“No,” Brady said, “ain’t nobody else complained.” He stood there a few moments, trying to decide whether to look in the outhouse or not. “I was fixin’ to ask him if he wanted me to saddle his horse, but maybe he’s thinkin’ about gettin’ together with Boss and Todd this mornin’. He didn’t say at breakfast what he was gonna do.” He hesitated a moment longer before announcing, “I’ll go check the outhouse, just to be sure.” He started toward the door and called back over his shoulder, “Hell, with your cookin’, it’s a wonder we ain’t all sick half the time. He just ain’t been back long enough to get used to it.”
“I’ll go with you,” Spot said, ignoring the sarcasm concerning his cooking. He’d heard enough of that to dismiss the comments as common complaints when there wasn’t anything else to complain about. He went out the door after Brady.
When they reached the outhouse, they stopped and listened for any sounds that might tell them the outhouse was in use. When there were none, Brady knocked politely on the door. When there was still no response, he looked at Spot and shrugged, then asked, “Mr. Beaudry, you in there?” After waiting another few moments, he opened the door to find the outhouse unoccupied.
“Well, I reckon that means there weren’t nothin’ wrong with the cookin’,” Spot declared. “I’da heard a lot more bellyachin’ if there had been. He musta gone up to the house.”
“I reckon so,” Brady agreed. “I’d best go check on the men. It’s about time Boss and Todd showed up to see what’s goin’ on.”
* * *
Brady and Spot weren’t the only two who were curious about the whereabouts of Ansel Beaudry. Todd Beaudry stood in the kitchen, questioning Lorena when breakfast was long over. “He made a lotta talk about how he was gonna eat all his meals here in the kitchen,” Todd said, “and you say he didn’t show up here this mornin’?”
“Sí, he no show up,” Lorena answered.
Mica Beaudry walked into the kitchen, and Todd promptly informed him that his brother had not eaten in the kitchen that morning. Mica thought about that for a moment before replying, “He ate supper with the men last night and he’s had breakfast with them again this mornin’.” To the rugged old owner of the Hornet’s Nest, that was a definite sign of trouble brewing, and he made his thoughts known to his younger son. “I shoulda run him outta here the minute he showed up again. I reckon he thinks I’m gettin’ soft in my old age, but I’m fixin’ to show him how soft I am. He’s tryin’ to get my own men to back him while he tries to take over my ranch. I ain’t so old I can’t see that.” He glared at his younger son. “It’s about time you stepped up to protect this ranch, too, else you ain’t gonna last a day after I’m in the grave. Let’s go find your brother.” He had not told Todd about the offer his brother had made.
“Where’s Ansel?” Mica demanded when he found Brady in the barn.
Surprised, as well as aware of the anger in the old man’s tone, Brady blurted, “I don’t know, Boss, I thought he was up at the house with you.” He looked from Todd’s concerned expression back to his father’s dark countenance. “I ain’t seen him since breakfast.” When Mica asked if Ansel was out with the cattle, Brady answered, “I don’t think so. He wasn’t with any of the boys I sent out.” He turned and pointed to the gray gelding in the corral. “Yonder’s his horse. It’s been there ever since yesterday, and his saddle’s still layin’ where I left it.” He told him then about looking for Ansel in the outhouse, only to find it empty.
“He’s up to somethin’, Papa,” Todd said. “Maybe he’s layin’ up in the bunkhouse.”
“He weren’t there after breakfast,” Brady said, shaking his head. “He’s just by God disappeared.”
“That ain’t hardly likely,” Mica retorted. “I want him found and I want him brought to me. Do I make myself clear?” Brady was quick to answer that he did. Mica turned to Todd and said, “Go up to the bunkhouse and make sure he ain’t there. If he ain’t maybe Spot knows where he went.” Todd immediately headed for the bunkhouse at a trot.
