Buzzard's Bluff

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “Ben Savage,” he said and shook Bowden’s hand. “’Preciate it.”

  Bowden took Cousin’s reins and led him back behind his forge and proceeded to take a look at the dun gelding’s hooves. “You’re right,” he told Ben, “he’s about ready for some new shoes, but his hooves look to be in good shape. Looks like you take good care of him.”

  “He always takes good care of me,” Ben said, “so I reckon I owe him that.”

  Bowden began the work of removing Cousin’s shoes and fitting him with the proper shoe to fit his hoof. As far as Ben could tell, Bowden was a careful farrier, taking about fifteen to twenty minutes on each hoof. While he worked, he asked Ben how he thought he’d like the little town of Buzzard’s Bluff. Ben said he didn’t know, but he liked what he had seen so far. “Well, from what I’ve heard,” Bowden said, “you’re plannin’ to operate that saloon pretty much the same way Jim Vickers did. Is that right?”

  “Don’t see any reason to change anything,” Ben answered. “Looks to me like Rachel has been takin’ care of business.”

  He fully expected to hear Bowden compliment Rachel, just as everyone else had so far, but he didn’t. Instead, he fell silent for a moment, staring beyond Ben, then muttering, “Uh-oh.”

  Ben turned to see what had captured his attention and saw a pair of riders walking their horses toward the Lost Coyote. He continued watching them until they pulled up at the hitching rail in front of the saloon. “You know those fellows?” Ben asked.

  “I know who they are,” Bowden said. “They ride for the Double-D ranch. At least, I know who one of ’em is. That one on the right is Ed Hatcher. He shot a man down in the Golden Rail about six months ago in a fight over a card game. I don’t know the name of the fellow with him.” He paused to give Ben an intense look. “He’s the fellow that was with the one you shot yesterday.”

  That tweaked Ben’s interest right away. “This Ed Hatcher, how come he’s not in jail?”

  “Mack Bragg would have arrested Hatcher,” Bowden said. “But the fellow he shot went for his gun, too, and Hatcher outdrew him. Everybody in the Golden Rail said it was a fair fight, that Hatcher was just too fast for the other fellow. But Mickey Dupree, the bartender at the Golden Rail told me that Hatcher baited that fellow till he had to face him, or crawl outta the saloon like a yellow dog. Maybe it’s a good thing you ain’t at the saloon.”

  It didn’t take much thinking to figure out the reason the two Double-D riders came to pay a visit to the Lost Coyote this early in the morning. “You mind takin’ my horse back to the stable when you finish shoein’ him? And I’ll come back and settle up in a little while.”

  “You goin’ over there?” Bowden blurted, fairly astonished.

  “I expect I’d better,” Ben said. “I don’t want ’em causing Rachel any trouble.” When Bowden started shaking his head in disbelief, Ben said, “I’ll come back to pay you. If I don’t, you’ll have my horse. Fair enough?”

  “Mister, you’re crazy!” Bowden exclaimed. “That Hatcher fellow is a professional killer.”

  “Whaddaya sayin’ I oughta do,” Ben asked, slightly perturbed, “hide out here and let ’em raise hell with my people in the saloon? I’ll be back to pay you.” He started toward the saloon, striding as fast as he could without breaking into a trot.

  When he reached the door of the saloon, he stopped to take a look before walking inside. As he had anticipated, the man called Hatcher was hassling Rachel and Tiny. He could hear Rachel repeating several times that Mr. Savage was not in the saloon. When he heard Hatcher say he was going to search the entire saloon if she didn’t produce him, Ben figured it was time to put a stop to it. Seeing a young boy walking past the saloon, he stepped away from the door and called to the boy, “What’s your name, son?” When the boy told him, Ben asked, “You wanna make a nickel, Sammy?” The boy said he did, so Ben reached in his pocket and pulled out some change and gave the boy a nickel. “Run down the street and tell the sheriff he’s needed at the Lost Coyote. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Sammy said and took off running.

  Stepping back up on the porch, Ben pushed on through the batwing doors, his Colt six-gun in hand. “Something I can help you fellows with?” he asked. Surprised, they both spun around. Hatcher started to reach for his .44 but stopped short when he saw the weapon already in Ben’s hand.

  “Well, ain’t you the brave one?” Hatcher taunted. “Why didn’t you just shoot us in the back and be done with it?”

