Ralph Compton Comanche Trail (16 page)

“We're gonna live. Truth is, I've lost fights worse'n that before. My partner too, I expect.”

The town was virtually empty because of the sudden blast of winter weather. Thin sheets of ice formed over the puddles in the street, and a cold north wind blew beneath dark clouds.

Taylor noticed the old man shivering beneath his threadbare blanket. “I come into town for some supplies. Got coffee and biscuits and some dried beef to take back to our camp. Seems to me your business ain't all that good today, so why don't you ride back with me? We've got us a good fire going.”

By the time Magazine approached, Barclay had managed to get on his feet and was adding more wood to the fire. He shook his head as he saw the Indian riding behind Taylor. “Seems you're mighty fond of pickin' up strays.”

“I owed him a favor. He found my lucky hat.”

At the word
lucky
, Tater let out a laugh that quickly ended when sharp pains shot through his ribs. “I don't reckon your friend might also be a medicine man, is he?”

The three men sat silently around the campfire. To avoid the pain of chewing, Taylor soaked his biscuits in his coffee. Barclay ate little. Huaco Joe, meanwhile, ate ravenously as he nudged so close to the warmth of the fire the others worried he might burst into flame.

“You must not go back to that place,” he said. “Leave and ride far away.”

“Can't do that till we settle our business with those fellas who jumped us,” Barclay said.

“Your enemy is not them.”

In the many years he'd lived in Waco, Huaco Joe had blended so well into the background that to most he was all
but invisible, a feebleminded ghost. People passed him without notice or nod, spoke freely when he was nearby as if believing he was deaf or did not know their language. As a result the Indian saw and heard many things. It amused him that the secrets of Waco were not kept from him.

“It is rancher who is to be feared. He is like Great Spirit who gets all he seeks. And he wishes you to go away.”

“Why's that?” Taylor said.

“I know not. Only that you have angered him.”

Huaco Joe did his best to explain the power Kole Guinn held over the community, and told them of the ranch where he lived. “It reaches for many miles with cattle as far as the eye can see. His grasslands reach high as your waist and the waters run freely.”

“You seen this place?” Barclay said.

“Many years ago, as a boy, when buffalo herds made the land their home. Since white man come and kill them and built long fences, I have not. But I have heard stories.”

Barclay shifted to ease his pain. “Any concernin' a woman and her travelin' companion who might have arrived there recently?”

Huaco Joe shook his head slowly and reached for another biscuit. “Only woman I know came to town a few days past. She who works for rancher Guinn buy new clothes. But I hear her say they are not for her.”

Taylor looked across the campfire at Barclay. “Sounds like maybe the Bender woman's got herself a new friend.”

•   •   •

Buck Lee was surprised to find the smiling woman seated at the dining room table across from Guinn. Days earlier he'd reported on the encounter with the two strangers, certain they
had provided them ample reason to leave town. It puzzled him that Guinn had wanted to talk more.

“It seems,” Guinn said, “that you boys didn't make yourselves clear enough when you spoke to them. If Eli Stampley is correct, they've not yet departed.”

Buck frowned and stroked his chin whiskers. “You sure he ain't mistaken?”

“He was told that one of them appeared in town yesterday, buying supplies and talking with that crazy ol' Indian. Word he got was that Huaco Joe rode away with him.”

“For what purpose?”

“That I can't say. Refresh my memory on what it is they were asking about the other night when you followed 'em.”

Buck glanced over at Kate Two.

“Her hearing what you've got to say is no problem,” Guinn said.

“Like I done told you, all we heard was that they were lookin' for some folks—a woman and a preacher—who they thought might have come this way. I never got no explanation of why. Neither did Ruben. They was near dead when we left 'em.”

Juanita appeared and refilled the cups of Guinn and the woman but didn't bother asking Buck if he would like coffee.

When the housekeeper was gone, Kate Two spoke. “Perhaps ‘near dead' wasn't how you should have left them.”

Guinn stared at her, then at the men. “Me and Kate, we had a long and honest discussion on the matter last evening. She made me aware of her embarrassment about not fully explaining the troubles she's having, when she first arrived.”

Buck's eyes traveled back and forth between the two.

“See,” Guinn said, “she's fleeing from a husband who
talked harshly to her and beat her on more occasions than she can recall. Fearing that she might one day wind up dead at his hand, she finally gathered courage to take her problems to her preacher. He advised that the only option he could see was for her to run away and reunite with her folks down South. He agreed to help her with her escape and they've been followed ever since by her husband and his old man.”

