Buzzard's Bluff

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Ben watched Cal pour a couple of whiskeys, then suggested, “You don’t know anybody by those names, but maybe you can point out the two strangers that belong to that flea-bitten gray and the paint horse at the rail.”

  “Damn it, Ben, I don’t look to see who’s ridin’ what when somebody walks in the door,” Cal complained, obviously feeling a certain amount of loyalty to his customers, even if they were killers.

  “I was hopin’ we could do this quietly,” Ben said, “instead of closin’ down the bar while we question everybody in here.”

  Cal paused to release a sigh of frustration. “All right, I still don’t know any names, but the skinny feller settin’ at that table with Eunice is one of ’em. His partner, a big feller, is upstairs with Nell.”

  “What room?” Ben asked and was told her room was the second door on the right. He looked at Billy then and asked, “Up or down?”

  Billy answered him with a sly smile. “I’ll let you take the big one upstairs, since you’re more likely his size. I’ll take the skinny one.”

  “I shoulda said we’d flip a coin,” Ben replied. “But at least, you can pay for the whiskey.”

  “My pleasure,” Billy said with another grin. They tossed the whiskey shots down and Billy paid Cal while Ben headed for the stairs and the rooms on the second floor.

  CHAPTER 2

  After paying for their drinks, Billy walked casually back past a couple of card games in progress to a table next to the one where Eunice and the skinny outlaw were sitting. He took a seat and waited for what he expected to happen upstairs. Ben, meanwhile, went to the second door from the top of the stairs and quietly tried the doorknob. It was locked, so he politely tapped on the door. There was a long pause with no response, so he tapped on the door again, this time a little bit harder. Again, there was a pause until finally, the woman called out. “Who is it?”

  “Fellow downstairs sent up a bottle of whiskey, Nell,” Ben answered.

  He could hear some conversation between Nell and her customer, then finally, he heard the key turning in the lock. A moment later, the door opened just enough to allow a bottle of whiskey to pass through and a curious woman’s face to peer out. It was obvious she didn’t recognize the voice. “Who the hell are you?” she asked when she didn’t see a bottle, only moments before Ben pushed the door wide, moving her backward in the process.

  “Best sit yourself down on that chair in the corner, Miss,” Ben ordered. “Your lover, here, is under arrest.” Her eyes opened wide when she saw the Colt six-gun in his hand and she backed quickly out of the way.

  “What tha...” was as much as Big Foot Sam got out before he started to reach for his gun hanging on the back of a chair close to the bed.

  “That would be your last and biggest mistake,” Ben warned him and cocked the hammer back on the Colt. “You’re under arrest for the murder of a passenger on the stage you and your partner robbed.” He pulled his coat aside far enough to let him see the star he wore on his vest. Kelly hesitated, half off the bed, still weighing his chances. “It’s up to you,” Ben urged. “You’ll be a helluva lot more trouble to take to jail than it would be to bury you, so it don’t make any difference to me.”

  Convinced that the Ranger meant what he said, Kelly sat back down on the bed. “You ain’t lookin’ for me,” he claimed. “That was Jack that shot that feller.”

  “That right?” Ben asked, knowing now that the man he was arresting was, in fact, Big Foot Sam Kelly. “How ’bout the fellow ridin’ shotgun on that stage? Did Queen shoot him, too, or was that you?”

  Kelly didn’t answer right away, still weighing his odds. “I ain’t shot nobody. You got the wrong person,” he said after another long moment.

  “Samuel ‘Big Foot Sam’ Kelly is who I’m pretty sure I’ve got. So pull your trousers back up and grab your hat. Let’s go.” He started toward the chair to get Kelly’s gun and holster, but at that moment, Nell decided she might not get paid for services rendered. So she suddenly jumped out of her chair and bolted toward the dresser and Kelly’s wallet. Ben automatically reacted to meet any threat from her. It was no more than a quick turn in her direction, but it was enough to cause Kelly to lunge toward his gun. Ben turned back in time to fire a shot that struck the gun belt hanging on the chair and knocked the chair over backward before Kelly could reach it. “That was a warning shot,” Ben said. “I don’t give but one. The next one will save you a trip to jail.”