  “I considered it,” Ben answered. “Now, suppose you tell me what you’re lookin’ for me for. Have you got a complaint about this saloon, or about somebody who works here? We’re always ready to help you with any complaints, but I don’t allow anybody to harass the employees or the owners.”

  Both men were speechless for a moment, unprepared to hear this type response. Then Hatcher’s partner blurted, “You shot Bob Wills down in here yesterday!”

  “Was that his name?” Ben asked the man with Hatcher. “I didn’t catch yours, you left in such a hurry. That’s a fact, though. I shot Bob because he tried to shoot me in the back after I told you to leave. We’ve got a rule here in the Lost Coyote—no back shootin’. That’s why I won’t shoot you in the back, if you turn around and walk on outta here now. But we ain’t got no rule against shootin’ you in the front, if you make a move toward those guns.”

  “Who the hell are you, mister?” Hatcher finally demanded. It occurred to him that he might be calling out somebody with a reputation. “I’m wonderin’ if Bob Wills had a fair chance when you shot him.”

  “I reckon that depends on how you look at it,” Ben said. “When Bob came back in and was fixin’ to shoot me in the back, it mighta been unfair for me to turn around and shoot him first. To tell you the truth, I thought he and this other fellow with you today were already on their way outta town and nobody hurt. But he came sneakin’ back in here like the yellow dog he was. I expect you never got the true story of how he got himself killed. So, now that you know, you’ll most likely ride on outta town peaceful-like and no harm done. I’ll even buy you a drink to show you there’s no hard feelin’s, and you can go back to the Double-D and tell ’em you took care of everything.”

  Hatcher was not sure if he was talking to a lunatic or being japed by a fast talker. Whichever, he decided, there was no doubt in his mind, the man was trying to talk his way out of a gunfight between the two of them. Marty was not sure how fast this fellow was, but he said that he had turned around and shot Bob Wills before Bob got off a shot. That was something to consider, but he still could not discard the idea that the big man was trying to avoid facing him man to man. And that could be nothing less than outright cowardice. He decided to do what he had ridden in with Marty Jackson to do. “I’m tired of hearin’ you runnin’ off at the mouth. It’s time for you to own up to what you did. I’m callin’ you out to stand up for killin’ Bob Wills. So holster that six-gun, and we’ll settle this thing man to man.”

  Ben slowly shook his head to exhibit his impatience before he replied. “Now, Hatcher, I believe that’s your name, ain’t it?” Hatcher did not answer but continued to glare at the big man holding the Colt on him. Ben continued. “Not only have you come after me for defending myself against Bob Wills, but now you’re insultin’ me by insinuatin’ that I’d be dumb enough to holster my pistol when I’ve already got it ready to blow a hole in you.” He glanced briefly in Tiny’s direction and said, “Tiny, take that shotgun from under the counter and hold it on Mr. Hatcher’s friend, there, in case he’s got a case of stupidity, too.” Tiny quickly drew the shotgun out, having already anticipated a need for it.

  Almost to the point of exploding, due to the situation he had fallen into, Ed Hatcher could only snarl insults in reply. “You yellow devil,” he charged. “You ain’t got the guts to face me man to man. Walk out in the street and we’ll see who comes out on top. You’re too yellow, ain’t you?”

  “Is that what this is all about?”
Ben asked. “If I say I’m afraid to face you in a gunfight, that’ll satisfy you, and you and your friend, here, will ride on outta town? Why, hell, I’ll do that to keep from killin’ you. I’m afraid to face you. How’s that? Your friend heard me say it, so you two can get back on your horses and never come back to the Lost Coyote. And that oughta make everybody happy.”

  Eaten up with frustration and the knowledge that he was being made a fool of, Hatcher fumed for a full minute before he could speak. “Dead man!” he finally managed. “You’re a dead man. Sure as the sun comes up in the mornin’, I swear I’ll kill your sorry ass.”

  “Well, now you’ve done it,” Ben said. “Before, you just challenged me to a duel and that’s all right. But now you’ve threatened to murder me, so I’m afraid I’m gonna have to arrest you and your partner for threatenin’ my life in front of these witnesses.” He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out his badge. “Under my authority as a Texas Ranger, I place both of you under arrest for threatening my life.”

  “Wait a minute!” Marty Jackson blurted. “You didn’t say nothin’ about bein’ a Ranger. And, anyway, I didn’t say I was gonna kill you!”

