence and would just do whatever was necessary to see the boy returned safely. He’d tried to get a reading on them from Lonnie without much success.

  “I want you to know I’m sorry to mix you up in this,” he said. “This business is none of your doing. But your new pa’s got something of mine I want returned. That’s how simple it is. So if whoever shows up Saturday wants only to take you home safe, everything’s gonna be fine.”

  He’d finally removed the bandanna that covered Lonnie’s eyes and mouth after the youngster had nodded a promise to remain quiet. With a pistol in one hand, he used the other to hand the boy a glass of water. “I’d be interested to hear what you think they’re going to do when we have our meeting.”

  Lonnie was still afraid, but during the time he’d been tied to the chair, he’d become increasingly angry and worried about what might happen to the people he hoped were coming to rescue him.

  When he was able to adjust to the light, he saw Baggett for the first time. He was smiling, showing teeth that were yellow and crooked.

  “What I’m wondering,” Baggett said, “is whether your thieving friends have the good sense to see to this matter peacefully. You got any thoughts?”

  Lonnie glared. “They’re not thieves,” he said. “They’re good, honest people who weren’t looking for any trouble until you and those other men came along. I suspect now they’re pretty mad about all this.”

  “You saying I’m gonna have to kill them to get what’s mine?”

  “If there’s any killing done,” Lonnie defiantly answered, “it’ll most likely be you who gets killed.”

  Baggett got to his feet and slapped Lonnie hard across the face, sending him and the chair tumbling to the floor. “Boy, I can’t tell you how glad I’ll be to be shed of you,” he said.

  * * *

  * * *

  MARSHAL RANKIN ARRIVED at the Longhorn well ahead of Clay and Jonesy and found himself a place along a balcony rail. The saloon was filled and noisy. He let his eyes roam the floor below, not knowing whom he was looking for since he’d never seen Baggett or the men who had abducted Lonnie.

  He watched as Breckenridge and Pate finally entered and stood briefly in the doorway. It was exactly three o’clock. It was Rankin who first saw a man near the back of the room stand and wave a hand.

  When they saw him, Clay and Jonesy began elbowing their way in his direction.

  As they reached the table, Baggett motioned for them to sit. As he did, a man neither recognized moved to stand behind Baggett. He had a hand on his holster.

  “Just wanted to make things even,” Baggett said.

  “Is my boy okay?” Jonesy said.

  “I don’t see you boys carrying anything with you,” Baggett replied.

  “We’ve got a good reason for that,” Clay said. “We ain’t got your money with us, but we know where it is. You ain’t given us much time to put our hands on it. But if you return the boy, we’ll gladly see you get it.”

  Baggett cursed. “Where is it?”

  “It’s back at Tascosa, where we came by it in the first place. We found it by chance after your man Wilson was killed. Here’s the offer we’ve come to make. You give us the boy and I’ll ride with you out to Tascosa, and show you where it’s hidden. You can bind me and take my weapon. That sound fair?”

  The proposition took Baggett by surprise. He was silent for a moment as his bodyguard shifted from one foot to another. “I done made myself a promise never to go back out to that part of the world,” he finally said.

  “Well, that’s where your money is.”

  “Tell me where you hid it.”

  “Be happy to, if you bring us the boy, unharmed.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then I’m gonna kill you dead in a way you ain’t never imagined,” Clay said.

  Doozy nervously put his hand on the handle of his pistol. This wasn’t going the way it was supposed to, he thought to himself.

  As the men talked, Rankin had made his way down the stairs and through the crowd to stand behind Doozy. He moved his face to the back of the bodyguard’s neck and whispered, “Slowly take your hand away from your holster. Loud as it is in here, I doubt many would even hear if I was to shoot you right now. Those who do probably won’t much care.”

  When he became aware of what was going on behind him, Baggett reached for his own pistol. Before he could raise and point it, Jonesy said, “You want to be real careful. There’s two just like it pointed at you under the table.”

  Baggett cursed again and laid his face on his arm and pounded his fist against the table. “Nothing’s working out the way it’s supposed to,” he said.

  “Give us your gun,” Clay said, “and tell us where Lonnie is.”

  Baggett raised his head and glared, not moving.

  “This doesn’t have to be hard,” Clay said.

  “I can walk you to where he is,” Baggett finally said, slowly getting to his feet. “Will I still get my money?”

  Jonesy laughed. “We ain’t even decided yet if we’re going to allow you to keep living.”

