Authors: J. A. Johnstone
Brutal Vengeance (3 page)
Chapter 5
Several days after waking up in the middle of the night and seeing the distant glow of the large fire, Kid Morgan was easing his buckskin down a long, rugged slope separating the plains behind him from the plains in front of him. The drop was a couple of hundred feet.
This escarpment was bound to have a name of some sort, The Kid thought. Not being that familiar with the geography of the Lone Star State, he had no idea what it was.
He had been taking it easy, not getting in any hurry as he traveled across West Texas. The long, leisurely days tended to blend together. He didn’t give much thought to how much time had passed since the night something had disturbed his sleep. It hadn’t happened again, and he had pretty much put the disquieting incident out of his mind.
The buckskin was sure-footed, so The Kid let the horse pick its own path down the slope. Time and the elements had seamed and scored the ground until it resembled the face of an old man. Boulders littered the escarpment, and it was dotted with clumps of hardy brush.
Snakes could be hiding in that brush, seeking its shade to escape the heat of the day. The Kid knew how common rattlers were in this godforsaken part of the country. South and west of there was a place called Rattlesnake Valley where he had run into a considerable amount of trouble a year or so earlier.
Nothing spooked a horse faster or more completely than the fierce buzzing of a diamondback’s rattles. If the buckskin or the pack horse started jumping around on the slope, it could lead to a disastrous tumble.
So The Kid was ready for trouble ... just not for somebody shooting at him.
The flat crack of a rifle shot came from somewhere to his left, followed by a high-pitched whine as the bullet ricocheted off a nearby rock. The Kid yanked the buckskin to a halt and jerked around in the saddle to look toward the source of the shot.
He saw several men riding along the edge of the escarpment a couple hundred yards in that direction. A cloud of dust trailed behind them.
More shots rang out as powdersmoke spurted from their rifle barrels. The men turned their horses down the slope and started angling along the escarpment’s face toward him.
The Kid looked around quickly. No big rocks were close enough to provide cover, but down at the base of the slope, where the ground leveled out again into seemingly endless plains, several giant slabs of stone had come to rest after breaking off and sliding down the escarpment in ages past.
“Let’s go!” The Kid kicked the buckskin into a bounding run.
The caution he had been using was forgotten. It was obvious those men wanted his hide, preferably with several bullet holes in it. He’d have to figure out why they wanted to kill him once he reached the rocks.
The buckskin leaped from rock to rock. The pack horse wasn’t nearly as nimble, and The Kid knew the animal couldn’t hope to keep up. He let go of the reins. Under the circumstances, he would rather lose the pack horse and the supplies it carried than have it slow him down.
Supplies wouldn’t do him any good if he was dead.
Bullets continued to ricochet off the rocks around him, but he wasn’t far from the bottom of the slope. Frustrated shouts came from the men pursuing him, afraid he was going to reach those stone slabs and fort up. Then they would have trouble getting to him.
That was exactly what The Kid planned to do. He could have pulled his Winchester from the saddle boot and returned their fire as soon as they started shooting at him, but he knew he had a better chance of survival if he got off the rugged escarpment.
The buckskin’s hooves slid on some loose gravel. For a second The Kid’s heart pounded harder in his chest as he thought the horse was going down.
An excited yell erupted from one of the pursuers as he saw the horse struggling, but the buckskin regained its footing and continued the headlong charge down the slope, reaching the rocks without falling and breaking its neck. Neither The Kid nor his mount had been hit by any of the bullets whipping around them.
Pulling his rifle from its scabbard, The Kid kicked his feet free of the stirrups, and left the saddle in a leap. He landed running, almost lost his balance, then regained it and dashed behind one of the giant stone slabs.
The buckskin kept going. That was fine with The Kid. The horse was a good one, and he wanted it out of the line of fire.
Taking a deep breath, he pressed his back against the rock for a moment as he waited for his racing pulse to slow. When it had, he stepped to the corner of the slab, brought the Winchester swiftly to his shoulder, and cranked off three rounds as fast as he could work the repeater’s lever.
He aimed high, over the heads of the men who were chasing him, deciding not to blow the varmints out of their saddles ... for now.
He didn’t like killing anybody without knowing the reason why.
Of course, the fact that they had tried to kill him first was reason enough to respond with deadly force, he supposed, but he was curious. He didn’t know anybody in this part of Texas who would want him dead. He didn’t know anybody in this part of Texas, period.
Somebody had made a mistake, and it sure wasn’t him.
The bullets cutting through the air a few feet above their heads were enough to make the men think twice about continuing to charge The Kid’s position. They hauled back on their reins and whirled their horses around.
The turn was too sharp for one man’s mount. The horse lost its footing and went over with a shrill, terrified whinny. The man on its back screamed, too, as he was thrown from the saddle.