  “Don’t matter,” Ben responded. “You brought him back here for that purpose. You’re under arrest for aidin’ and abettin’ ol’ Hatcher, here.”

  Marty looked at Hatcher, frantically looking for help. “Maybe we oughta just go on back to the ranch, Ed, if he’ll let us go like he said at first.”

  “He ain’t no Ranger,” Hatcher said. “He’s just tryin’ to get outta facin’ me. He knows I can beat him.” Back to Ben, he said, “You’re gonna slip up sometime, and when you do, it’ll be me that puts a bullet in your brain.”

  “What’s the trouble here?” Mack Bragg called out, surprising the two ranch hands standing before Ben. His .44 drawn, he walked up behind Hatcher and Jackson and pulled the pistols from each one’s holster. “You havin’ some trouble here, Rachel?” Ben, still holding his six-gun on Hatcher, let her answer the question.

  “Those two came here with the idea of killing Ben,” she said. “That one,” she pointed to Hatcher, “challenged Ben to a gunfight and Ben told him he wasn’t interested. So then he threatened to kill him, anyway, and Ben put him under arrest—both of them.”

  Bragg looked at Ben, who smiled and confirmed what she said with a nod. “You arrested them?” he asked. When Ben nodded again, Bragg said, “I thought you retired from the Rangers.”

  “I have,” Ben said, “but it ain’t official till I notify Captain Mitchell. I thought it would be better than shootin’ ’em. Maybe a night or two in jail would be good for ’em—let ’em know we don’t like gunfightin’ in Buzzard’s Bluff.” Bragg didn’t look like he was especially tickled with the idea. “I’ll help you herd ’em over to the jail,” Ben offered.

  “You’ll sure as hell hear from Mr. Dalton if you throw us in jail, Sheriff,” Hatcher warned. “He’s gonna be mad as hell.”

  “That’s what I was thinkin’, too,” Ben remarked. “Might give us a good chance to talk to him about some of the trouble I hear his hands are causin’ here in town.”

  “That’ll be the day,” Bragg replied and shrugged. “But I reckon you and Rachel have just cause to complain about these two making threats and disturbin’ the peace. So let’s walk ’em down to the jailhouse. Maybe after a day or two they can get some sense into their heads.”

  “What if I don’t wanna go to your damn jailhouse?” Hatcher protested. “You gonna shoot me?”

  “That’s as good an answer as any,” Bragg said. “Sure would make it a lot less trouble for me. Is that the way you want it?” He looked at Jackson. “How ’bout you? Is that the way you want it, too?” He cocked the hammer back on the Colt .44 he was holding.

  “No, sir!” Jackson exclaimed immediately. “That ain’t the way I want it! I’ll go to jail!”

  “Shut up, Marty!” Hatcher barked. “He ain’t gonna shoot you. He’s just tryin’ to scare you.”

  “Are you ready to walk down to the jail now?” Ben asked Hatcher.

  “I ain’t walkin’ nowhere,” Hatcher said. “You want me in that jail, you’re gonna have to carry me.”

  Ben couldn’t help thinking about the last cowhand from the Double-D who took that stance. He ended up shooting him and that’s what started all this trouble. “If you and Tiny keep ’em covered for a minute, I’ll be right back,” he said to the sheriff. He went out the front door and returned shortly with a coil of rope. “I figured every good cowhand had a coil of rope on his saddle.” He made a loop in one end of the rope, then walked up to face Hatcher, who gave him a smirk for his efforts. “Hold your arms straight out to the sides, like you’ve got wings. Like this,” he demonstrated, holding his arms straight out to the side. With a defiant sneer, Hatcher clamped his arms down tight against his sides. Ben instantly dropped the loop over Hatcher’s shoulders and drew it up tight, trapping Hatcher’s arms against his sides. He then wrapped the rope around and around the surprised man until he had his upper body bound securely. Hatcher stood there helpless and furious when he realized how easily Ben had tricked him into cooperating. “All right, let’s get along, little doggie,” Ben said and led him toward the door with the other end of the rope.

  The sheriff prodded Jackson in the back with his Colt and said, “Get movin’.” And they followed Ben and Hatcher to the door before Hatcher realized he could still refuse to cooperate, so he dropped to the floor.