  * * *

  * * *

  IN THE STREET, they made their way through the crowd. Baggett and Doozy walked in front with Clay and Jonesy close behind, poking gun barrels in their backs. At one point they had to step over a cowboy lying drunk on the sidewalk, laughing at something only he knew was funny.

  “This is it,” Baggett said. It was a shabby-looking two-story hotel that didn’t seem to have a front entrance. They walked into an alley and up a rickety stairway.

  “Keeping my boy in a place like this ought to be reason alone for putting a bullet in your ugly face,” Jonesy said.

  They reached the door to room eight.

  Marshal Rankin, who had said nothing since they’d left the saloon, cocked his Peacemaker and signaled everyone to ge
t behind him. Gun pointed, he shouldered his way through the doorway, the others close behind.

  All they found was an empty room. The only evidence that anyone had previously been there was a chair that had been turned over, an unmade bed, Baggett’s half bottle of whiskey on a table, and a few of his clothes hanging in a wardrobe whose door was off its hinges.

  * * *

  * * *

  THEY WERE HERE, I swear,” Baggett said, sweat beading across his brow. “I left your boy in the care of Doozy’s half-wit brother. No more than an hour ago.”

  Doozy was also sweating as the marshal turned to him. “Where did he take him?”

  “I got no idea,” Doozy said before Jonesy hit him in the temple with the barrel of his pistol. “He’s crazy. No telling where they went.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  I DONE TOLD you the law here is crooked as snakes,” Rankin said, “but if we take these two to jail and I explain how they’re involved in kidnapping, a killing, and anything else I can think of, they’ll be obliged to lock them up for the time being. I’ll explain that I’ll come back and take custody shortly and lock them up in Aberdene.”

  “That or we can just shoot them,” Pate said.

  The marshal ignored his comment. “I’ll stay here with these two while you boys find the marshal’s office and tell him I urgently need his help. He knows me, so just tell him where I am.” Under normal circumstances, Rankin would have gone himself, but he was leery of leaving Jonesy and Clay alone with two men they would have dearly loved to see dead.

  “By doing it this way,” Rankin said, “we can focus all our attention on finding where Lonnie’s been taken. And why.”

  “The second part ain’t hard to answer,” Clay said. “Whoever it is who has the boy is likely thinking he’ll hold him for ransom. Being a participant in Baggett’s plan, he had to know there was money involved somehow. Now I figure it’ll be him contacting us.”

  Rankin shook his head. “If all this wasn’t such a serious situation, I’d have to laugh. You boys stealing money that was already stolen. Somebody kidnapping a boy already been kidnapped . . .”

  “You’re right, Marshal,” Clay said, a deadpan look on his face. “This is a serious situation.”

  Dodge Rankin blushed in response. “Then let’s see if we can figure out what to do.”

  * * *

  * * *

  LONNIE’S HANDS WERE tied behind his back, making it difficult to keep his balance as his horse moved along at a steady gait. Alvin was leading it by the reins as they headed south out of Fort Worth, their destination a deserted farm near the Brazos River where he and his brother had hunted and hidden from the law in the past.

  The plan was for Alvin and Lonnie to wait at an old shack on the property until Doozy arrived.

  “You’re getting to do a right smart of traveling, ain’t you?” Alvin said as they reached the shack. “Nobody’s yet told me why you’re so important, but seeing as you must be, you can expect me to treat you like we were best friends.”

  He had removed Lonnie’s gag but left his hands tied. “When we get inside and make ourselves at home, I’m sorry to say I’ll be needing to secure your ankles again. But I ain’t going to hurt you.”

  Lonnie gave a mock laugh. “Like you didn’t hurt that man at the creek you shot in the back of the head?”

  “That was different. We were told he needed killing. And Doozy said it was my turn,” Alvin said. “Ain’t nobody said nothing about doing you harm.”

  Near the shack were the remnants of an old vegetable garden where watermelon vines were growing wild. Alvin selected a ripe melon and cut it in half with his pocketknife. He then sat on the floor next to Lonnie, slicing off bites to hand-feed him.

  “Yep,” Alvin said as juice ran down his chin, “you and me, we’re going to be friends. And after my brother gets here and says it’s okay, I’m gonna untie you so you can head on back home.” He wiped the watermelon juice from his chin and shirt and smiled.

  * * *

  * * *

  MARSHAL RANKIN SAT in the shade of a tree next to the jail. Clay and Jonesy were pacing. “Hardest part of my job,” the marshal said, “is waiting. I’ve always said if a fellow hopes to be a success as a lawman, he best have the patience of Job.”

