Buzzard's Bluff

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “Don’t seem like you can make much money with business as slow as this,” Ben speculated aloud.

  “I reckon not, if it was like this all day long,” the bartender replied, “but it’ll soon start in about an hour or so. You gonna have another’n?”

  “I believe I will,” Ben answered. “Just one more. I ain’t much for drinkin’ in the mornin’, but this mornin’ I’m in the mood for a couple of shots of whiskey.”

  “Is that right? What happened? Did your wife tell you she’s leavin’ or something?”

  Ben chuckled and replied, “Nope, I ain’t got that kinda trouble. I just found out I own a saloon, and I don’t know the first damn thing about runnin’ one.”

  “No foolin’?” the bartender asked. “Here in town?”

  “Nope. Buzzard’s Bluff,” Ben answered.

  “Buzzard’s Bluff? Where the hell is that?”

  “About ninety miles northwest of here on the Navasota River, and I just made up my mind that I’m gonna head out that way this mornin’.” That said, he paid for his whiskey and left his second shot untouched. The bartender shook his head, amazed when Ben walked out the door, so he picked up the drink and downed it himself.

  With his mind made up to ride to Buzzard’s Bluff right away, Ben went back by Randolph Mitchell’s office and told him he was going to take some time off to have a look at a piece of property he had been left in an old friend’s will. He didn’t tell him the property had a saloon on it that was his, as well. Mitchell was agreeable, “Take all the time you need,” he said. “I’ve been working you pretty hard for the last few weeks, so just come on back when you’re ready.”

  “I ’preciate it, Capt’n,” Ben said. When he left Mitchell’s office, he got his horses and possibles ready to leave before noon. He planned to arrive in Buzzard’s Bluff at noon, two days later.

  * * *

  He had expected to ride forty-five miles a day, but both Cousin and his packhorse seemed to be willing to go farther. So he traveled about fifty-two miles, as close as he could figure, the first day. It shaved a little off the distance for the second day, so he crossed the river and arrived at the town of Buzzard’s Bluff a little before noon. Entering the south end of the town, built where Wolf Creek emptied into the Navasota, he pulled Cousin to a halt and took a look up the main street. It was hard to believe his eyes when he thought of the last time he had been there. In the length of the street, there were three two-story buildings. The first one was a hotel. He rode past to the next one which was obviously a saloon. However, when he stopped in front of it, he read THE GOLDEN RAIL on the sign. Competition, he thought. He didn’t linger for more than a few moments there, anxious to see his new property. He nudged Cousin and the big dun gelding walked him slowly up the main street while Ben looked at the stores and shops as he passed. When he came to the last two-story building in the center of the businesses, he stopped to read the sign, LOST COYOTE SALOON. Two large windows framed the batwing front door, and a porch ran the width of the front façade that was in need of some carpentry repairs at one end. While he watched, a couple of men that looked like ranch hands passed on either side of him and tied their horses up at the rail. Well, there’s some business, he thought, and urged Cousin to continue on up to the north end where he could see a stable.

  “How do?” Henry Barnes greeted Ben when he pulled up to the stable. From habit, he made an obvious appraisal of the man, the horses, and his gear. “You wantin’ to leave them horses here?”

  “That’s what I had in mind, if you don’t charge too much,” Ben answered.

  “That depends on whether you’re thinkin’ about leavin’ ’em here for a month or just for the night,” Henry said.

  “Let’s start out with overnight.”

  “Fifty cents a horse,” Henry quoted. “That’s water and a stall. Portion of grain is twenty-five cents extra.”

  “That adds up to a dollar and a half,” Ben said. “That’s kinda steep, ain’t it?”

  “I can give you a lot better rate if you were boardin’ ’em here longer.” He waited for Ben to consider it, then said, “I won’t charge you for the oats. All right?”

  “All right,” Ben said and started pulling the saddle off Cousin. They turned his horses out in the corral and Henry helped him stow his packs and saddle in a corner of a stall. “How much if I wanna sleep in the stall with him?”

  “A quarter, I reckon, but you have to be here when I lock up at seven o’clock,” Henry said.

