Blood Bond 3 (17 page)

“Maybe she asked for it,” Hallett said, the words telling all what he was made of.

“She was eighty years old,” Josiah said softly, but with contempt dripping from his words. “What could she have done to ask for it?”

Cannon grunted and looked with distain at Waco. He was a gunfighter, a horse thief, and a cattle rustler, but like so many Western men, would not harm a woman—unless he was paid to do it. “I don't think I want you ridin' with me no more, Waco.”

“Oh, hell, Cannon,” Josiah said. “Don't you boys know who you're workin' for? Me and Bodine and Two Wolves tracked the men John Lee hired to kill a rancher's wife. Yeah, that's right. So if you go to work for John Lee, there ain't none of you any better than this skunk here.” He looked at Waco Mason.

Waco jerked iron. It was no contest. Josiah shot him before the hired gun could clear leather, the .45 slug taking him in the belly and knocking him back. Waco finally pulled his six-shooter out of leather and cocked it. Josiah shot him again, then a third time before the man went down to his knees. Waco's gun went off, the slug blowing a hole in the floor.

“Dammit!” Al swore at the damage from behind the bar.

Waco fell forward on his face, dead on the floor.

Before the first shot was fired, Matt, Sam, Pen, and Bam had risen as one, their hands by their guns.

“It's over,” Cannon said. “He drew on you, Ranger. We're out of it.”

“Tote him off and bury him,” Josiah said. He returned to the table and sat down. Up the street, Willowby was still verbally hammering at his flock. “And if he ever shuts up,” Josiah said, jerking his thumb toward the church, “I'm told he does a right nice funeral service. When he ain't interrupted by hired guns, that is,” he added.

John Lee waited exactly twenty-four hours after his new gunmen hit town to strike back at what he considered to be his mortal enemies. He had convinced himself, during his laudanum-induced haze while having his and his son's broken teeth extracted by a dentist he had brought in from El Paso, that
everybody
was his mortal enemy; that
everybody
was against him; that
everybody
was out to get him.

When he struck, he struck hard and mean and vicious. A small rancher who had moved back into the area and who was running about two hundred and fifty head of cattle experienced the full fury of John Lee's nightriders.

Matt and Sam and Josiah could sense death long before they reached the burned-out and still smoking ruins of what had been a house.

The nightriders had fired several hundred rounds, killing not only the rancher and his wife and two children, but also killing about a hundred head of cattle. They lay stinking and bloating under the sun, while overhead the buzzards slowly circled, waiting for a meal.

“The man's stepped over the line,” Matt said, as he and the others tied bandanas around their faces to block out at least some of the horrible odor.

“They scattered the rest of the herd,” Sam said, “then got in with them, hiding their tracks.”

“Pushin' the herd west,” Josiah noted. “Towards that little crick about five miles away. That's where they'll get in the water and try to lose us.”

Matt pointed to a piece of sacking on the ground. “When they leave the creek, they'll tie sacking on the horses' hooves to leave less of a trail. They're getting smarter and more vicious.”

Jeff Sparks and some of his hands rode up. The men, grim faced, sat their saddles for a moment.

“Gilley,” Matt said, “you and Parnell ride into town and get the minister. We'll dig some holes and then drag these cattle off aways. It's not going to be fun, but we got it to do. So let's do it.”

Dr. Winters rode out with Willowby and looked at the bodies. “This child has been shot at least a dozen times,” he said, standing up from the swollen body of a girl about ten or eleven years old. “I have never seen such a brutal and totally vicious, senseless thing in my life.” He walked away and vomited.

“Was she raped?” Josiah called.

The doctor shook his head. “No. I don't believe so.”

Chookie said, “It appears they rode this young boy down and trampled him to death. Then filled him full of holes. Fightin' growed-up men is one thing, but anybody who would do this to a child don't deserve nothin' better than a rope—and a slow hangin' at that.”

Lia and Lisa rode up, with Dodge and Noah accompanying them. The girls took one look at the still-uncovered bodies and got a little green around the mouth.

“Stop this,” Dodge said to Josiah. “And do it now. If you don't, we will.”

“Now, Vonny,” the Ranger said.

“I'm tellin' you flat out, Josiah,” the old gunfighter told him, “John Lee ain't the only one who can nightride.”

“I'll forget you said that, Vonny.”

“I don't give a damn what you remember or forget. You either put a stop to this legal like, or we ride against the Broken Lance full force. I know some boys I can call in, and you know the type of men I'm talkin' about.”

