by J. Lee Butts
Boz threw me a knowing glance and nodded. "It will be as you request, Miss Ruby," I said.
She stood and rubbed her hands together as though pleased. "Good. Ranger Dodge, I've been inside now for much too long and would fancy a nice walk to settle my meal. Would you be willing to accompany me on a brief sashay around town?"
Boz smiled and bowed his head. "You two go right ahead. I'll stay here and keep an eye on things. But be watchful, Lucius. Don't trust them Tingwells any further than I can throw my horse—especially one as woman-hungry as Morgan."
She took my arm once we got outside. Her lilac perfume crept up my arm, assaulted the edges of my nose, and turned my head so I could get a better look at her in the flickering streetlight. My God, don't think I'd ever seen anything more beautiful. Seemed to me as though she'd been reborn. The smile on her face, as we strolled past the Fin and Feather, barbershop, bank, wagon yard, and tailor shop, grew with each step.
At the end of the street she pulled me to the other side and toward the town's empty church. She said, "I'd like to pay a visit, if you don't mind, Ranger Dodge."
"Of course, Miss Black, but I doubt the preacher is available this late. Probably at home having supper by now."
"Doesn't matter. My needs involve a talk with God. A preacher would simply prove an unwanted distraction. You may watch from the back pew," she said as we pushed the door open.
It took a few moments for our eyes to adjust to the deeper darkness. "Would you like me to light a lamp?"
"No. Prayers work just as well in the dark. Besides, I'm not entirely sure I want God to see my face while we talk tonight. Do you understand, Ranger Dodge?"
"Please call me Lucius, Miss Black. Don't think anyone would mind while we're in church."
"Only if you can promise to stop calling me Miss, One Thing or Another. Can you do that?"
"Yes, Ruby, pretty sure I can."
She left me at the door and strode directly to the rough altar below the minister's raised podium. A wooden cross, all of three feet high, decorated the stand. She knelt before that crooked tree, placed one hand on it, and covered her face with the other. I couldn't hear what Ruby said to God that night. Her whispered prayers and tearful beseeching made their way to me as little more than garbled, but sincere, words from a soul relieved of great distress.
She went at her devotions so long, I finally took a seat. But my rump had barely hit the pew when she hurried back to the door and was ready to leave. On the street, I could detect tears in the corners of her eyes and offered my kerchief.
She dabbed at the dampness, held tighter to my arm, and said, "I'm just so thankful to be away from those horrid people. Honestly, I thought you'd never come, Lucius. But the day the Tingwells made me watch from their house and threatened to kill you, I knew things were about to change dramatically. There you were—the answer to all my most heartfelt prayers. Loaded down with pistols and decorated in twinkling silver. I knew, when you rode up on your big blue horse, things would get better fast. How could they not? I've never known a man who sparkled like that and rode a blue horse."
"He's a blue roan, Ruby."
"A mere detail, Lucius, a mere detail. The only thing that could have made your arrival any better would have been if you had shown up riding a white horse and wearing a suit of armor." She tightened her grip on my arm. First time in my life I felt like a hero, and a girl I barely knew did it.
We strolled along the boardwalk on the west side of town past the doctor's office and pharmacy, telegraph, hardware emporium and mercantile, hotel, the Matador Saloon, and Hermione's café. I'd started us back across the street to the jail, but she stopped me in the darkened alleyway between the café and a laundry run by a Chinese family. Twirled me around on my heel and kissed me so hard my spurs went to spinning so fast I thought I'd fly. And you know, there for two or three seconds no one living could've made me believe that stunningly beautiful girl and me didn't fly some.
She broke the kiss, skittered away to the jail door, and disappeared inside. Left me standing in the dark, shaking like a windblown leaf during a Texas twister. I couldn't help but smile. Thought to myself, Lucius, that red-haired gal just made you love her more than anything living—and all she used was one kiss.
Next morning, I still floated on a cloud of unbridled need when she came to breakfast and made my situation even worse by simply smiling at me again. Those feelings didn't last long, though. Only got to enjoy them for about five minutes. That's when Quincy Beakins knocked on the door and ruined my whole day.
Boz yelled, "Come on in."
Door opened wide enough for a man's hatless head to appear. "I'm lookin' for Marshal Stonehill."