  Once Baggett and Doozy were jailed, they had considered their next move, only to realize they didn’t have one. “No telling where they are,” Rankin said. “We could run in every direction like chickens with our heads wrung off, but it wouldn’t do us no good.”

  They needed to know where to look if they were to find Lonnie. And Rankin at least had an idea. During his lengthy career as a marshal, he had become fairly good at thinking like the criminals he was pursuing.

  “I ain’t met too many folks with a high IQ who make their living rustling cattle or robbing stagecoaches,” he said. “I’m of a notion that Baggett is of no use to us. But I think Doozy and his brother have something up their sleeves. Somehow, they’re planning on using Lonnie to get some of Baggett’s money. I don’t know about his brother, but Doozy doesn’t exactly seem like a genius. Still, he and what’s-his-name must have had some kind of plan once Baggett left the hotel to come see you boys. And I bet if we can separate him from the old man, he just might give us some useful information.”

  Clay and Jonesy liked what they were hearing. They had stopped pacing and were kneeling next to the marshal.

  “I can probably talk the jailer into letting him out for a while,” he said, “but what occurs next will have to be up to you boys while I look the other way. I swore an oath long ago that I’d not break the law.”

  Twenty minutes later he was walking down the steps of the jail, Doozy at his side, handcuffed and not looking at all happy.

  * * *

  * * *

  WE BEEN HAVING us an argument over who gets the pleasure of killing you,” Clay said as he shoved his hands into Doozy’s chest. They had taken him into a shed on a nearby vacant lot. A rat scurried over Doozy’s boot. “Whoever gets to do it, this here would be a good place to leave you. Let the rats eat your eyes out, then crawl inside your mouth. . . .”

  “What is it you want with me?” Doozy said. There was panic in his voice. “The old man back there in the jail is who you need to be killing.”

  “We’ll get around to that soon enough,” Jonesy said. “But for now we wanted to give you a chance to keep breathing.”

  “Where’s the boy?” Clay said as he drove a fist hard into Doozy’s stomach. “Tell us where we can find him and your brother, and we’ll be done here.”

  “You’ll let me go?”

  “Might give it some consideration.”

  “This ain’t our fault, me and Alvin. It’s Mr. Baggett who made us do it. And he ain’t even paid us.”

  Clay delivered another gut punch. “Was it his idea for your brother to run off with the boy while we were in the Longhorn?”

  “Well, no, that was our plan so we could get our money for the work we done.”

  Jonesy was getting impatient and drew his pistol. “We’re wasting our time. He ain’t going to cooperate,” he said. “Let’s end this and get on with our business.”

  Doozy’s eyes widened as Pate cocked the hammer. “We ain’t hurt him,” he said. “We were just planning to keep him until we could get some money from Baggett. My brother’s got no idea I’ve been put in jail.”

  “So he’s somewhere waiting for you, not aware you’re not coming?”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Where? That’s the last time I’m asking.” Clay’s fist crushed into Doozy’s face. There was a crunching sound that indicated his nose had been broken; then he began choking on the blood that flowed into his mouth. Breckenridge stepped back and let him sink to his knees. Jonesy stepped up and delivered a kick to his stomach.

  “Okay, okay,
enough,” Doozy said, putting his handcuffed hands to his face. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  His voice was weak as he gave directions to the shack. “That’s where they’re waiting. It’ll take you no more’n a two-hour ride to get there. You going to let me go now?”

  They lifted him to his feet and led him out of the shed. “Rats are gonna be mighty disappointed,” Jonesy said.

  Across the street, Marshal Rankin waited, sitting on the edge of a watering trough, puffing on his corncob pipe.

  “We had us a good conversation,” Clay said. “You can take him back to jail now.”

  * * *

  * * *

  IT WAS ALMOST sundown when they reached the deserted farm. They dismounted and approached the shack on foot. “They’re likely inside,” Clay whispered, “and probably the brother’s keeping watch. Best we wait until it gets dark before we make our move.”

  “I ain’t sure I can wait,” Jonesy said.

  “Remember what I told you about patience,” Rankin said. “It won’t be much longer.”

  Waiting for darkness, they huddled in a thicket, no more than a hundred yards from where they knew Lonnie was being held. Clay was rubbing his swollen fist.

  “Too bad that fellow took such a bad fall back there,” Rankin said, attempting to ease the tension.

  Soon, the glow of a lantern lit the inside of the shack. They could see a shadow of movement.

  “Here’s our plan,” the marshal said. “Jonesy, you make your way around to the back side of the place and wait until you hear me call out. Me and Clay, we’ll approach from the front. Don’t get rambunctious and make yourself an easy target.”