The Dark Land

by Jory Sherman

  “Where’s he goin’?” Norm asked.

  “He don’t want to see no bloodshed here,” Thorne said.

  “Onliest blood’s goin’ to be shed here is your’n, if’n you don’t turn right around and foller him out of here.”

  Norm eased the rifle next to his leg.

  “Y’all get off my property,” Norm said. “Right now.”

  He pulled the rifle up with his right hand and was just grabbing it with his left to bring it to his shoulder when the three men kicked their horses in the flanks and drew pistols.

  Before Norm could touch the stock to his shoulder, all three men started shooting at him. He started to duck back into the barn, when a ball struck him in the left leg. He felt as if someone had driven a large nail into the bone. An intense pain suffused his leg and he felt paralyzed. He staggered as lead balls spanged the ground around him and ripped through the wood of the barn next to him.

  Norm spun around, shifting his weight to his good right leg. When he looked up, through eyes blurred with pain, he saw the three men galloping toward him. He saw flashes of orange and puffs of white smoke spewing from their pistols and then a series of hammer blows struck his belly, arm, and shoulder. Then, as he began to fall, a ball struck him full in the chest and he felt the air rush out of his lungs. There was no more pain for a brief moment as he fell backward, unable to draw another breath.

  From somewhere, just as a great darkness began to descend upon him, he thought he heard Cal calling out to him. Then he shivered in a final convulsion and fell into an eternity of blackness that erased all memory in a single instant.

  16

  * * *

  THE TRACKS THAT morning after the windstorm were easy to follow and Brad kept his men and the horses at a brisk pace. Besides, he now had a crude map in hand, and Randy knew the country. Even without the tracks, Brad knew where Thorne and his men were heading, and his stomach swirled with a queasy nervousness as he closed the distance. Thorne’s tracks kept getting fresher and fresher, but Brad knew they were far behind and, unless Thorne stopped often, or dallied, they were not likely to catch up with him for a good four hours or so. From reading the signs, Brad knew that Thorne was eating up the miles at an even faster pace, even with the pack horse in tow.

  The map, of course, did not give Brad any sense of the distance to either the Cooper or the Worth place, but Randy had told him they’d have a good ten miles to cover before they reached the Cooper farm. A good two hours’ ride in the Texas heat, Brad knew.

  As near as he could figure, Thorne and the others had left the abandoned adobe before dawn, when the dew was still sparkling on the earth. Now, the tracks had dried and they were crisp and sharp in the soft earth that was hardening by the minute.

  A little past midmorning, the whole picture changed.

  Brad reined up suddenly, catching Randy and the others by surprise. He turned his horse around and leaned over, studying the tracks. “Uh-oh,” he said.

  “What’s wrong, Major?” Randy asked, as the others rode up.

  “I almost missed it,” Brad said, pointing to the ground. Then he rode back the way they had come, studying the ground until he came to another halt. “Here,” he said. “The pack horse pulled out and headed south.”

  “So?” Randy asked.

  “And where you are, another rider dismounted while the others rode on. I’ll show you.” Brad rode back up to where he’d been.

  “I don’t see anything,” Randy said.

  “One horse stopped here. A man got off and then lay flat next to the road. See the faint impression where he lay? And look here. He put his head down there.”

  All of the others looked, and then shook their heads.

  “Thorne knows we’re following him,” Brad said.

  “How do you know?” Gid asked.

  “This one here put his ear to the ground. He could hear us. He waited until Thorne and two others rode far enough ahead. See, his tracks are fresher. He waited until it was quiet and then he listened. And he heard us.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then, he lit a shuck to catch up to the other two.”

  “What about the pack horse?” Lou asked.

  Brad sighed and tipped his hat back on his head, scratching at his temple. “I think Thorne had a hunch he was being followed and he sent the pack horse off to meet them somewhere south of where they’re going. And he doesn’t much care if we follow it. But he probably knows we won’t. Then he or one of his men got down here to confirm his suspicions. I expect Thorne will step up the pace some now.”