  “Fair enough. Where can I get something to eat?”

  “The hotel’s the best place to get you a good dinner or supper,” Henry said. “If you’ll settle for a slice of ham in a biscuit, you can get that at the saloon.” He waited for Ben to think that over, then asked, “What’s your name, mister?—so’s I’ll know whose horses I’m boardin’.”

  “Ben Savage. What’s yours?”

  “Henry Barnes. Hope you find what you’re lookin’ for in Buzzard’s Bluff.”

  “Obliged,” Ben said and walked out to take a walking tour of the town before he made his inspection of the Lost Coyote Saloon.

  CHAPTER 4

  He walked back the length of the main street, just to get a feel for the town, past the hotel, the sheriff’s office, the post office, and Howard’s General Merchandise. Then he turned around and headed back to the Lost Coyote Saloon. When he stepped inside the door, he paused there a few seconds to look the room over. He recognized the two cowhands who had ridden by him when he had stopped to look at the saloon before. They were seated at a table playing cards with two other men. At the far end of the bar, the bartender, a huge man, was talking to a woman who had a cup of coffee on the bar before her. Always an imposing figure, Ben attracted a looking-over by the bartender and the woman as well. After a moment, Ben walked over to the bar. “Howdy,” the bartender moved down the bar to serve him. “Whatcha gonna have?”

  “Howdy,” Ben returned and touched his hat brim politely as he nodded to the woman. “Tell you the truth, I’d like to have a cup of that coffee the lady’s drinkin’, if you sell coffee.”

  “Sure thing,” Tiny Davis said. “We’ll sell you some coffee.”

  “I’ll get it for you,” the woman said to Tiny, then to Ben she said, “If you need something to eat with it, we sell that, too.” She waited for his decision. “You’re in luck today. Annie’s husband killed a deer this morning and she cooked up some stew with that fresh venison.”

  “That sounds pretty good,” Ben replied. “I’ll give that a try.”

  “You won’t be sorry,” the woman said. “Sit down at a table and I’ll bring it to you.” She went to the kitchen while Ben settled into a chair at a table close to the bar.

  Tiny walked over to talk to him while he waited for his coffee. “You just ride into town? I know I ain’t ever seen you in here before.”

  “That’s a fact,” Ben answered. “The last time I passed through here, there wasn’t anything but a store and a blacksmith.”

  “Man, that was a long time ago,” Tiny responded. “What brings you back this way? You thinkin’ about lookin’ for some land around here?”

  “I reckon you could say that,” Ben answered. “I thought I’d like to get a feel for the town—see what you folks are doin’ with the town.”

  “You couldn’t find a town with a better future than Buzzard’s Bluff,” Tiny claimed. “We’re seein’ more families movin’ here every year.” He paused then to introduce himself. “I’m Tiny Davis.” Ben wasn’t surprised by the name. He offered his hand just as the woman came with the coffee and stew. Tiny stepped aside to give her room. “And this is Rachel Baskin,” he said. “She’s the manager.”

  “Ben Savage,” he said, “pleased to meet you, ma’am.” She extended her hand and they shook. “So you’re the boss,” Ben commented.

  “Well, no, not really,” Rachel said. “I guess you could say I manage the saloon. The owner was the boss, but he just passed away recently, so I’m the b
oss temporarily until we get a new owner, I guess. We heard that the saloon has a new owner, but we don’t know what he’ll do with it. I don’t even know if I’ll still have a job, once he gets here. My hope is that he’ll be just as clueless about running a business as Jim was. I don’t think Jim would have made it six months on his own. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t love the man.”

  “Have you been workin’ here a long time?” Ben asked.

  “Since the day Jim Vickers officially opened the door for business,” she said. “He didn’t have any family to help him, and I needed to make a living for myself.”

  “I woulda thought, if the owner didn’t have any family, the saloon mighta just gone to you when he died.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Tiny commented. “Jim was in such poor health for the last year or more, so Rachel was runnin’ the business. We figured that when he died, the saloon would just keep operatin’ with Rachel runnin’ it.”