"He's out of town at the moment." I said. "Don't know when he'll return. Could we help you?"
"Are you fellers lawmen?"
"Texas Rangers," Boz said. "Good enough for you?"
"I reckon you'll have to do." With some obvious hesitation, our visitor made his way inside and carefully closed the door. He held a badly abused gray felt hat in both hands, twisted it back and forth between rough, gnarled fingers. Dressed in a leather vest, cotton shirt, heavy canvas pants, and well-used boots, he gave the appearance of a man who most likely worked a small cattle operation.
"Name's Quincy Beakins. Run some cows 'bout a mile north of town over near the Angelina. Went out looking for strays early this morning. Found some fellers hanging in a tree. Think maybe somebody done went and lynched 'em."
Boz and I pushed away from the table and jumped for our weapons. As we got ourselves armed, my partner said, "How many fellers, Mr. Beakins?"
"Two. Local cowboys, I believe. Think I recognized one of 'em. My pissant operation borders the Tingwell place, and the one poor brush-popper looked a lot like a Tingwell rider named Ford Fargo. Course identification proved a mite hard, bein' as how his face was all swolled up and discolorated like it was."
"You search either man?" I asked.
"Hell, no. Ain't nobody gonna catch me goin' through the pockets of no corpses."
Beakins and Boz headed for the door. Boz said, "I'll saddle the horses, Lucius. You make sure Ruby's situated before we leave."
I'd barely got turned around good when she fell on my chest like Beakins had announced the end of the world. She held me tight and said, "I know you have to go. Please be careful. The Tingwells are far more dangerous than they appear. Should anything happen to you, I'm not sure I could bear it."
Tilted her chin up with my finger, gently kissed her, and said, "Don't worry, Ruby. I'll be fine." Pushed myself away and went to the gun rack. "I've loaded the shotgun, two of the rifles, and a pistol. Keep the door locked. Don't let anyone in. Hermione brings our meals, and will leave them outside if she knocks and no one answers. Should Morgan Tingwell show his ugly face, shoot through the door. We'll be back as soon as possible. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Lucius. Don't worry. I can take care of myself now."
As I headed for the door, she grabbed my hand, pulled it to her face, and kissed my palm. Made me weak in the knees and fanned a desire to stay with her rather than leave. But I had to go.
I waited outside till she'd forced the bolt on the door. Boz had the horses ready. Jumped into my saddle, and we followed Quincy. He led us out the same road we'd taken to the Tingwell ranch, but turned onto a barely detectable cow path little over a mile outside town.
Couldn't have taken more than half an hour to find those poor bastards. Beakins led us through the dense woods and into a clearing right at the edge of the river. He reined up, then pointed to a spot less than a hundred yards farther up. To say the site was shocking doesn't come close to a description of what we saw. There's just something about finding a dead man that can make your skin crawl. Can't imagine the impact on Beakins when he came on two of them all alone.
Hazy sunlight cut through a mixed stand of blackjack oak, hickory, pine, and cottonwoods. Stringy clouds raced overhead against a sky of such bright liquid blue it hurt to l
ook at it.
At the edge of that bare opening in the woodlands, a single cottonwood that must have stood there thirty or forty years split about ten feet from the base and formed two enormous trunks. The closest limbs to the ground were as big around as my arm, extended over a patch of deep green grass, and sported a pair of horrific decorations.
"There they be, Rangers. Fargo's the one hanging from the limb on the left. Cain't say who t'other one was. All the same to you boys, I'll leave you here and get on back to my family. My wife's scared slap to death over all this. Besides, I ain't got no desire to look on them poor dead waddies again, lest you insist."
Boz spurred his horse and didn't look back as he called over his shoulder, "You go to your family, Mr. Beakins. We'll take care of 'em."
First time I'd ever seen anyone lynched was that day on the banks of the Angelina. I'd been to a few legal hangings, but never one done by amateurs. Some major differences existed between the two brands of execution. Court-ordered hangings tended to be done by men who made their living at it. The condemned usually died quickly of a broken neck. Not so with the vigilante brand of oak tree justice. The old saw about "havin' your neck stretched" proved an absolute truism in such killings.