Josiah knew. Old buffalo hunters, ex-scouts for the Army, Indian fighters, and the like. Men now living quiet in their advanced age, but men who owed Vonny Dodge much—in many cases, their lives. Men who would come at a run if he called.

The tall old gunfighter and the Texas Ranger faced each other amid the stink of violent and senseless death. And to tell the truth—even though Josiah didn't think it would ever come to gunplay between them—Josiah wasn't at all sure he was faster than Vonny. Damn few men were.

“Give us time, Vonny.” Matt defused the situation quietly. “Give us time to track and trail and try to build a case. Give us that much, at least.”

The old gunfighter stared at the much younger man for a moment, then slowly nodded his head. “I'll give you a few days, Matt. I understand you boys need time. But be forewarned about this: I've talked it over with the hands. They're drawin' fightin' wages, and they're ready to fight. We got to bring peace to this country. And if we have to bushwhack John Lee and his no-count son to do it, then so be it. The end will justify the means.”

“An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth!” Willowby hollered. “Thine eye shall not pity, but life shall go for life.”

“Yeah, I know, Willowby,” Josiah said. “Deuteronomy. See to the dead. Me and the boys will ride over to Broken Lance spread and talk to John Lee. Let's go.”

Leaving the stench of death behind them, Sam said, “John Lee and his bunch just might shoot us on sight.”

“Doubtful,” Josiah replied. “Don't none of them boys want the Rangers in here full force. And that's what would happen if one of us was shot.”

The three of them were shocked at John Lee's appearance. The man's eyes were wild and his person unkempt. The swelling had gone from his mouth, but he whistled when he talked, due to the gap in his teeth. And he didn't talk as much as he ranted and raved.

“Shut up,” Josiah finally told him. “Just shut up your mouth and listen to me.”

John Lee stood on the front porch of his grand house and glared at the Rangers. His son stood by his side, his hands by the butts of his guns. He appeared to be at least as crazy as his father.

“You're just a few days away from a full-scale war, John Lee,” Josiah told him. “Maybe only hours away. We're tryin' to keep the lid on the pot, but I don't know how long we can do it. Now you started this senseless crap, and you can stop it. Fire all these damn gunhands you got hangin' around you. Go on back to ranchin' and leave other folks alone. They got as much right to be here and to live in peace as you have. You got more than enough for one man. You got plenty. Pull in your horns and do it right now, John Lee.”

With much whistling and spitting and slurring of words, John Lee told Josiah where to go, what route to take getting there, and what he could do with his tin badge once he got there.

“And that goes for me, too,” Nick whistled.

“And you can't prove that I done a damn thing wrong, neither,” John Lee added. “If you had any proof, you'd be arresting me, not running your mouth.”

“And that goes for me, too,” Nick said.

“All right, John Lee,” Josiah told him. “I tried. God knows I tried. And that's all a mule can do, is try. One more raid on your part, and you're gonna open the gates to hell, and I mean it. I don't know why you can't see that.”

“Unless you got a warrant for my arrest,” John whistled, “I suggest you get the hell off my property. All of you! Like right now.”

“I will be seein' you, John Lee,” Josiah said. “Bet on it. I just hope it ain't lookin' at you down the barrel of a gun.”

“Get off my property!” John screamed, spraying spit.

The men turned their horses and rode off, back toward Nameit.

“Has he lost his mind?” Bam asked over coffee in the marshal's office.

“His bucket don't go all the way down into the well water,” Josiah said, “but he's got sense enough to know what he's doin' is wrong. I been in insane asylums. he ain't got the look of them folks. You can feel sorry for them people; there ain't no pity in my heart for John Lee, his son, nor any man who'll ride with them.”

“What now?” Pen asked.

“We do some nightridin' of our own. Startin' tonight. And while my officers might frown on this—frown, hell, they'll fire me if they get wind of it—we got to fight fire with fire. So this is what we're gonna do . . .”

 

 

Josiah, Matt, Sam, Pen, and Bam were dressed in dark dusters, riding horses they had brought back in from the dead outlaws now residing in the crap pit back of the trading post in New Mexico. They wore bandanas around their faces and their hats were pulled down low.

“Would you believe, after all the things that's been said about me,” Pen said, “I ain't never wore a mask in my life, nor have I ever stole anything.” He thought for a moment. “Exceptin' that time when I hadn't eaten in a week and I rustled me a beeve.”

Josiah smiled under his mask. “After the war, they was thousands of cattle roamin' the Texas countryside, belongin' to nobody. I've roasted me a chunk of somebody's beef over a fire a time or two myself.”