  “It didn’t happen that way, though,” Rachel said. “Come to find out, Jim had a will and left the saloon to somebody. The lawyer said it would probably be sold, because he said the new owner wasn’t likely to keep it.”

  “And he didn’t tell you who the person was that inherited it?” Ben asked. They both shook their heads. “Well, I can understand why you’re wonderin’ what’s gonna happen.” He would have told them what was going to happen, but he wasn’t sure, himself, at this point. The only thing he was sure of he did comment on, however. “You know, you weren’t lyin’, this stew is good. Reckon I could have another cup of that coffee?”

  Rachel smiled and was about to respond when she was interrupted by an outburst from the card game. They looked toward the table to see one of the players on his feet. A stubby little man with red hair and beard, he was pointing at one of the cowhands and exclaiming loudly. “I’d best see what that’s about before Tuck gets himself shot,” Rachel said.

  “You’d best let me go see about it,” Tiny said. “We’ve had trouble with that pair from the Double-D before.”

  “No,” Rachel insisted. “You go over there and you’re liable to get yourself shot. They’re not gonna get rough with a woman. Go on back to the bar in case you need the shotgun. Sorry, Mr. Savage,” she apologized to Ben as she walked away.

  “They ride for the Double-D Ranch,” Tiny felt a need to explain. “We don’t usually see any of their crew in here but once in a while. But it seems like every time we do, they cause trouble. Their usual hangout is the Golden Rail, down the street.”

  Curious to see how the woman was going to quiet the disturbance before it became violent, Ben turned his chair partially around so he could watch. “What is the trouble back here, Tuck?” Rachel asked when she approached the table.

  All eyes turned toward her. “These sidewinders are low-down cheaters!” the gnarly little man declared. “And they ain’t even good at it. That one,” he pointed at one of the cowhands, “is tryin’ to deal off the bottom of the deck, and I’ve caught him at it twice. Me and Ham were havin’ a friendly little game of two-handed poker and these two wanted to play. So we let ’em play. I reckon they was figurin’ on skinnin’ two old codgers.”

  Rachel spoke directly to the man Tuck had accused. “Why don’t you and your friend move over to another table and we’ll give you a couple of drinks on the house.”

  One of the cowhands, a large surly-looking bully, waited until Rachel finished before speaking. “I didn’t hear anybody ask you to put your two cents in, bitch. This ain’t none of your business, but if this redheaded little turd don’t set down and shut his mouth, I’m gonna shoot the snake down.”

  “All right,” Rachel responded. “I think you and your friend have had enough to drink. I think it’s best if you leave now before anybody gets hurt.”

  “I ain’t goin’ nowhere till I hear this little maggot tell me he’s a lyin’ piece of dirt,” the bully informed her. He crossed his arms and sat solidly in the chair. “If you wanna throw me outta here, sweetie-pants, you’re gonna have to pick me up and tote me ’cause I ain’t movin’ outta this chair.”

  They were clearly at a standstill with the bully parked in the chair like a pouting child, daring anyone to try to move him. His partner, obviously enjoying the woman’s helpless situation, added to Rachel’s problems when he openly solicited her for a roll on a mattress upstairs. It was at this point that Ben figured he’d had enough of the bullying. Very quietly, he got up from his chair and walked up behind the bully’s chair. The other cowhand became alert and, with his hand resting on the handle of his handgun, he waited for Ben to make a move. But Ben didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached down and grasped the two back legs of the chair the bully was sitting in. Then in one swift, powerful motion, he jerked the chair out from under him, dumping him on the floor. Before the bully’s backside hit the floor, Ben threw the empty chair to land in his partner’s arms, causing him to stagger backward while trying to get out of his chair and pull his pistol at the same time. By the time he was free of the chair, he found himself staring at Ben’s six-gun, already out and aimed at him. “Go ahead, if you feel lucky,” Ben invited.

  The cowhand hesitated for a moment before reconsidering. “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Put that gun back in the holster and we’ll see who shoots who.”

  “Do I look that damn stupid? I oughta go ahead and shoot you just to rid the world of another moron. Get on your feet and get on outta here.” He glanced at Tiny, standing wide-eyed and gaping. “Are they paid up? They owe anything?”