  “Well, so can we,” Lou said.

  Brad looked up at the sun, shading his eyes. “Whatever Thorne had planned to do up at Cooper’s or Worth’s, he’s already done,” he said. “And nothing we can do about it.”

  “It’s for sure, we can’t catch up to him before he gets to Cooper’s,” Randy said. “So, now what?”

  Brad shoved his hat back square. “Play it out, I reckon. See how fast he’s traveling up ahead and then talk to Cooper and Worth and get an idea of when Thorne and his bunch showed up.”

  “You sound like a damned Ranger,” Gid said.

  “Well, this is Ranger work,” Brad said. “Tracking, finding, apprehending.”

  “It’s that ‘apprehending’ that old Thorne’s goin’ to buck,” Gid said.

  “Sometimes,” Brad said, “you have to apprehend a culprit when he’s no longer breathing.”

  “Huh?” Gid scratched his nose.

  “He means dead, Gid,” Lou said.

  “I reckon that’s how you’re going to have to apprehend Thorne, then,” Gid said. “He don’t sound like the type who’s just goin’ to throw up his hands and say ‘hang me.’ ”

  “No, I reckon not,” Brad said, and wheeled his horse back on to the road. “Let’s go find out.”

  Wakefield pointed to a lone adobe on the outskirts of Del Rio. “Well, that’s where he is, Brad. Holed up in that adobe yonder. Do you want to go in and get him?”

  “What in hell are you talking about, Bob?”

  “I mean the man we’ve been huntin’, Leo Talley, has done run off the Mexicans what were livin’ there and he’s sittin’ at a table by the winder with all his pistols laid out on the table and his rifle in his hands, the snout of it just below the windersill. All he’s waitin’ for is to hear you call him out to surrender in the name of the law.”

  “I’ll be damned if he is, Wakefield.”

  “Well, did you see that curtain move? He’s there, all right. His tracks don’t go no farther.”

  “And Talley’s just going to walk out of there and give himself up?”

  “If you ask him real polite, he might.”

  “You’re full of the worst kind of shit, Bobby.”

  “Well, what are you goin’ to do then? You’re packin’ a star. You’re the law. And Talley’s a damned criminal.”

  They were sitting their horses a good hundred and fifty yards from the adobe, which sat on a little hill above the river. It looked deserted. There were no signs of life, just a few chickens in a pen, and they were nestled in dust bowls like quail, sleeping. There was no dog, no cat, no milk cow. Just a few flowers in pots out front.

  “How do you know his tracks stop there? And that Talley’s inside?”

  “I know he didn’t swim the river. See that little flick of a tail back of the adobe?”

  “No.”

  “Just keep lookin’.”

  “I see something moving. I don’t know if it’s a tail or not. A tail of what?”

  “That’s Talley’s flea-bitten, slat-ribbed horse tied up back there switchin’ at flies. He’s probably got him hobbled and snubbed.”

  “Could be, Bobby. The more I see it, the more it could be a horse’s tail all right. But it might not be Talley’s.”

  “I’ll bet he’s got him some Mexes tied up inside with socks stuffed in their mouths to keep ’em quiet.”

  “You’re guessing.”

&nb
sp; “Well, maybe. But I’ve tracked men and bear who won’t give up, even when they’re cornered. This Talley, he’s maybe killed five or six men or more, including at least one lawman over in Laredo, and he knows there’s a rope waitin’ in his regular collar size. He’s not goin’ to give up.”

  “So why do you want me to call him out?”

  “I was just joshin’ you, Brad. But there’s your man in there and I’ve got silver in my pocket that says he’s sittin’ at that winder just waitin’ for us to ride up on him.”

  “He’s wanted alive. To stand trial.”

  “Stubborn, ain’t you, Brad? Well, if you want him alive, you’re goin’ to have to ask him to surrender.”

