Bad Blood: Lucius Dodge and the Redlands War (Lucius Dodge Westerns Book 2)

by J. Lee Butts

  The hours of waiting had been somewhere just this side of awful. But when I saw Ruby laid out, her pale face drained of so much life, a fury grew inside me the likes of which I'd never known. She didn't move when I touched her hand, and failed to respond to my most tender kiss.

  I sat with her all night. Next morning, she woke briefly. Just long enough to whisper, "I'm so tired," and drift back to the blackness of sleep. Thought she recognized me, but couldn't tell for certain.

  Hermione came in after the breakfast rush. Spelled me so I could get down to the jail for a bit of food and a nap. Boz and Rip sopped biscuits in milk gravy and barely cooked eggs when I pushed the door open. Both men stood, offered their regrets and concerns about what had happened. We ate in silence, until the door popped open and Bronson Stonehill stepped inside.

  Boz said, "Well, well, well. And to what do we owe the honor of an appearance by Iron Bluff's absentee marshal?"

  Stonehill removed his hat, and toed at the rough plank floor like a chastised kid. "Done got word as how Bull Tingwell went and shot a woman. Any man who'd stoop that low needs to swing, as far as I'm concerned."

  Rip dropped his fork, took a healthy swig of black coffee, swallowed, then said, "It's true enough. Bastard put two slugs in Miss Ruby Black. You can blubber around about concern all you want, but the question that needs an answer has to be, what's it to you?"

  Stonehill's face reddened. Fingers of his hand scratched at a spot above the grips of a well-oiled Colt's pistol. "Well, by God, I'm still the marshal hereabouts. Ain't nobody gonna shoot women in my town and get away with it as long as I'm still breathing."

  I said, "Seems I recall you telling me and Boz, right after we arrived, that you were Romulus Pitt's man. Ain't that true?"

  That made him even madder. "Don't mean a damned thing. If Pitt had done an equally gutless deed, I'd harbor nothing less than the same kind of anger."

  Boz shook his head. "Made you mad, huh? What the hell do you figure on doin' about it?"

  Stonehill shot back, "Snatch the woman-shootin' son of a bitch up, throw him in jail, wait to see if Miss Ruby recovers, and put him on trial for whatever we can. If she dies, we build a gallows in the town square and hang him."

  Boz snickered and snorted, "Well, by God, sounds easier'n gettin' stuck in East Texas mud."

  Stonehill shook his head like a man who'd grown weary of the conversation. "Catchin' Tingwell is a lot easier than you know, Ranger Tatum."

  Man got my attention. "How's that?" I asked.

  Iron Bluff's marshal smiled. "Because I know where he is every afternoon about four o'clock."

  His revelation got my attention. I said, "And where would that be, Marshal?"

  All of a sudden Stonehill had a captive audience, and liked the feel of it. "The Tingwells had several daughters when they arrived. One of 'em was a beautiful child. She didn't look, or act, like any of the rest of that bunch. Everyone around town commented as how that blond-haired beauty was gifted with the face of an angel. Unfortunately, she died of the putrid throat about six months after the Tingwells arrived."

  Think we all mumbled "Diphtheria" at the same time. Tragedy of such a prospect even had the power to elicit sympathy for scum like Tingwell. Nothing more heartrending than the knowledge of a child passing to the Maker from the effects of a grisly disease.

  Stonehill said, "Yeah. Name was Julia. She had three sisters. Every one of them uglier'n a mud fence and meaner'n hell-on-a-stick."

  "What does the child's death have to do with where Tingwell is every day?" I asked.

  Marshal swelled up with the pride derived from secret knowledge and said, "Well, between four and five this afternoon, I'd bet everything I own you can find him visiting the little girl's grave. Family buried her on a hill atop a bluff overlooking the Angelina. Most important of all, he's always insisted on making the visit alone."

  Boz scratched his chin. "Now that is some valuable information."

  Rip got an agitated look on his face and said, "Yeah, but hell, boys, that'd be pretty damned low, wouldn't it? Go out and snatch a man away from his grief at the grave of his dead daughter. Sweet Jesus! Sounds downright awful to me."