  “No, they paid for the whiskey,” Tiny answered.

  “All right, we’re goin’,” the surly-looking bully said and got up from the floor. He glared at Ben while he dusted his pants off. “Another time things might be a whole lot different,” he said.

  “I expect you’d be the same loudmouth lookin’ for trouble and showin’ no respect for ladies,” Ben said. He kept his gun on them until he marched them out the door and stood in the door until they untied their horses and stepped up into the saddle.

  “I’ll be seein’ ya,” the bully said.

  “Not if I can help it,” Ben said and went back inside where Tuck and Ham were grilling Rachel and Tiny about the stranger. Ben was heading back to the table to finish his coffee and the one biscuit he was just getting ready to eat before he decided to get involved with Rachel’s predicament. Glancing at the gnome-like little man watching him, he saw Tuck’s eyes suddenly open wide. It was all the warning Ben needed.

  “Look out!” Tuck yelled, but by then Ben had already spun around and fired. The cowhand bully dropped to his knees, his drawn pistol clattered to the floor, then he sank facedown, a bullet in his chest. Waiting only a few seconds to make sure he was dead, Ben ran back to the saloon door only to see the dead man’s partner race away up the street, leading the bully’s horse.

  Frozen in a moment of amazement over what had just occurred, Rachel finally broke the silence that followed the gunshot. “I guess we’d best go get the sheriff, but he’ll probably be here in a few minutes, anyway, if he heard the shot.”

  “I’ll go get him,” Ham volunteered and went out the door, being careful to step around the body lying in the way. He was gone for less than a minute before he came back in the door, Sheriff Mack Bragg right behind him.

  The sheriff walked in and nodded to the stunned woman standing near the bar. “Rachel,” Bragg acknowledged, “you wanna tell me what happened here?” He never took his eyes off the formidable stranger standing in the center of the room.

  “It was strictly self-defense, Mack,” Rachel said at once. “If Mr. Savage had not been alert, he would have been killed. Everyone here will tell you that.” She looked around at them, and they all nodded. She went on to tell the sheriff all the details that led up to the shooting. He seemed satisfied that it had all happened just as she said, so he turned to Ben.

  “Well, I’m sorry you had to get your first look at our town in such a bad light, Mr....” He paused t
o recall the name.

  “Ben Savage,” Ben quickly announced. “I’m sorry, as well. But I already had a good impression of your town before I met up with this fellow and his partner. I feel responsible for lettin’ him come back in here. He was on his horse and fixin’ to wheel away from the hitchin’ rail when I came back in here. I misjudged him. I shoulda watched him till he rode outta sight.”

  “You just passin’ through Buzzard’s Bluff?” Bragg asked, immediately impressed after hearing the details of the shooting from Rachel.

  “I was,” Ben answered, “but I might decide to stick around for a while. Seems like a nice town, and judgin’ by everyone’s reaction to that fellow, maybe things like this don’t happen as a rule.”

  “We like to think so,” Bragg said. “What line of work are you in, Mr. Savage?”

  Ben reached in his vest pocket and pulled out his star. “For the past twelve years, I’ve been a Texas Ranger.”

  His announcement caused a minor explosion of exclamations. “By Ned, I knew it!” Tuck blurted. “When he turned and popped that sidedwinder, I knew it wasn’t the first time he’d handled a six-gun!”

  The others had the same reaction. Tiny grinned at Rachel and shook his head as if to say they should have suspected. The sheriff was as surprised as anyone. “Are you here on some Ranger business that has something to do with Buzzard’s Bluff? Maybe I can help you out.”

  “No, thanks just the same, but I’m not here on Ranger business.”

  Bragg nodded. “You know something that’s kind of a coincidence? The fellow that used to own this saloon was a Ranger for years before he got into this line of work.”

  “Same thing for the new owner,” Ben said. His statement was met with confused stares from them all. Having just made the decision moments before, he thought he’d better make it a little clearer. He glanced at Rachel. “Your new owner was a Texas Ranger, too, starting a couple of days ago.”