  “All right! All right!” Kelly exclaimed and sank back on the bed again. “I was just tryin’ to keep her from stealin’ my money.”

  “He owes me for lettin’ him wallow all over me!” Nell blurted.

  “I suppose he does,” Ben said. “How much do you charge for a trip up here?”

  “Fifteen dollars,” Nell answered.

  “You lyin’ bitch!” Kelly spat. “Five dollars is what I agreed to, and that’s more’n she’s worth.”

  “Take five dollars,” Ben said, “and put the rest back on the dresser.”

  “You believe his word over mine?” Nell cried.

  “I reckon I do,” Ben told her. “I expect that money will be goin’ back to the stage company.”

  She did as he said, took five dollars, and put the rest back on the dresser. “It’d take more’n that to do it again,” she pouted. “Big Foot Sam, hah! Maybe his foot’s big, I don’t know. I wouldn’t let him take his boots off, but I’ve seen the rest of him.”

  “Sit down over there and shut up,” Ben said, afraid if she didn’t, he might have to shoot Kelly to keep him from going after her. “Come on, Kelly, let’s get movin’.”

  Downstairs in the saloon, all conversation stopped suddenly when the shot was heard overhead. Everybody waited to hear if there would be more, all except Jack Queen. At once concerned about his partner up there with the prostitute, he got up from his chair, intending to find out. “Just hold it right there, and I won’t have to shoot you,” Billy Turner said, standing behind him now. “I wanna see both your hands in the air,” Billy told him, and when Queen did so, Billy slipped the .44 up out of his holster. “I’m a Texas Ranger, and I’m placin’ you under arrest for shootin’ two people in a stagecoach holdup.”

  Queen was about to claim that Billy had the wrong man but saved his breath when he saw Kelly coming down the stairs with Ben behind him with a drawn six-gun. Sam had made no more attempts to jump the lawman, hoping that Ben was alone, leaving a possibility that Jack would shoot him down when he tried to escort him out the door. His hopes sank when he saw there were two Rangers, and the other one had already arrested Jack. “Heard a shot,” Billy said. “Any trouble?”

  “No,” Ben replied, “just a warnin’. Let’s get some bracelets on these boys.” While Ben held his gun on the prisoners, Billy clamped their hands together behind their backs and they marched them out the front door. “Sorry to interrupt your afternoon entertainment, folks,” Ben said to the spectators as they escorted the two out.

  Outside the saloon, they helped their prisoners up into their saddles. Once they were settled on their horses, Ben and Billy had to decide how they were going to handle them. They had to transport them to Austin, which was a hundred miles due west. They now had two prisoners and two extra packhorses to contend with. Their own horses had already gone forty miles that day. They didn’t know how long the prisoners’ horses had rested. On top of all that, it was getting close to suppertime, not a good time to start on a hundred-mile trip. They decided to water their horses, then start out for Austin, but planned to stop and make camp after only ten miles or so. Ben had traveled the old trail between Navasota and Austin many times before and he had a spot in mind to camp. They agreed it was best to get the prisoners out of Navasota. So they rigged up a line for all the packhorses and departed Navasota in the late afternoon. Their plan was to start out early the next morning and make Austin in two days’ time.

  * * *

  Evening was fast approaching when they reached the bank of the creek B
en had in mind. So after handcuffing their prisoners’ hands around a couple of small trees, the Rangers unloaded the horses and left them to water. Only after the horses were taken care of did they think about starting a fire and cooking something for their prisoners and themselves to eat.

  “Hey, Ranger,” Sam called out, “you gonna cook us somethin’ to eat, too?” The two oaks he and Jack Queen were embracing were close enough for the prisoners to talk to each other. They were the only two trees in that spot small enough to lock their arms around comfortably. Otherwise, Ben would have parked them on opposite sides of the campfire, so they couldn’t talk quietly to each other. That often led to plans to escape.

  Billy didn’t bother to answer Sam’s question, so after a minute or two, Ben answered. “Yeah, we’ll feed you, but don’t expect a fancy supper. It’ll be the same thing we’re eatin’, so any complaints will just be wasted breath.”