  Got my dander up. "Damnit it, Rip, I'd go right to Hell's doorstep and fight the devil himself to bring that old bastard in for what he did to Ruby. Just no excusing that or any of the other killings he's most likely responsible for since we arrived in town. I say we bum leather to the grave, jerk him up short, and drag his sorry ass back here."

  Boz stared directly into my eyes when he said, "Hardy ain't gonna like us takin' his father one bit. Bet the murderous snake will be outside our door in a heartbeat, with blood in his eyes and smoke pourin' out of his pistols, 'fore we can get our breath back from the ride."

  I said, "Don't give a bucket of cold spit what that pea-brained idiot likes or don't like. Time has come for the Tingwell bunch to pay for some of their crimes against this community—up to and including what Bull did to Ruby." I tried not to leave Boz much room to crawfish on the question.

  He stood, rearranged all his belts and weapons. Cinched his hat down tight, turned to Stonehill, and said, "Lead the way, Marshal."

  Rip jumped out of his chair, grimaced a bit when he stretched some of his stitches, and shouted, "Damned right. Let's fetch him back and lock him in the cell farthest from the door."

  Boz placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and said, "Stonehill can show me and Lucius where to find him, Rip. You're still in no real shape to be ridin', and you know it." Thorn started to protest, but gave up with a sigh of resignation and flopped back into his chair.

  Ten minutes later me, Boz, and Stonehill were kicking hard for a spot on the Angelina. I came to the sobering realization, after we got out of town, that our questionable guide could well be leading us into a trap. But I didn't care. Righteous truth of the matter flared up and slapped any arguments against the raid to the back of an agitated mind. Only thing I could think about involved the pleasure of seeing the look on Bull Tingwell's face when I threw his sorry woman-shooting ass in a jail cell and turned the key. Could hear the lock snap into place over the pounding of our horse's thundering hooves.

  14

  "I'LL HANG YOU AND ROMULUS MYSELF"

  STONE HILL LED US off the road about midway between Iron Bluff and Tingwell's ranch. We followed him down a wide trail through heavy stands of cedar and pine that quickly turned to cottonwood and blackjack oak the closer we got to the river. About a mile into the trees, we started on a steady, but easy, climb that kept moving upward for most of a half hour.

  The heavy growth of trees eventually petered out. Our guide reined us up at the edge of a grassy field and pointed to the hill's crest. At the peak a splendid oak, shaped in the image of a giant mushroom, spread enormous limbs over an open area of shaded cool for any visitor willing to stop and visit. Through binoculars, we could see the old man seated on a piece of granite that rested at the head of an iron fence.

  Stonehill said, "Bull had that chunk of rock shipped here all the way from somewhere in Arkansas."

  "Arkansas?" Boz mumbled.

  "Yep. Folks up there, around Petit Jean Mountain, chiseled it out in the shape of a chair. He had it placed at the head of Julia's grave, then built that fence around the whole shebang. Comes up every afternoon and brings fresh-cut flowers."

  "That's it? Just brings flowers?" I asked.

  "No, flowers are simply the beginning. He sits in his cold hard chair and weeps like a baby for hours. Don't know 'bout you boys, but I ain't never seen anything to match it."

  "Grief for a departed youngster can have strange effects on people," Boz said. "I've seen folks mourn themselves into a grave, right beside their dead children. Sad, really sad."

  Pulled one of my pistols and checked the loads. Cocked it and said, "Well, I suppose if we stood here for another year or two, Bull just might grieve himself to death sitting on his granite throne. But he's got the attempted murder of Ruby Black to answer for, I
figure. Along with a good many other crimes we don't now have witnesses for. Let's go gather him up. Drag his sorry self to jail."

  Boz said, "You'll notice my young friend has turned into a hard case over the years, Marshal Stonehill. Not much for flowery words when it comes to criminals."

  Stonehill nodded, then pointed to a faint footpath leading to Julia Tingwell's elaborate tomb. He said, "Bull won't see us till we're right on top of him if we go this way."

  "Looks fine to me," Boz said as he breeched his shotgun, dropped shells into both chambers, and snapped it shut again. We'd been thinking along the same lines, because he added, "You go ahead, Marshal. Lucius and I'll follow. Be aware, if this has even a sniff of turning into an ambush, I can personally gar-un-damn-tee you'll be the first to die."