From where he was, The Kid couldn’t tell if the horse had rolled over on the man, crushing him. He didn’t particularly care. He might not be willing to shoot them just yet, but if one came to a bad end because of his own ineptitude, it served him right.
He had not had time to count the pursuers. Now that he had reached cover, The Kid saw there were four. Three of the men were still on their horses. Two were fleeing, but the other one hesitated.
“Clyde!” The Kid heard him shout. “Hang on! I’ll get you, Clyde!”
That had to be the name of the man who had fallen from his horse. The Kid saw him scramble to his feet as the other man reined his horse in that direction. He was going to pick up Clyde and let him ride double.
The Kid lined his sights and fired. The slug whistled between the two men, coming close enough that Clyde yelped and instinctively leaped backward. He tripped and landed on his butt.
The Kid fired again, chipping rock from the ground near the hooves of the mounted man’s horse.
The man hauled hard on the reins and whirled his horse, turning away from his fallen comrade.
“Damn it, Hogan!” Clyde yelled as he leaped to his feet. “Don’t leave me here!”
Hogan didn’t pay any attention to him. He was out to save his own skin.
The Kid worked the Winchester’s lever and sent another round over Clyde’s head, close enough to make the man throw himself facedown on the slope. There was no cover around him. Even his horse was gone, having run off after its fall, seemingly unhurt.
Clyde was an easy target. All he could do was lie there, cover his head with his arms, and wait for the smashing impact of the bullet that would end his life.
The Kid held his fire.
Two men had already vanished over the top of the escarpment. Hogan followed them, his horse lunging over the rim and carrying him out of sight. That left The Kid and Clyde alone with the hot Texas sun beating down around them.
Several minutes of near-silence passed. The only things The Kid could hear were the faint sighing of the hot wind and the terrified whimpers coming from Clyde.
Finally, the man lifted his head slightly and called, “P-please don’t kill me, mister! I can’t do nothin’ to hurt you now! Please don’t kill me!”
The Kid leaned a shoulder against the rock and didn’t say anything. He waited.
Another minute passed. Clyde raised his head a little higher, enough to look around. He was starting to think The Kid was gone. Putting his hands under him, he pushed himself up.
The Kid sent a bullet slamming into the ground five feet in front of him.
Clyde screamed and bellied down again.
He wouldn’t be trying to move again any time soon, The Kid guessed. He knew he was being a little cruel, but he was mad. He’d been riding along, not bothering anybody, not looking for trouble, and suddenly those men were shooting at him. He didn’t like it, and Clyde was paying for the anger he felt.
“Hey, mister!”
The shout floated down from the top of the escarpment. The Kid was expecting it. More than likely the others had crept back up to the rim and peered carefully over it. They could see that Clyde was still alive and that The Kid had him pinned down.
With the giant slab of rock in the way, they couldn’t get a good shot at The Kid. Now would come the talking.
“Hey, mister, can you hear me?”
“I hear you!” The Kid called back. “What do you want?”
“You let our man go, so he can walk back up here to us!”
“So you can all start trying to kill me again?” The Kid laughed, even though the sound probably didn’t carry all the way to the top of the escarpment. “I don’t think so!”
“Look, those boys went off half-cocked when they spotted you!” the man shouted. “I’m sorry about that! They thought you were one of the buzzards we’ve been chasin’ the past few days!”
Well, that made things a little more interesting, assuming the man was telling the truth, The Kid thought. From the sound of it, the man doing the talking wasn’t one of the four who had tried to kill him. Maybe now he could find out what was going on here.
“Who are you?”
“Texas Ranger!” the unseen man replied. “Name of Asa Culhane!”
A Ranger, The Kid thought. That made sense, he supposed. A Ranger leading a posse of some sort, and they had split up to scout for whoever they were after. Clyde and his friends had spotted The Kid and jumped the gun ...
Yeah, it could have happened that way, but The Kid wanted to be sure. A man who took another man’s word too easily, sight unseen, often wound up dead.
“Clyde!” he called to the man lying on the ground. “I know you can hear me, Clyde!”
The hapless Clyde had his arms crossed protectively over his head again and his face pressed to the ground. He lifted it slightly and said, “Y-yeah?”
“Is that fella at the top of the slope telling the truth, Clyde? Is he really a Texas Ranger?” The Kid paused. “If I think you’re lying to me, I’ll kill you, you know that.”
“It’s true!” Clyde practically screamed. “He’s a Ranger! His name’s Culhane, just like he said!”
The Kid smiled thinly. “All right, Clyde, I believe you. But you just stay right where you are for now, anyway.”
“How about it, mister?” the voice called from the top of the escarpment.
The Kid made up his mind. “Come on down, Culhane!” he shouted. “But just you! We’ll talk.”