  “We’re goin’ to a helluva lot of trouble carryin’ these two back to jail,” Billy commented, his words too low to be heard by the prisoners on the other side of the fire. “Too bad we jumped ’em before they had a chance to fight. Be a lot easier to shoot the devils.

  “Yeah, I reckon it woulda,” Ben replied, “but our orders are to bring ’em in for trial, if possible. So I reckon that’s what we’d best do.”

  Billy still saw no sense in it. “The boys in my company in Fort Worth pretty much think we’re just bringin’ fellers like these two in for a rope necktie that’s waitin’ for ’em. So what’s the sense in goin’ to the trouble to transport ’em all that long way?” When he saw the skeptical look he got from Ben, he was quick to explain. “Hell, I ain’t talkin’ about horse thieves and bank robbers that ain’t shot nobody. We carry them back to trial. But when you’re haulin’ a couple of murderers like these two, that’s liable to kill you if you was to get careless, it makes sense to save the hangman the trouble.”

  Ben took a long pause before he responded. “Well,” he finally said, “I reckon that is one way of lookin’ at it. I expect it depends on the company you’re in. F-company has always been one to see a prisoner get his day in court and let the executioner do his job.”

  Billy was clearly disappointed, and not looking forward to a hard two-day ride, hauling the two prisoners. He was sorry to hear Ben’s reluctance to eliminate the possibility of trouble, as well. He reached over and picked up a couple of small limbs and stuck them on the fire. He bit his lip and shook his head and sighed as he watched them catch fire, “It’s gonna be a long ride from here to Austin.”

  “Reckon so,” Ben replied, “always is.” His opinion of Billy Turner had dropped considerably in the last few minutes. There were often times when a Ranger was given no choice in the question of life or death. There were lots of times when you transported a corpse back from an arrest attempt. But to outright execute a bound prisoner to save yourself some trouble couldn’t be classified as anything short of murder, which made you no better than the outlaw you were sent to arrest.

  As both Rangers expected, Big Foot Sam and Jack were already discussing the prospects of a possible escape. “It ain’t gonna be easy,” Sam said, speaking just above a whisper as their captors went about the business of cooking some sowbelly and boiling coffee.

  “It’s a long way from here to Austin,” Jack replied. “I heard ’em say they was gonna make it in two days. They’re liable to slip up sometime, we just got to watch for it. If they get us locked up in Austin, it’s gonna be the hangman’s rope for us and that ain’t no lie.” He paused when Billy walked close by on his way to fill the coffeepot with water. “You see what I see?” Jack continued after Billy passed by. “Look at them packs they took off our horses. They tied our gun belts to ’em. Now, that’s mighty careless.”

  “I expect they emptied the guns,” Sam said. “Don’t you reckon?”

  “Not while I was lookin,” Jack replied, “and I’ve been watchin’ ’em pretty close. They ain’t likely gonna leave ’em like that, but maybe we’ll get a chance if they unlock us to eat.”

  The two outlaws were not the only ones to take note of the gun belts hanging conveniently on top of the packs stacked over away from the fire. When Billy came back with the coffeepot filled with water, Ben nodded toward the packs. “I expect we’d best carry those gun belts on our horses.”

  “Yeah, I was thinkin’ the same thing,” Billy replied. “We’d better do that. Ain’t no need to worry about it right now, though. I emptied the cartridges outta the guns, just in case. I’ll take care of ’em after we eat. Right now, this sowbelly looks like it’s ready, and they’re wantin’ somethin’ to eat. I’ll go unlock ’em. Get ready to cover ’em.” He got up from one knee and went at once to unlock the prisoners. His actions surprised Ben, since Billy just seemed to take command of the situation without consulting him.

  Ben hesitated for a minute, but there wasn’t time to put the belts and holsters out of sight, so he drew his weapon preparing to guard the prisoners while they ate. Billy’s actions were unbelievably careless, but Ben figured there was no real danger, since the guns were empty. Even if they made a play for them, it would all be over once they found out there were no bullets in them. “Bring ’em around this way, Billy,” he said when the prisoners started toward the fire on the side closer to the packs. When Billy didn’t respond, it suddenly struck Ben what he was up to. “You peckerhead!” he uttered, then yelled at the outlaws. “Stop right there!” But it was too late. Jack Queen bolted toward the packs and the .44 sitting conveniently waiting to be drawn. He was downed by a shot in the back before he reached the weapon.