“Josiah!” Sam said, disbelief in his voice. “You, of all people. I'm shocked.”

“I know you are, Sam. 'Course, when you was growin' up in the Cheyenne village with your daddy and mama, y'all never dined on no stolen beef, did you?”

“Ummm,” Sam said. “Well . . .” He trailed off with a laugh.

“We been sittin' here for two hours,” Bam said, after consulting a pocket watch. “Maybe John Lee ain't gonna send no nightriders out this evenin'?”

“Quiet!” Sam said, holding up a hand. He dropped down and put his ear to the ground. “Here they come. A lot of them, riding straight from Broken Lance range.”

The men mounted out and adjusted their bandanas. They put the reins in their teeth and filled their hands with .44's and .45's. No one had to speak. They had gone over this plan several times, and there was nothing legal about it. If they found Broken Lance gunnies riding that night, they were going to ride among them and empty some saddles, and to hell with what the law books said. It was like some folks were fond of saying: There ain't no law west of the Pecos.

“Now!” Josiah said through clenched teeth and knee-reined Horse. Horse jumped on command and the men were riding hell-for-leather into a crowd that outnumbered them ten to one.

When they got into range, the lawmen could see raiders were wearing dark dusters and eye-slit hoods over their heads. They opened fire and the night was pocked with flashes of muzzle blasts, and the air was filled with the screaming of horses, the painful shouting of wounded men, and the churning of dust from more than two hundred steel-shod hooves.

The lawmen emptied their guns during the first charge, holstered them, and pulled out two more from belts looped on the saddle horns and wheeled around, heading back into the fray.

Matt's horse knocked one nightrider to the ground, then mangled him under his hooves. Sam fired pointblank into a hired gun's face and the face blossomed in crimson. Bam emptied two saddles and Pen, out of ammo, began smashing and slashing any head that came into arm's length. Josiah screamed like a Comanche and that was the cue to get gone, and the men vanished into the dust-stormed night, leaving behind them death, horrible wounds, and mass confusion.

They headed for Nameit, changed mounts along the way, where they had put spare horses that afternoon, and were seated in the saloon having a late supper and a mug of beer when the wounded men began trickling in.

Vonny Dodge was seated alone at a table, a bottle of whiskey in front of him. He had greeted the lawmen with a curt hello, and that told them the old gunfighter wanted to be left alone. They left him alone.

John Lee stormed into the bar, followed by his son, his foreman, and a dozen gunhands.

“Finch!” John thundered and whistled. “Some of my men were coming into town this evening for cards and drinks and were bushwacked by a bunch of masked road agents and thugs. I've got ten or twelve dead and at least that many wounded. What do you intend to do about it?”

Josiah sopped up the last of his gravy with a hunk of bread, popped it into his mouth, and chewed reflectively. He swallowed and said, “Well, sir, I would suggest you take them to see Doc Winters.”

“Goddammit, Finch!” John Lee yelled and sprayed spit through the gap in his teeth, top and bottom. “Don't you get smartmouthed with me. I demand that you and your . . . fellow Rangers there investigate this atrocity.”

“Yeah, we'll do that, John Lee. Just as soon as we conclude our investigation of who killed Ed Carson and his wife, who shot up the Circle S ranch, who killed the Flyin' V hand, Sonny, and who massacred that rancher and his wife and children the other day. I 'spect we'll get around to your problem about this time next year. If you're lucky. But now, if you don't feel we're actin' quick enought to suit you, you can write Ranger HQ in Austin. I'm sure they'll send more men in here.”

John Lee was so angry he looked like he was going to bust a gut trying to contain his rage. His face actually turned a dark shade of purple.

“Let's do it, Papa!” Nick whistled and slurred. “Come on, let's do it.”

“Shut up, boy!” the father warned him.

Vonny Dodge laughed at them. “What language are you two speakin'? Sounds to me like a drunken Digger Injun tryin' to quote Shakespeare.”

Nick turned, his face flushed. “Don't you make fun of me, you old fart!”

“You better hold the reins tight on that kid of yours, John Lee,” the old gunfighter said. “ 'Fore I take them fancy guns of his and feed 'em to him.”

“I'd like to see you try!” Nick yelled.

“Oh, I won't try, boy,” Vonny said. “I'll do.”

“Back off, Nick,” John Lee told his son. “Just back off.”

Pukey Stagg stepped around father and son. “This is what you're payin' us to do, Mr. Lee,” he whispered, his lips barely moving. “I'll handle this one.”

“As you wish,” John Lee said.

“What do you want?” Vonny asked the gunhand.