With a goodly measure of trepidation, Boz and me rode over to the ghastly sight. Immediately understood why Beakins didn't want to stick around for another viewing. Poor cow-chaser he called Ford Fargo looked like his head was a foot from his body and twisted sharply over onto one shoulder. A black tongue, the size of my hand, lolled out the side of his mouth. Blank eyes stared into space. An appearance of pained torment was etched in deep lines across his contorted visage. Worst of all, the cottonwood limb the dead man swung from had drooped so much his toes touched the ground, and he almost appeared to be standing.
Boz's chin dropped to his chest. When he finally looked up again he said, "God Almighty, what a horrible way to go out of this life. Ain't no one deserves to choke to death tiptoeing at the end of a rope."
I spurred Grizz up closer to the second corpse. Unknown buckaroo seemed to have had a better time of it than his friend. His rope had been dropped over a stouter limb and, on the surface of it at least, dead man looked as though he'd gone out pretty quick. But the sombrero-sized pool of blood at his feet belied that conclusion.
Once we got him down, Boz pulled the dead man's shirt back and said, "Whoever strung him up couldn't wait around for this feller to die. They shot the hell out of him. Eight holes in his chest."
I said, "Well, guess you hit the nail on the head this time, Boz. You said the Pitts would have their revenge where no witness could see what happened. Be willing to bet Nick Fox and Alvin Clements caught these poor goobers out here alone and strung 'em up. Hell, I'd be prepared to place an even bigger bet Clements rode straight from his jail cell, found some help, and lynched these poor boys within an hour of us releasing him."
"Could be, Lucius, but we'll never know for sure, unless someone comes forward and admits to the deed."
We'd got ourselves in such a rush, neither of us thought to bring pack animals. Had to throw them poor deceased leather-pounders over the backs of our own horses and walk them into town. Found Iron Bluff's undertaker, man named Tyrone Pinkus, and dropped them off with him.
Pinkus said, "I'll do what I can to make 'em a bit more presentable. Not sure there's much help for this 'un with the stretched neck. Get 'em in the ground soon as possible. Tomorrow afternoon, if I can find me a grave digger. Don't suppose it's gonna matter much how they look anyway. Be surprised if anyone turns up for the interment."
Well, Pinkus missed the mark on his assessment of the situation. Next day around two o'clock, when those poor dead boys went in the ground, the entire Tingwell crew stormed into town and set up shop in the Matador. Don't know to this minute exactly how they found out about the funeral, but news of two murders does travel fast in small towns.
Tingwell's boys were madder than hell, and less than an hour after they arrived, drunk enough to cause trouble. Every one of them made it to the church service, and later to the graveyard. Think damn near all those men came away from the ceremony red-eyed and ready to kill somebody else.
Boz and I watched from our chairs, in front of the jail, as the whole gang raged back from the cemetery. They yelled, and cussed, everyone in sight. Tried to pick fights with some of the townspeople. Generally made jackasses out of themselves.
Boz said, "Let 'em drink, yell, and holler. Long as they don't do anything more, I'm willing to look the other way."
Seemed a fine idea to me, leastways until Romulus Pitt and his crowd rode into town and headed for the Fin and Feather. Personally couldn't think of another way the arrogant son of a bitch might have been more provocative than storming into town leading the pack of killers who were most likely responsible for the Tingwell band's grief.
Soon as Pitt thundered past us, tied up, and stomped into his private cow-country oasis, Boz moaned and then said, "God Almighty. We've got real trouble now." He stood, rearranged his pistol belt, and grabbed the shotgun. "Get ready, Lucius. Looks to me like this is gonna be a bad day in Iron Bluff. If we ain't ankle deep in blood before mornin', I'll be shocked and amazed."
But a funny thing happened that afternoon. For all the yelling, mean-mouthing, and colorful language thrown back and forth, from either side of the street, nothing happened. Leastways, not until Boz and me had begun to breathe a bit easier and fool ourselves into thinking that maybe we'd managed to get luckier than the gambler who drew six pat hands in a row.
Hell, Ruby had just stepped outside, with a pail of cool water and a dipper for us, when we heard the shots. Came from down on the end of the street near the church.
I turned to Ruby and said, "Get inside and bar the door. Don't come out till I get back. Think the serious killing Boz talked about might well have started."