Buck nodded. “And what's become of the preacher?”

A soft, almost fragile tone returned to Kate Two's voice. “At my urging, he turned back,” she said. “While I was most appreciative of his help in getting me away—we left in the dead of night, telling no one of our plan—I felt badly that he was leaving his church and congregation behind. It wasn't right for me to deprive him of his calling. A day or so before I arrived here, I finally convinced him that I could make it the reminder of the way on my own. Unlike my husband and his hateful father, he was as nice a man as—”

Guinn said, “So Kate's worry is not only for her own well-being, but that of the preacher. I've assured her we can keep her safe here, but it is her concern that should those two return home and find him back to his preaching, his life will also be in great danger.”

Buck again looked at the woman, then his boss.

“Find 'em,” Guinn said, “and put this matter to rest.”

As the two hands walked out, Kate Two reached across the table and gently placed her hand on his arm.

“Seems I ain't got much left that ain't busted or broke,” Barclay said as he struggled to get aboard his horse. Though Huaco Joe had helped him tightly bind his ribs with a strip of cloth cut from the Indian's blanket, they still pained him. The cold had increased the dull ache in his leg.

“Least your face is still pretty,” Taylor said. He attempted to smile despite the fact that his jaw was still swollen. The vision in his right eye remained blurred.

It was not yet dawn and the last of the stars that shone promised that a clear blue sky awaited sunup.

Huaco Joe had drawn them a map that he said would take them in the direction of the ranch. He had no idea of its actual size or boundaries or where the ranch house might be located. “You will know when you see it,” he told them. “I have been told it is like the place where the Great Spirits reside.”

Now that they were convinced they knew the whereabouts of Kate Two Bender, their plan was simply to locate Guinn's ranch. “Let's see if we can learn what it is we're up against,” Barclay said. “If we can get us a look at where she's stayin' and not be seen while doin' it, I reckon we'll have
accomplished our first goal. What our second goal might be, I got no idea.”

Huaco Joe would be pleased to await their return, keeping the fire going and eating what remained of the biscuits.

They rode along the riverbank, beneath a canopy of cypress and weeping willows, before reaching the open flatlands that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. In one direction was Waco, in another cotton fields that waited for new seed once winter had passed. To the south was a sea of grasslands, the color of straw. They passed groves of pecan trees where squirrels played games of chase and jackrabbits perched, ears held high to determine what danger might be headed their way. Tangles of blackberry bushes had lost their leaves, their bare branches tangled and fruitless. Even in its off-season slumber, it was a beautiful land.

They had been riding for only a few hours when they reached a strange-looking fence. Tautly stretched between each post were three strands of wire with pointed barbs. Beyond it they could see hundreds of cattle grazing. “This must be where we was heading,” Taylor said.

Barclay gazed toward the horizon. “Looks like somebody's intent was to fence off the whole state.” He turned toward a grove of trees. “We don't wanna call notice to ourselves, so best we take cover over there till it gets nearer dark. Once we've determined that no one 'cept cows are moving about, we'll follow the fence line and see where it takes us.”

Taylor was also looking at the endless line of cedar posts. “Could be we're in for a long ride.”

“Wish we'd brung along some of them biscuits,” Barclay said.

As the day dragged on, all they saw were two Mexican ranch hands who appeared to briefly ride among the herd and along a short stretch of fence line before leaving. Still, they waited until sundown before continuing their journey.

It was late into the night when they climbed a gentle rise that afforded them their first look at what they'd come to see. In the distance below, lantern lights twinkled from the windows of a huge ranch house, two stories high, a porch completely surrounding its exterior. From their vantage point it looked larger than Eli Stampley's Waco hotel. Nearby was a large barn and behind it was a corral that contained a dozen or so horses. Two bunkhouses sat next to the corral. At the far end of the compound was plowed ground that would be a garden when warm weather returned. An orchard, its trees bare, lay beyond.

The place was quiet and peaceful, so orderly and manicured that it seemed to have been built yesterday.

“It appears this fella Guinn has done quite well for hisself,” said Taylor.

Barclay's reply was a grumble as he peered through the field glasses given him by a sergeant back in Dawson's Ridge. “My guess is that inside those bunkhouses he's got ample manpower to care for his needs. We'd be foolish to ride into that kind of trap.”