Unaware of the excitement down at the barn over the missing Beaudry brother, Spot was just then in the process of answering a distress call from the lower regions of his bowels. At the moment Todd started up the path that led to the bunkhouse, Spot opened the outhouse door and proceeded to unbuckle his belt. It was then that he noticed a couple of drops of blood, now dried, on the boards of the single-hole facility. It puzzled him, but not to the point where he could deter the urgency of his reason for visiting the outhouse. It was only after he had dropped his trousers around his boots and settled down to answer the call that he noticed the .44 in the holster on the gun belt hanging on a peg beside the door. Initially puzzled, he wondered who could have walked off and left their sidearm hanging in the toilet. He didn’t think it was in there earlier when he and Brady were looking for Ansel. But thinking back, he realized that neither he nor Brady went into the outhouse, they had just looked in. They would have had to look closely to see the tiny drops of blood on the board, but they had no reason to inspect the inside. Consequently, the bloodstains and the weapon could have been there when they looked inside. He was trying to decide if his findings meant something important, or not, when he heard Todd yelling his name. “Hell,” he muttered, his mood having been compromised and his feeling of urgency lost. “I’m in the outhouse,” he yelled back. “I’ll be out in a minute.” He pulled his trousers back up and went out to see what Todd wanted.
“Have you seen Ansel?” Todd asked when Spot came out.
“Not since this mornin’,” Spot answered, “but come see what I found in the outhouse.” Todd wasn’t very enthusiastic about seeing what Spot might have found in the outhouse, but the cook remained at the door, holding it open, a look of amusement on his chubby, round face, so Todd walked up to see. When Todd was also puzzled by the firearm hanging by the outhouse door, Spot offered his opinion. “It’s Ansel’s,” he said with a chuckle. “He came in to crap and went off without his gun.” He found the situation amusing, especially after the sinister impression the older Beaudry brother had made upon the whole crew.
Perplexed, but finding the sudden disappearance of his brother less than amusing, Todd said, “Ansel’s missin’. He’s up to somethin’ and we can’t find him anywhere on the ranch. You let me know if he shows up here.” He took the gun and holster from the peg and hurried back to the barn to tell his father. Caught up in Todd’s reaction to his find, Spot ran behind him.
With the mysterious circumstances surrounding the missing brother and the firearm left behind, a sense that something disastrous was about to happen descended upon the Hornet’s Nest at first. So strongly convinced that his evil son had come back to destroy him and take over the ranch, Mica Beaudry was desperate to defend against him. He sent Todd back to the house with orders to search it thoroughly to make doubly certain that Ansel was not hiding there. Then he and Brady, with Spot following along behind, searched the smokehouse and the outhouse behind the main house. They were back at the barn when Todd returned from the house with a report that Ansel was definitely not hiding there.
With no knowledge of Ansel’s flight from authorities in Missouri, Kansas, and Oklahoma, Mica could not know about the relentless deputy marshal who caused him to run and the fact that he was desperately trying to find a haven anywhere. It was from the unlikely council of his younger son that a reasonable explanation came forth. “He ain’t takin’ over nothin’,” Todd said. “He’s on the run from the Rangers, and he came here to hide. He mighta had ideas about takin’ over the ranch, but the Rangers snuck in here and got him, got him while he was takin’ a crap.” His statement was not his own, but a repetition of his wife, Mae’s theory, word for word. His speculation was not taken seriously at first, but his father humored him when he suggested they should scout the creek that ran between the barn and the bunkhouse for signs of trespassers. Along with Brady and Spot, Mica and Todd went to the creek to search.
“Look here!” Brady cried out, and stood up to sign
al the others. When they caught up to him, he pointed to tracks in the trees along the creek. “Somebody was walkin’ through here.”
“Follow them to see where they came from,” Mica ordered, and they hurried back along the creek, picking up tracks every so often until they led them to the place the trespasser had left his horses. It was obvious that there had been two horses. There were plenty of tracks as well as fresh droppings. “What do you make of it, Brady?” Mica asked, not completely sure, himself.
“Looks to me like Todd’s right,” Brady answered. “The way I see it is, the lawman hid his horses right here and walked up there to the edge of the clearin’ where the bunkhouse sets. He waited till he saw his chance when Ansel went to use the outhouse, went in, and knocked him in the head, and carried him back here. That’s the reason he had two horses—he brought an extra one for Ansel, since he couldn’t go down to the barn to get Ansel’s horse. Hell, with everybody gone down to the barn there weren’t nobody to see him while he was doin’ all that.”