  In a panic then, thinking the Rangers planned to kill them both, Sam saw no alternative other than an attempt to save himself. Ignoring Ben’s commands to stop where he was, Sam lunged toward the packs and snatched the .44 out of the holster. “It’s empty,” Ben told him. “Drop it.”

  Billy stood, waiting, his pistol cocked and ready, watching for Sam’s next move. Convinced that he had no choice, Sam aimed the weapon at Billy and pulled the trigger, only to hear the lifeless click of the hammer on an empty cylinder. His eyes wide with fright, he pulled the trigger again and again. Ben looked at Billy to see a cynical smile of contempt an instant before Billy cut Sam down with a shot in the chest. Feeling Ben’s look of total disbelief, Billy turned to him with a smug smile on his face. “What?” he asked.

  “You sick mongrel,” Ben responded. “You set those men up to murder ’em.”

  “Murder?” Billy blurted. “The hell it was! It was self-defense. They were goin’ after that gun.”

  “You set it up for them,” Ben insisted. “I shoulda known you were up to something as low-down as that—shoulda known that gun settin’ up there was nothin’ but bait, so you could shoot ’em.”

  “What the hell is your complaint?” Billy responded. “They didn’t know the gun wasn’t loaded. They woulda sure as hell shot us if it hadda been. So what’s the difference? They was on their way to a hangin’, anyway, so we did ’em a favor and did us one, too. Now, we don’t have to worry about all the trouble of haulin’ their sorry asses all the way to Austin.” It was obvious to him that Ben wasn’t buying his attitude, so he began to worry that he had made a mistake in judgment. From all he had ever heard about the big lawman working out of F-Company, he assumed that Ben Savage was stone-cold hard on outlaws—and far from a by-the-book Ranger. “You ain’t gone goody-goody on me, have you?”

  Ben didn’t answer him for a long moment. It was the first time in his twelve years as a Texas Ranger that he was tempted to shoot a fellow Ranger. When he felt he was calm enough, he answered Billy. “I reckon you and I don’t see this job in the same way. You don’t seem to have any problem with what you just did. And I have a helluva problem with it. It ain’t your job to execute a prisoner. It’s just your job to catch him. If you’re so damn anxious to shoot a man, then give him a loaded gun, too. Maybe you oughta apply for a job as a hangman.”

  “So now what?” Billy
asked. “You gonna go runnin’ to Captain Mitchell complainin’ about me shootin’ two worthless saddle tramps? Maybe you oughta been a deacon instead of a Ranger.”

  “No, I’ll let you take your two prisoners in by yourself. Make up any story you want about how brave you were, standing up to two killers. Then get your ass back up to Fort Worth and don’t ever cross my trail again. I won’t be ridin’ back with you. If you’re thinkin’ about shuttin’ me up the same way you did those two, you need to remember that my gun is loaded.” He left Billy standing there while he went to saddle his horse and load his packhorse, having decided that he wouldn’t risk riding back with him, since Billy knew what he thought of his actions against two defenseless men. He didn’t trust Billy enough now to close his eyes with him in his camp. He believed there was a real possibility that he might be another fatality in Billy’s heroic gun battle when he would report to the Ranger captain, Randolph Mitchell. Maybe he should report Billy’s actions to the captain, but somehow, Ben was reluctant to report any transgressions committed by a fellow Ranger. He didn’t know what to do about it, if anything, so for that reason, he just decided to let Billy take the credit for doing the job he was sent down here to do, knowing he’d never work with him again.

  Back by the campfire, Billy poured himself a cup of coffee and called out to him, “Ain’t you gonna eat some of this sowbelly?”

  “Nope,” Ben answered, still picturing the way Billy had waited before taking his second shot, obviously wanting him to shoot one of them. “You can have it all. I just lost my appetite.”

  “Where you goin’?”

  “Somewhere else,” Ben answered and continued loading up his packhorse.

  “You leavin’ me to clean up this mess?” He pointed toward the two bodies.

  “It’s your mess,” Ben answered. “You take care of it any way you see fit.”

  “It’s your responsibility to guide me back to Austin,” Billy protested.