  Stonehill didn't look surprised in the least when he said, "Don't harbor much faith in your fellowman, do you, Tatum?"

  I said, "You misunderstand, Marshal. Boz and me have the greatest of trust in our fellowmen. But when it comes to those who've worked in the service of belligerents that have already made efforts to kill us, we tend to get a little jumpy in a pinch."

  Stonehill threw a disgusted glance at each of us, grunted, then tied his animal to a scruffy bush and headed up the hill. We followed, and stayed as close on his heels as the trail allowed.

  Bull couldn't have picked a more beautiful spot. Patches of yellow, red, purple, and blue wildflowers covered young Julia's final resting place, and appeared to flourish in spite of the blistering heat.

  The footpath Stonehill led us up came out behind Tingwell's massive granite chair. We slipped up on him. The man never even moved. Boz whispered, "Hell, I think he's asleep."

  An open Bible lay across the old bastard's lap, and he'd slumped to one side like a sleeping baby. Hell, his guiltless repose, at the grave of a dead daughter, was enough to bring tears to my sainted white-haired grandmother's ancient eyes, but not mine.

  I crept up on his right side and, gently, lifted his pistol from its holster. He stirred, then snapped awake like a branded bobcat. As he bounded to unsteady feet and made a grab for his missing weapon, the Bible fell and landed against the iron fence surrounding the grave.

  "What the hell's goin' on?" he yelled. "You badge-totin' skunks got no right to be here. This is consecrated ground, you sons of bitches. No one's allowed on my baby's sacred gravesite but me or members of my family."

  Boz sounded almost regretful when he said, "Sorry to interrupt your spiritual contemplations of the Great Beyond, Mr. Tingwell. Under normal circumstances, I would never think of committing such an inconsiderate act. But you shot Ruby Black, right in front of Hermione Black-stock's café, and we're here to arrest you for that act of reckless violence."

  Bull didn't bother to deny Boz's accusation. Sounded almost proud when he said, "Hell, I told that evil bitch I'd kill her first chance I got. Fair warning is fair warning, far as I'm concerned. She shoulda been carrying the rifle she kilt my son with. Least she'd of had a chance when I started shootin'."

  Surprised the hell out of him when I said, "Well, you came close to murder, Mr. Tingwell. Unfortunately, your aim must have failed you. Kind of thing tends to happen when a man gets your age."

  "What the hell do you mean by my aim failed me?"

  "You didn't kill her, Bull. She's still alive. Gonna testify at your trial. Way things look right now, you'll soon have the pleasure of getting to know fellers like Cock-Eyed Bob Matoose real well when the law sends you down to Huntsville for about thirty years. Way I hear the story told, Bob likes to dance and needs a new partner."

  Our defanged mountain lion shook with rage. "Just be damned if I'll ever see one day in prison. You lock me in a cell and I can promise you bastards my only living son, Hardy, along with Hatch, Longstreet, and Icy Winters, will kill all three of you before sunrise the next day."

  Boz grabbed the old man by his collar, pulled him up to where their noses almost touched, and growled, "That could well happen. Knowing you for the woman-shooting skunk you are, we fully expect your whole murderous clan to be in town before nightfall. But I'm giving instructions to my partner, right here and right damned now, if any of us Rangers manages to get accidentally, or deliberately, shot, whichever of us is remaining should hang you immediately."

  The old man's face went purple. "You wouldn't dare such a thing," he roared.

  "Try me, Tingwell. I've suffered about as much of this fussin', feudin', and fightin' between your bunch and the Pitts as I'm willing to put up with. If necessary, I'll hang you and Romulus myself in order to bring the whole mess to a suitable ending."

  Boz wasn't quite finished. He shoved Tingwell away and shook his finger in the man's face, then said, "Never think for a second I don't have the power, or the will, for such an act."

  After a few seconds of silence, he brought the entire argument to an end when he turned to Stonehill and me. "Put this old goat on his horse. Let's get the hell out of here before some of his family comes lookin' for him."

  Tingwell still didn't go easy. Fought us every step of the way. We scrapped around with him till I grew weary of it. 'Bout the time it looked like Boz might take his rifle barrel to the old man's head, me and Stonehill latched onto Bull and dragged him to his horse.