Chapter 6
After a moment, a man on horseback appeared at the top of the slope. He started down toward The Kid, in no rush. He let his horse pick its way carefully, the same way The Kid had been descending from the escarpment before all the shooting started.
The Kid was careful to stay back where the rock gave him cover, just in case the other members of the posse were spreading out up there and trying to find an angle where they could get a good shot at him.
As the rider came closer, The Kid saw that he was a big, barrel-chested man in his forties. Clean-shaven, with the sort of tanned, weathered face that said he had spent most of his life outdoors. He wore a black Stetson tilted back a little on his head, and a black vest over a gray shirt.
Pinned to that shirt was a silver star set in a silver circle. The Kid knew that was the badge of the Texas Rangers.
But anybody could wear a badge, so The Kid didn’t trust the man fully just yet. When the rider was about twenty feet away, The Kid said, “That’s close enough.”
The man reined in, keeping both hands in plain sight. “Take it easy, mister. If you ain’t part of Latch’s gang, then we don’t want any trouble with you.”
“Shooting at a man is a funny way of showing that. And I never heard of anybody called Latch.”
“You’re lucky, then, and even luckier if you never crossed his path. Warren Latch is just about as close to the Devil in human form as you’re ever gonna find. I said I was sorry about the shootin’. If you ever rode with a posse before, you know how things can get outta hand plumb easy.”
The Kid didn’t respond to that. “You said your name is Culhane?”
“That’s right. Asa Culhane. Originally from Jacksboro, Texas. You know any of the Jacksboro Culhanes?”
“Not that I recall,” The Kid said dryly. “You have any identification besides that badge, Culhane?”
“If you’ll let me reach in my pocket without shootin’ me, I’ll be glad to show you my bona fides.”
“Go ahead.” The Kid peered at Culhane over the barrel of his Winchester. “Just do it slow and easy.”
Culhane followed that order, reaching carefully under his vest into a shirt pocket. He pulled out a thin leather folder and tossed it toward the rock. It fell almost at The Kid’s feet.
A thin smile tugged at The Kid’s mouth. “Now I bend over to pick that up and you go for your gun, is that how this is supposed to work?”
“I’m just tryin’ to give you what you asked for, mister,” Culhane said.
“Get your hands high. I’m not going to make it easy for you.”
Culhane shrugged and lifted his hands as high above his head as his arms could reach. Without taking his eyes off the Ranger, The Kid bent at the knees and held the Winchester with one hand as he reached down with the other for the leather folder.
When he had it, he straightened again. He flipped the folder open and glanced at the card and the folded papers inside. They identified the bearer as Asa Culhane, a Texas Ranger attached to Company C in San Antonio.
“All right, put your hands down.” The Kid didn’t see any point in being needlessly stubborn. He closed the folder and tossed it back to Culhane, who caught it easily. “Let’s say I believe you’re really a Ranger.”
“Good ... because that’s what I am.” Culhane’s eyes narrowed as he tucked away the folder in his pocket. “You mind lowerin’ that repeater, son? Havin’ it pointin’ at me like that makes me a mite nervous.”
The Kid aimed the Winchester at the ground between them. He could lift it again in a hurry if he needed to.
“Come on around behind this rock with me, Culhane,” he said. “That way we can talk without me worrying about some of your men trying to pick me off from up there.”
“They’re not gonna take any more potshots at you. I gave ’em strict orders not to open fire unless I told ’em to.”
“Yeah, well, you probably told them not to go around trying to murder anybody they happened to come across, too, and look how well they followed those orders.”
Culhane laughed. “I reckon you got a point there, son.” He turned his head toward the man on the ground. “Clyde! Get back up there and tell the rest of the boys I said no more shootin’ unless they’re shot at first. If anybody gets trigger-happy again, I’ll kick his ass from here to Texarkana, personal-like!”
Clyde hesitated. He called to The Kid, “Is ... is it all right if I get up, mister?”
“Go on,” The Kid said. “Deliver Ranger Culhane’s message for him.”
That put an end to Clyde’s hesitation. He scrambled to his feet and ran up the slope, slipping and staggering from rock to rock in his haste. The Kid could hear him panting from the exertion.
“All right, Culhane,” The Kid went on. “Get down from that horse and come around here.”
“That bit about not gettin’ trigger-happy goes for you, too, you know.” Culhane swung down from the saddle and let the reins dangle so the horse, if it was well-trained, would stay where it was. Keeping his empty hands in plain sight, Culhane walked around the massive stone slab.
The Kid backed away, watching intently for any telltale signs that Culhane was about to make a grab for the holstered revolver with staghorn grips he wore on his hip. The Ranger kept his hands half raised.
“Reckon the first thing we better clear up is who you are, amigo,” Culhane said when he was behind the rock.