  Ben took a strong grip on the rope and managed to drag Hatcher through the door to the porch. He let him sit there for a few moments, long enough to untie one of the horses from the hitching rail. He led the horse up to the edge of the porch so he could tie the end of his rope to the saddle horn. He smiled at Hatcher and said, “You’re a pretty big fellow, but my money’s on the horse. Come on, boy,” he said to the horse and led him out into the street, dragging Hatcher off the porch. He thought he heard his prisoner let out a “yow” just before he heard him hit the boardwalk in front of the porch. If he had to guess, he would have bet the “yow” might have been a splinter Hatcher picked up on his slide across the porch.

  The defiant cowhand maintained his determination until about halfway down the street to the jail. But after bumping and scraping across the roughest ruts Ben could find to lead him over, he started yelling. “All right! All right! I’ll walk to the damn jail. Stop the damn horse.”

  With an air of casual patience, Ben helped Hatcher to his feet. Then he untied the rope from the saddle horn and led him the rest of the way to the jail. Bragg and Jackson followed along behind them. Bragg, his gun in hand, watched while Ben removed the rope trapping Hatcher’s arms to his sides. Then he put him in the cell with Jackson. That done, he joined Ben in the office to talk about their punishment. It was blatantly apparent that the sheriff wasn’t too happy about Ben’s actions, which had resulted in an arrest. On the other hand, he could hardly find fault with Ben’s handling of Hatcher because it prevented a shooting. However, knowing Ed Hatcher and his passion for violence, he could not imagine this arrest to be the end of the trouble over Ben’s shooting of Bob Wills.

  “I reckon I can hold ’em in jail for a couple of days, then turn ’em loose and tell ’em to get outta town,” Bragg speculated. “That’s what I usually do with anybody makin’ too big a fuss in one of the saloons, as long as it doesn’t lead to a shootin’. And that’s all this has boiled down to so far.” He paused to think about that for a few seconds. “I don’t have any idea what Daniel Dalton’s liable to say about this. I’ll tell you the truth, Ben, it ain’t beneath Dalton to send a few more men in here to settle up with you for killin’ one of his hands. And he ain’t gonna be too happy with me for puttin’ two of ’em in jail.”

  “Reckon we’ll just have to wait and see,” Ben responded. “You want me to lead their horses up to the stable for you? I gotta pick mine up from the blacksmith, so I’m headin’ that way.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Ben
led Marty Jackson’s horse back to the Lost Coyote to pick up Ed Hatcher’s horse, still tied at the rail. Tiny and the women were all standing on the porch and watched as he untied the horse. “You gonna want somethin’ to drink when you come back?” Tiny asked, thinking he might need one.

  “Just a cup of coffee,” Ben answered. “I won’t be long.”

  Jim Bowden was standing in the middle of the street talking to several other spectators who had happened to see Hatcher’s rough trip to the jail. “Damned if you ain’t somethin’,” Bowden declared. “I didn’t hear no shots, so I was glad nobody got killed.”

  “Did you finish shoein’ my horse?” Ben responded.

  “No, I didn’t,” Jim replied. “I was too anxious to see if I was gonna be the new owner of that dun you ride, but it won’t take long to finish him up.”

  “I gotta take these horses to the stable, then I’ll be back to get Cousin,” Ben said.

  “Didn’t look like ol’ Hatcher wanted to go to jail,” Bowden commented, obviously desiring more details on what happened inside the saloon.

  But Ben was not inclined to paint a picture for him. “Reckon not,” he said and kept on walking toward the stable. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

  * * *

  “Boy, there’s gonna be hell to pay when ol’ Daniel Dalton finds out about this,” Henry Barnes announced with a chuckle. “He ain’t used to havin’ his boys locked up in the jailhouse, and right after you shot another one.” He pulled the saddle off one of the horses. “I swear, Ben, you’ve stirred up more trouble in two days than we’d had all year.”

  “Why do you say that?” Ben asked. “None of this trouble is my doin’. I never went after any of Dalton’s men. They came after me and for no reason that I gave ’em.”

  “I reckon you’re right about that,” Henry admitted. “I reckon it’s because the Double-D hands expect to have their way in Buzzard’s Bluff. Rachel and Jim never had much trouble with ’em because Dalton’s men usually did their business with Wilson Bishop at the Golden Rail. Most of us folks here in town want it to stay that way. That’s why we’re tickled to hear you ain’t thinkin’ about changin’ the way the Lost Coyote does business.”