10
"WON'T BE NOTHIN' LEFT
OF YOUR HEAD BUT THE STALK
OF BONE IT SITS ON"
RUBY DISAPPEARED LIKE a beautiful magician's assistant, there one second covered with a giant silk scarf, then gone the next. Boz hit the street running before echoes from the first two or three blasts had stopped ricocheting down the street. I couldn't have been more than ten steps behind him, but couldn't catch up.
Heavy wall of gunfire came from behind a fence that ran along the street between Iron Bluff's Baptist church and the Ransom brothers' stable and smith operation. The blood-soaked bodies of two men were sprawled in the middle of the street. One of them had a dead sorrel partially atop him. The other feller's animal must have been hit too. It flew past me slinging black blood from its nose. Poor beast screamed in pain like one of hell's most tormented souls. Made the hair on back of my neck stand. Got an odd prickly sensation up and down my spine. Whining bullets still peppered both men, even though it was obvious one feller appeared totally dead and the other was on the way.
I saw Boz drop to his knees behind the lifeless hay burner and send both barrels of buckshot at the fence. Dirt and wood splinters flew in every direction like drunken flies feeding on a bloated carcass. One of the shooters hidden behind the fence yelped like a kicked dog. A cloud of flying dust, gun smoke, blood, and death still hung in the heavy air.
My partner dropped the shotgun, pulled both pistols, and pumped hot lead into the spot he'd just peppered. I dropped beside him, and levered shells through the Winchester as fast as I could pump them out. Some poor clueless folks, who'd been in the church for an evening service, poured out the front door and went to running, yelling, and screaming. Distraction caused me to look back toward the jail. Boardwalks in front of both saloons teemed with drunken cowboys and gunfighters.
"Jesus, Boz. Looks like Tingwell and Pitt are about to open the ball on an all-out war," I yelled.
He stopped pitching lead long enough for us to hear horses gallop away from a spot behind the church. I followed Boz when he headed for the fence. Jumped over and made it around the corner in time to se
e two men kicking hard in the direction of the Angelina. We ripped off a few more shots. Didn't appear to have done any useful damage.
Boz ejected all his empties and reloaded as we ran back to the street to retrieve his shotgun. Once we got ourselves fully primed and charged again, he said, "Damn. This looks bad. Tell you what, Lucius, we'll come back to these poor boys later. Ain't nothin' much we can do for 'em now anyways. Best see to those left alive before they do anything stupid."
"Sounds like a good plan to me, Boz."
"Gonna be a shade touchy. Watch my back. I'll do the talkin'. Shoot the hell out of any man who makes a move for his pistol, son."
Pitt, Fox, and Clements led a boiling mob that was moving our direction. Drunken rabble was almost nose to nose with Tingwell, Hatch, and Casper Longstreet. I heard Boz mumble, "Jesus, them bushwhackin' bastards lit the fuse for damned sure. We've gotta snuff this out right now, Lucius."
By the time we got to the heavily armed swarm of men, they'd managed to argue their way to a spot in the middle of the street between the hardware store, on one side of the dusty thoroughfare, and the barbershop, on the other.
About the moment we ran up, I saw Pitt shake a knotted finger in Bull Tingwell's face and scream, "You sent them to kill my men, you half-witted, sheep-loving, tater-digging son of a bitch, but it didn't work did it?"
Tingwell didn't even flinch. Fox and Clements had death in their eyes. John Roman Hatch looked calmer than water in a horse trough during a drought, and Longstreet's pallor had gone from death to something like been-in-the-ground-for-a-week. Before I could spit, Pitt's sons ran into the street behind their father. Fact is, everyone showed up, except Morgan Tingwell. Thought it odd he didn't put in an appearance.
Boz pulled a trick so bold I still get chill bumps just thinking about it. The various potential combatants were so consumed in their individual anger, and hatred, none of them even noticed us, till we'd walked right up in the middle of the situation. Boz slipped the muzzle of his coach gun under Romulus Pitt's chin with one hand, then pulled a pistol with the other and pointed it at Bull Tingwell's crotch. Didn't take much guidance to give me the hint. I strolled over, pressed my rifle barrel to Tingwell's temple, and waited. God Almighty, but everything got quieter than a tree full of owls.