  The horse’s rump backed away from the adobe. It was Talley’s horse all right. And that was its tail switching at the flies razing its backside on a summer afternoon.

  “We can wait him out, Bob.”

  “Yeah, we can do that. It would mean one of us’d have to go into town and bring grub out to the other. Come nightfall, unless we split up, one watchin’ the front, one watchin’ the back, he’ll sneak out and ride that horse across the Rio Grande and never be seen again in these parts.”

  “You’re packin’ a star, too, Bob. Why don’t you call him out? Tell him we won’t hurt him if he comes peaceable.”

  “Last man I called out come a runnin’ with both pistols blazin’. Liked to have parted my hair before I dropped him with a belly shot.”

  “Jesus, Bob.”

  “Well, I’m tellin’ you this, Talley is one bad hombre. He’s a-watchin’ us right now and if he’s any shot at all, he can drop us if we let our horses take one step more in his direction.”

  “So it’s a Mexican standoff. We wait him out. You in back, me in the front, or vice versa.”

  “It’s your call, Brad. But I’ve got a better idea.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You ’member them Apaches we tracked six months ago?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We shot their horses out from under them.”

  “Yeah, Bob, and then they hit the ground and disappeared.”

  “Slithered away like a bunch of lizards.”

  “In all directions. They plumb gave us the slip.”

  “Oh, we could have tracked them down. One by one. But they knew what they were doing. They became part of the land and if we’d gotten close to one, we never would have seen him until it was too late.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you told me, Bob. Which was why we didn’t go after them.”

  “I said you could be looking right at an Apache and never see him.”

  “Uh-huh. As long as they weren’t moving, they’d look like everything else, a bush, a plant, a rock.”

  “Well, we’re going to get Talley the same way. Sort of.”

  “I don’t follow you, Bobby. He’s in there. We know that. He can’t hide, but he can shoot us if we go in.”

  “Not if he can’t see us.”

  “You mean we’re going to crawl on our bellies down there? We’d still be moving. He’d see us.”

  “Not if he doesn’t know where to look. Now, here’s the way I see it, Brad. We’ll turn our horses and ride off. Just like we was givin’ up. Let Talley think we went back into Del Rio to get drunk or whip up a posse, or get help.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll get off my horse and crawl back here. Real slow. Inch by inch. Meantime, you ride a wide circle around to the back. You take your time, so I can crawl up there with my rifle and turn invisible.”

  “And?”

  “And you’ll leave your horse before you get the back of the adobe in sight. You crawl up on your belly to a spot within range of Talley’s horse. Then you shoot the horse and be real still. I figure he’ll either come out the front or run to the back to see what the shooting’s about. When he first sees that horse, his horse, his dead horse, that’s all he’ll see. Then I’ll either shoot him in the front of the adobe or you’ll shoot him when he comes out back to see about his poor old dead horse.”

  “Christ, Wakefield, that’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard in my whole life.”

  “If you have a better one,” Wakefield said, “let’s hear it.”

  “Your idea might work. If we kill Talley’s horse, he might surrender.”

  “He might.”

  “I am bound to apprehend him, Bob.”

  “I know.”

  “Alive.”

  “If you can, Brad.”

  “Apprehend. Not kill.”

  Wakefield shrugged.

  Two hours later, Talley’s horse lay dead in back of the adobe.

  “Talley, this is Captain Brad Chambers of the Texas Rangers. If you surrender to me, you will not be hurt.”

  Talley emerged from the adobe and started shooting with two pistols.

  Bob Wakefield had moved to another position, to the side of the adobe. He took careful aim with his rifle and shot Talley in the head. Talley dropped, dead before he hit the ground.

  “Bob, you could have shot him in the leg.”

  “Brad, that boy would have been trouble. He didn’t aim to leave that adobe alive.”

  “Well, shit, Bob.”

  “I know. He wanted to take one or both of us with him. He didn’t want to be apprehended, don’t you think?”

  “I guess not, Bob. Damn.”