“No, the first thing we need to get clear is that if any of your men try to sneak up and pull something funny, you’ll die. I’ll see to that.”
“I believe you.” Culhane nodded. “But believe me, those boys ain’t gonna try nothin’. You got ’em plenty spooked. Reckon you could’ve killed Clyde and those other three without much trouble, and they know it.”
The Kid sensed that Culhane was telling the truth. He didn’t really want to be on the bad side of the Texas Rangers. They were a legendary organization, probably the West’s most famous outlaw hunters, and once a man’s name was written down in their book, they never stopped pursuing him.
“That’s right, I could have killed them, but I didn’t, because I’m not one of the men you’re looking for. My name’s Morgan. I’m just passing through these parts.”
“Morgan, Morgan ...” Culhane mused. “Don’t recall seein’ that name on any reward dodgers lately.”
“That’s because I’m not wanted,” The Kid said.
That hadn’t always been the case. For a while there had been a bounty on his head in New Mexico Territory, but that was a mistake and had been all cleared up.
“You got nothin’ to worry about from us, then. We’re after a gang of desperados led by a man named Warren Latch.”
“I told you, I never heard of him. What did they do?”
Culhane’s rugged face took on a bleak cast. “A few nights ago they raided a town northwest of here called Fire Hill. Name’s fittin’, because they burned the place to the ground and killed a bunch of folks in the process. They were after a shipment of cash that was bein’ held in the safe at the stage station.”
“There are still stagecoach lines around here?”
“The railroad don’t go everywhere just yet.”
In his previous life as wealthy businessman Conrad Browning, The Kid had built numerous spur lines, but he knew Culhane was right. Some settlements were too small to make running the steel rails to them profitable.
“Latch is the sort of outlaw who’s kill-crazy,” the Ranger went on. “He wasn’t just tryin’ to steal that money. He wanted to loot as much else as he could from the town and then destroy it and the folks who lived there. Came pretty close to doin’ it, too. Only one or two buildin’s were still standin’ when I got there. The rest were just ashes.”
That was the fire he had seen several nights earlier, The Kid thought. It had to be. The glow was large enough to have been an entire settlement going up in flames.
“Only about a hundred people lived there,” Culhane continued, “and more’n half of ’em were killed in the raid, either by bullets or by the fires Latch’s men started.”
“How do you know it was Latch’s gang that was responsible?” The Kid asked. The grim story had caught his interest, despite his continuing resolve not to get mixed up in any trouble.
“Some of the survivors got a good look at him,” Culhane explained. “This ain’t the first job Latch’s bunch has pulled. They’ve held up trains and robbed banks all over West Texas, and we’ve got a good description of him. The senseless killin’ matches what he’s done in the past, too, although I got to say he outdid himself this time. He never tried to wipe out a whole town before.”
“If this only happened a few nights ago, they got the Rangers on the job pretty fast,” The Kid commented.
“That’s because I happened to be in Fort Stockton on some other law business when a rider come gallopin’ in the next mornin’ with the news of what had happened. I wired my cap’n in San Antonio and told him about it, and he said for me to rattle my hocks over there as fast as I could and try to pick up Latch’s trail. Some of the men from town who could ride wanted to come with me, and as it turns out, the cattleman whose money got stole from the stage station was puttin’ together a posse, too. So I sort of combined everything and took command.”
“How many men do you have?”
“Twenty-four, countin’ me.” Culhane smiled, but there was no humor in the expression. “And before you ask, Latch’s bunch is forty or fifty strong, so I’m mighty glad you didn’t ventilate any of my boys. We’re already outnumbered. The odds don’t need to be any worse than they already are.”
Culhane was more than outnumbered, The Kid thought. Considering what Latch’s men had done to the town of Fire Hill, they had to be hardened killers. A bunch of store clerks and cowboys wouldn’t be any match for them.
Culhane might have been thinking the same thing. He regarded The Kid with a shrewd, intent expression. “You got the look of a fightin’ man about you, Morgan. I’m sure sorry for the little misunderstandin’ we had, and I’d be mighty happy if you was to throw in with us—”
“Forget it.” Hearing about what Latch’s gang had done at Fire Hill outraged The Kid’s sense of justice ... but that sense had taken a beating over the past couple years. Along with a helping hand from Fate, he had brought justice to the people responsible for his wife’s murder ... but Rebel was still dead, wasn’t she? Going after Warren Latch wouldn’t bring the people he had killed in Fire Hill back to life, either.
“I could sure use the help,” Culhane tried again.
The Kid was about to shake his head and tell the Ranger to go back to the posse, while he rounded up the buckskin and pack horse and rode in the opposite direction as fast as he could. He would have stuck to that decision, too ...
If gunfire hadn’t suddenly erupted at the top of the escarpment.
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