  Eventually, we had to bind his hands. He still jumped off his horse twice, and fell off once. Tied him to his animal before we were finally able to get started on our way back to town. Boz mumbled something about throwing a loop over Tingwell's neck and dragging him back to town. Think he could well have done it, but for having me and Stonehill along.

  Our small posse's arrival in Iron Bluff caused quite a stir. Swarm of locals gathered in front of the jail. Sun was on its way down, but the blistering heat had every member of the delegation mopping their sweaty brows. Dust and horseflies billowed around us as we reined up.

  Dragged Bull off his horse, and hustled him into the jail quick as we could. Goodly bit of quarrelsome behavior erupted from the crowd when they recognized him. A few yelled curses at the man. Most stood silently and looked uneasy. Got the impression no real enthusiasm existed for what we'd done. Hell, I didn't care whether they liked it or not.

  We'd barely slammed the cell door on our newest prisoner when a group of the town's leading citizens pushed their way into Stonehill's office. Weekly Sentinel's editor led the delegation and did most of the talking.

  Cloud Quigley said, "Ranger Tatum, think you know Horace Breedlove, Andy Nash, and these others. We've been talking it over, and would like to know your intentions concerning Mr. Tingwell."

  Boz let a steady gaze sweep over the group as he said, "I intend to hold Mr. Tingwell until we can get Judge Stanley Cooper over from Shelbyville for a trial. If justice can be served, I personally have little doubt Bull will be found guilty of attempted murder, at the very least. Course that will depend on whether or not Ruby Black dies. I expect, if she manages to stay alive, he'll be sent to prison for a spell—most likely the rest of his wretched life. Should the girl pass on, I'll personally take no end of pleasure in seeing him hang."

  A palpable sense of uneasiness swept over Iron Bluff's leading citizens. Quigley gritted his teeth. "You must understand, sir, we've talked this over and are very concerned about the actions you gentlemen have taken."

  Banker Ezra Crowe stepped out of the assembly. He waved a shaking hand at the group of friends as if to include them in his comments. "While everyone here supports your feelings on this matter, we have a sense that you men might not recognize the threat your actions bring to our doorstep, Rangers. You know, as well as we do, that Tingwell employs the most lethal gang of gunmen in the state. They could well turn whatever ire his incarceration brings on us."

  Their stunning pronouncements surprised the hell out of me. Never, for one minute, did I figure on such a response when we set out to bring our prisoner in for Ruby's shooting. I'm certain their words had the same effect on Boz and Rip. Not sure about Stonehill. He remained something of a mystery
—a man to be carefully watched in spite of his recent change of heart. Extremely hard for me to believe, but the townsfolk of Iron Bluff appeared bent on backing away from whatever support they may have harbored for us upon our arrival.

  Jerked every head my direction when I snapped, "I don't want to hear this load of cow-fritters."

  Rip said, "Calm down, Lucius."

  "Damned if I will. Bull Tingwell shot a woman outside the door of one of Iron Bluff's leading businesses. If you people think, for a second, we're gonna let this four-tailed skunk go, you'd best think two or three more times."

  Boz said, "Lucius is right. Bull is staying in a nice comfortable cell until Judge Cooper can make it over from Shelbyville."

  I respected Ezra Crowe. Safe to say I even liked the man—given what little I knew of him. But when he said, "Your actions could well get some of us killed, Ranger," I damn near puked my socks up.

  Something inside me snapped like a rotten cottonwood limb. I took a step toward Iron Bluff's delegation of spineless wonders and snapped, "Get out of here—right now. I'll not suffer such foolishness. Tingwell stays. That's the end of it."

  Boz stepped between me and Crowe. He placed a quieting hand on my shoulder, then turned to face the antsy group of Iron Bluff citizens. "Best take it on out of here, folks. Get my young friend here stirred up, and I can't be responsible for what might happen."

  Whole spineless bunch hustled out. They all acted like their feet had caught fire. But, as it turned out, the self-appointed group's hasty departure didn't end our day of troubles and woe. Hell, no, not by a damned sight. Jail door had barely snapped shut when the rumble from a sizable number of horses passed in the street out front, and stopped next door at the Fin and Feather.