“Damn,” Spot swore. “I was right there in the cookhouse. It’s a wonder I didn’t see him.”
“I bet, if we was to look around a little, we might find which way he rode outta here,” Brady continued. To confirm it, they all started following any tracks that left the creek and readily found the tracks of Will Tanner’s horses. None of the four spoke for a few moments, as they all stared out to the west where the tracks led from the creek. “I’ll be damned,” Brady started. “Todd’s right, somebody snuck in here and grabbed him, right under our noses.”
Mica considered the possibility for a few moments longer, but finally agreed with Brady and Todd. “Well, it’s a helluva day when I can say the Texas Rangers have done me a favor, or whoever it was that took him. As mean a snake as Ansel is, it coulda been somebody else that got him.” He pulled Todd aside, so Brady and Spot couldn’t hear what he said. “Go find his saddlebags. I got a feelin’ there might be a good bit of money in ’em. Could be that’s the reason somebody came to get him.”
In spite of Mica’s attempt to tell only Todd, Spot overheard his remark. “Ansel’s saddlebags is on his bunk,” he volunteered. “I seen ’em there this mornin’.”
All four started immediately toward the bunkhouse. As they walked, Mica issued an order to Brady. “I want you to set some of the men to work clearin’ out some of these trees on this creek bank. I don’t want anybody else ridin’ in here without us seein’ ’em.” When Brady asked if he wanted all the trees down, Mica answered, “No, just the ones that keep us from seein’ from the house and the barn.” When they reached the bunkhouse, Spot hustled ahead, picked up the saddlebags from Ansel’s bunk, and handed them to Mica. He searched the bags, but there was no money inside. “I reckon that’s the reason he didn’t take ’em to the outhouse with him,” Mica concluded. “’Cause there was money in ’em when he got here, he musta took it out of ’em.” His comment served to instill Todd with a feeling of satisfaction that the problem of the prodigal son had solved itself. The feeling lasted only until his father ordered the men to prepare to ride.
Mica turned to Brady. “Looks to me like there was one man that came here to get Ansel, right?” When Brady confirmed that to be his opinion, Mica issued his orders. “Whoever it was that grabbed Ansel, maybe a lawman, maybe not, he didn’t come here just to get Ansel. Ansel had about six thousand dollars in his saddlebags, and I suspect that’s what whoever took him really came for. That money belongs to me and I aim to get it back.” His statement brought a look of surprise to all their faces. “Brady,” Mica went on, “get the men on their horses, we’re goin’ after them.”
“Everybody’s out with the cattle but Junior and Rufus,” Brady responded. “You want me to send them out to find them?”
Mica hesitated for only a moment. “No, we ain’t got time. We’ll be enough. Saddle my horse and get Junior and Rufus saddled up. Spot, you stay here and let the men know what’s goin’ on when they come in, and we’d best take a packhorse with us with some supplies, in case it takes us a while to catch up with this bastard.” He turned to Brady again. “I’m goin’ to the house to let the women know we’re goin’ and we’ll get started as soon as we can.” He started for the house and Todd followed him.
When all was ready, Mica Beaudry led the posse of five out across the prairie, following the tracks left by Will and Ansel, already several hours behind, according to the best they could figure.
* * *
When Ansel had finished the meager meal Will had prepared, Will locked his arms around the tree again while he ate. When he finished, he rinsed his pan and the plates in the creek and put them back in his packs. While he was doing that, he shifted his gaze toward his prisoner and noticed the cut on Ansel’s forehead was still bleeding, so he decided to clean it up a little and bandage it. Digging into his packs again, he pulled out the remains of the old bedsheet that had been used for bandages before. He ripped off one small strip to use for a washcloth and wet it in the creek. Then he approached his sullen prisoner embracing the tree. “If you’ll hold still, I’ll do a little doctorin’ on that cut,” he said. Ansel stared at him as if he suspected something other than tender care, but he had no choice other than to submit. “Ain’t much I can do, but maybe it’ll keep the blood outta your eyes.” Will cleaned the blood away, then from the strip of bedsheet fashioned a bandage to tie around Ansel’s head. “Maybe that’ll hold you for a while. It needs stitchin’ up, but I ain’t got nothin’ to do that with.”