“You're saying we come upon a hopeless situation?”

“Not exactly,” Barclay said. “But for now we've seen what we needed to.”

They turned their horses toward their campsite. By the time they reached the Brazos, the eastern horizon was a lighter gray.

•   •   •

There was no fire burning when they reached the overhang. “Reckon our visitor's left?” Barclay said as they approached.

Huaco Joe's body lay across the smoldering coals of the campfire. His dream catchers were strewn about, broken. Taylor kneeled beside the old man. There was a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. The blood had frozen on his face, and his lips had no color.

Barclay reached down and lifted one of the Indian's arms. “Somebody stomped his hands and broke his fingers. He was tortured.”

Taylor's thoughts flashed back to the night in the Six-Shooter City alley. “For what reason?”

“Tryin' to get him to tell our whereabouts would be my guess.” Barclay held his shotgun up and looked out into the gray dawn. “Best we get away from here quickly.”

“Not before we give him a proper burying.”

They used broken tree branches to dig into the sandy river bottom soil. Neither spoke as they wrapped the Indian in his blanket and lowered him into the shallow grave. Taylor gathered the pieces of the dream catchers and placed them atop Huaco Joe's body. Then they covered it with soil and a few heavy stones.

A knot formed in Taylor's stomach as he stood over the mound of damp dirt. He was surprised that it was not fear he was feeling. Rather, it was the dark and troubling knowledge that yet another victim of his mad journey would haunt his conscience.

•   •   •

They were again riding toward Waco. “Somebody's been alertin' folks to our movements,” Barclay said, “and I've got a suspicion who it might be. I told you I believed that
crippled old fella who runs the hotel was a bit too sneaky for my likin'. I figure we need to have us a talk with him.”

It was early enough in the morning that there was no one to see them as they made their way to the narrow alley behind the Captain's Place. As they tethered their horses in the small stall where hotel patrons were allowed to board their mounts, Taylor reached for his rifle.

Barclay shook his head. “Your pistol and my shotgun ought to be enough.”

They walked toward the back entrance that led into the kitchen.

Eli Stampley was a man who slept little, a pattern that had begun during his Ranger days. None of his small staff had yet reported to begin their duties, so he had prepared coffee himself and sat alone in the dining room, sipping from an oversized cup.

“I see you too are an early riser,” Barclay said as he stepped through the kitchen door.

Stampley looked up at him with raised eyebrows, then leaned back in his chair. “I thought you boys was long gone,” he said.

“We got some talkin' we need to do.” Barclay gripped one of Stampley's arms and jerked him to his feet. “Somewhere with a bit more privacy.”

Stampley limped toward the kitchen, the barrel of Barclay's shotgun in his back, and took a seat on a small stool. Fear began to dance in his eyes. “You fellas figuring to rob me, you're gonna be sorely disappointed,” he said.

“More'n likely, I'm gonna kill you,” Barclay said.

“Pray tell why?”

“Payback for gettin' us beat by your friend's hired thugs and the death of that poor ol' Indian who harmed no one.”

“I got no idea what you're talking about.”

Taylor unholstered his Colt and moved closer. “You ain't all that good at lyin', are you?” He pointed his gun at the hotel owner. “I'd consider breakin' one of your fingers for every lie you told, 'cept you ain't got enough of 'em on your hands.”

Stampley was breathing rapidly as he shook his head. “I don't know what you're talking about. You're making yourselves a big mistake. When I tell the marshal—”

Barclay swung the butt of his shotgun at the side of the man's head and slammed him to the floor. Taylor took the coffeepot from the nearby stove and approached. “As you've likely determined, my friend here is not a patient man, especially early of a morning. Unless you want hot coffee poured over your head, I'd suggest you begin acting a bit more friendly.”

“Tell us about your friend, this man named Guinn,” Barclay said.

“He'll see the both of you dead,” Stampley said. His words came in a weak stutter. “What is it you want to know?”

Barclay pushed the shotgun barrel deeper into the innkeeper's side. “Why is it we've become such an annoyance? And why'd you see it necessary to run and tell your friend of our reason for bein' here?”

“He's got a fancy for the woman you're searching for. He wants to protect her.”

Taylor shook his head. “And your job is to keep him aware of our intent?”

“I didn't intend for any harm to come of it. You'll do yourselves no favor if you intend to confront Kole Guinn. He's a man who expects to get what he wants. And what he wants at present is for the two of you to be dead and gone.”

“But he has others do his dirty chores for him,” Barclay said.

“The two who approached you over in Six-Shooter City—Ruben de la Rosa and Buck Lee—tend to most of his unsavory business. They're mean and loyal.” He rubbed his head. “It was Ruben who long ago fired a shot into this leg. He was a cattle rustler down on the Rio Grande back then, and me and Guinn came up on him and were in the process of making an arrest. Before we could disarm him, Ruben pulled his pistol and shot me from not six feet away. I was lying there, bleeding like I was gonna die, and Guinn, he had a conversation with Ruben and then jes' let him ride away. Kole rode me to a doctor to get patched up, but only after I swore never to tell the true facts of what happened. That was the last time I seen de la Rosa until he showed up working on Kole's ranch.”

His voice took on a mixture of fear and anger as he spoke of his relationship with Guinn. He'd agreed to be his ex-partner's eyes and ears in Waco in exchange for the money to purchase the Captain's Place. It had also bought his silence about the activities conducted on the ranch. “He's gotten more crazed with each passing year,” Stampley said. “And I don't mind telling you that I worry on what he might do to me if he was to learn that I'm telling you his business.”

Barclay said, “Why don't we just shoot him dead and be done with it?”

“Don't think I ain't thought on it,” Taylor said.

“You'll not face a fair fight with Kole Guinn,” Stampley said. “He's got at least a dozen hands working at the ranch. Then there are those who occasionally visit, driving stolen cattle to be released into his herd. They're all armed and willing to do anything Kole asks of 'em.”

“And what of your town's marshal?” Taylor said.

“He ain't about to get himself crossways with that bunch. It was Guinn who made sure he got his badge in the first place. The marshal and those who serve as his deputies are as rotten as those working for Guinn. They'll only be trouble if you approach them.”

Barclay held a coffee cup toward Taylor. “Don't sound like a fella's odds are too good in these parts unless he's friendly with the right folks,” he said as Thad poured. He returned his attention to Stampley. “Truthfully it's too early in the morning for me to be shootin' folks, so we're gonna leave you be. That is, if you agree that we were never here and don't go runnin' to anybody to share what we've spoke about.”

Stampley nodded and rubbed the side of his head again. Long after the two men disappeared through the back door, he sat there trying to think of the excuse he would provide the soon-to-come breakfast crowd for the swelling.

•   •   •

The day was clear, the sun a red ball as it peeked over the horizon. Two horses were saddled and waiting at the barn as Kole Guinn and Kate Two approached. Juanita had been up early, preparing a picnic lunch they would carry along as they toured the ranch.

“I hope you slept well and are rested,” Guinn said. “We've got a lengthy ride ahead of us if you're to see everything.
Aside from a couple of spreads down on the south part of the state, this is the largest ranch you'll likely see.”

“Just how large is it?”

Guinn smiled. “I don't rightly know, exactly.”

They rode out into the tall grass that brushed gently against the bellies of their mounts. In almost every direction Kate Two saw large herds of cattle. Guinn noticed a puzzled look on her face as she observed the line of fence they were nearing.

“Time was,” he said, “all this was open range. No spread, regardless of size, was fenced. It was a more honorable time. But as the rustlers came and greedy folks began stealing from neighbors, folks found a need to put a border to what was theirs.”

He pointed to the strands of wire strung between each fence post. “Barbed wire,” he said. “It's a new invention by some fella up North. When I learned of it, I put in an order and had it shipped here. It took four wagons to deliver it from the train station.”

“You must be a very rich man,” Kate Two said.

Guinn smiled. “Gettin' there.”

They rode along streams sheltered by live oaks and pecan trees and stopped to watch a family of deer drink daintily from its cold waters. Wild turkeys peeked from the tangles of a stand of blackberry bushes.

It was midday when they stopped near a spring-fed pond and ate the sandwiches and drank the buttermilk Juanita had prepared. The warm breeze and blue sky suggested that winter might still have some time to wait.

Guinn watched their horses as they grazed nearby. “I know times have been hard for you,” he said. “You're
welcome to stay on the ranch for as long as you want. I'd be lying if I said I don't enjoy your company. I'm thinking you might find some comfort here, at least for a while.”