When Will sat down with his back against a tree eight or ten yards away, Ansel continued to study him, trying to figure him out. He had an impression of the relentless lawman as one of single-minded purpose, with no regard for human life, not a lot unlike himself. Now he was not sure, after no show of abuse and some concern for the wound on his forehead. Maybe Tanner was not the merciless hunter he had envisioned. The thought of that tended to make him think there might be a better possibility of escape, if he convinced him that he was not going to cause trouble. He considered Will’s remark about shooting Bo Hagen in the leg, but that might have simply been a bluff. There was a question of how much time he might have to work on Will’s sense of alertness, since he had not said where he intended to take him. Will worked out of Fort Smith, Arkansas, and that was a hell of a long ride from where they now sat. Ansel hoped he planned to take him there, for the longer the trip, the more opportunities for escape. He relaxed his position with his arms and legs on either side of the tree, feeling more of his old confidence returning. This deputy was no invincible lawman and should prove to be no match for him.
The man being judged by his prisoner was also considering the long journey ahead of him and reminding himself of his decision to treat Ansel Beaudry as he would treat any felon he was transporting to Fort Smith. The cruel execution of Oscar Moon, as described by Elmira Tate, was difficult to remove from Will’s memory, however. The temptation to make himself judge, jury, and executioner was ever present in the back of his mind. It would be so much simpler to put a bullet in Ansel’s brain and be done with it. He was bound to hang, anyway, so where was the sin in that? He cursed when the same answer always came back, telling him he was no better than the Ansel Beaudrys in the world if he was to yield to that temptation.
When he was satisfied that the horses were rested and ready to go again, Will saddled and loaded them. He decided to handcuff Ansel with his hands in front, instead of behind him as he had started out from Hornet’s Nest, so he let Ansel climb on the sorrel without his help. Now that they were away from the ranch, he also let Ansel ride without the noose around his neck. The packhorse’s reins were tied to a lead rope that Will held, so he was not concerned that his prisoner might make a run for it. As a precaution against the possibility that Mica Beaudry might have his men watching the Fort Worth road, Will did not return to it. Instead, with no trail to follow, he set out from the creek on a heading to the northeast across the open plains, planning to swing wide of Fort Worth. Behin
d him, Ansel rode more comfortably now that he could hold on with his hands and not just his knees.
Not certain where he was exactly, Will was confident that he was heading in the right direction to eventually strike the main road that ran along the MKT Railroad, leading up through Sherman, Texas, into Oklahoma Indian Territory. As he held Buster to a working pace, he passed several trails, but none that seemed to head in the direction he was heading in. As the morning turned to noontime, and the afternoon began to turn toward evening, he started looking for a place to camp for the night. A couple of miles farther, he came upon a well-traveled road that looked to be headed in his direction. Still not certain, he was about to cross it when he saw a man driving a wagon approaching, so he pulled up and waited for him.
More than a little concerned, the man driving his wagon home from town was uneasy when he saw the two riders waiting for him, one of them with what looked like a bandage wrapped around his head. He reached behind the wagon seat and dragged his shotgun closer, thinking he might be about to face the danger of being robbed. Knowing he couldn’t outrun them, he continued on toward them. “How do?” he greeted them when he pulled up even with them.
“Howdy,” Will returned. “Where does this road go?”
“Goes to town,” the man replied. “Denton.” He turned and pointed back the way he had come. “I just came from there, spent all the money I had.”
Will almost smiled. “How far?” The farmer said it was two miles. Then thinking he should do the right thing for his prisoner, he asked, “Is there a doctor in Denton?”
“Sure is, Doc Slaughter, on the right as you ride into town.”
“Much obliged,” Will said, and turned Buster’s head toward town, leaving a relieved farmer to continue on home with his wagon to tell his wife about the strange man leading a handcuffed man with a bandage on his head.
* * *
“Boss!” Jim Brady called out, and signaled with a wave of his hand. When Mica and the others caught up with him, Brady pointed to some tracks on the other side of the Fort Worth road. “We don’t have to guess if he headed to Fort Worth or not. He went on across the road, followed the creek right on north.”
Dig Your Own Grave Page 24