  “Let’s go untie those poor Mexicans, Brad. Maybe you’ll feel better.”

  “Brad?”

  “Huh?”

  “You daydreamin’?” Randy asked.

  “No. I, uh, was just trying to get a rope on what Thorne might be thinking. He seems to be a very careful man.”

  “Yeah. Well, if we’re ever going to catch him, we’d better keep after him.”

  “You’re right. I’ll take the point, you take up the rear. Paco, you take the right flank, Gid, the left.”

  “Back to a military formation, eh, Major?” Lou asked. “Where do you want me?”

  “I want you to scout ahead of me, Lou.”

  “Why not Randy? He knows the country better’n I do.”

  “I want fresh eyes up there. If you’re not familiar with any of the terrain you’re not likely to be fooled.”

  “What am I looking for?” Lou asked.

  “That pack horse and the man who stayed behind to listen for us. Thorne may try to protect his rear. If you see anybody who doesn’t belong on this road, don’t get in a fight. Either fire off a round from your rifle or pistol, or come hell-for-leather back to me and report.”

  “Yes, sir, Major sir.”

  Brad didn’t reply to Lou’s sarcastic affirmation, but lifted his hand and dropped it to signal his men to get moving.

  They rode for two more hours. Brad read the signs that told him the man who had stayed behind to check on them had caught up to the others. He was now tracking just three men and they were not dawdling.

  Fifteen minutes later, Randy rode up from the rear.

  “Brad, Lou must have found the path that goes to the Cooper place. It’s right up yonder, close to the creek we passed a while back.”

  “Better go up and see if you can find Lou. Tell him to wait.”

  Randy did not reply, but galloped on ahead and disappeared from view. Brad called in Paco and Gid from the flanks. “We’ll stick together for a time,” Brad told them.

  “Where’d Randy go?” Gid asked.

  “We’re close to the Cooper place. He went ahead to find Lou.”

  A few minutes later, Brad saw the path Randy had told him about. He turned onto it, then stopped and looked closely at the ground. There was a veritable maze of tracks, hoofprints upon hoofprints, coming and going, each obliterating another. And there, atop those of the men they were chasing, were the tracks of Lou’s and Randy’s horses, each going only one way—down the wide path, through the thick woods.

  A second later, Brad stiffened when a single gunshot pierced the silence. It came from beyond the trees and Brad’s stomach ch
urned as the sound hung in the air like the lingering aftertones of a death knell.

  17

  * * *

  BRAD’S STOMACH TURNED when he saw the bodies of the man and the woman lying in the garden. Lou and Randy were afoot, standing next to the dead people. Lou had his rifle, the butt braced against his knee, and Brad knew it was he who had fired the shot that brought him, Paco, and Gid riding in at a gallop.

  “These are the Coopers,” Randy said, with a wave of his hand. “Or used to be.”

  Brad knew they were dead without asking. He dismounted and walked into the garden. Gid and Paco stayed on their horses, their faces drawn and pale.

  “They never had a chance,” Lou said, his voice tinged with a bitter edge.

  “They had a mule,” Randy said. “It’s gone. Tracks of it, though. And tracks of someone else who was here. I reckon after they were killed.”

  Brad looked at the faces of the dead people. He could not help thinking what the war had done to Texas and other places. As slaves, these two would have still been alive, but not free. As free people, they had given up their lives. It was all so sad, so utterly sad and unnecessary. These people had done nothing to anyone. They had not caused the Civil War, nor fought in it. They looked at peace now, but the blood on them attested to the violence of their deaths.

  “It’s not pretty,” Randy said.

  “No, it’s very ugly,” Brad said, and scuffed the heel of his boot across a furrow.

  “They were good people,” Randy said.

  Brad walked over and examined the ground around the bodies. Then he followed the small footprints until they left the garden. He saw the sign that told him more about what had happened.

  “Mule was brought here through those trees,” Brad said. “A small person, a girl, probably, led it here and then led it back. Where does that path go, Randy?”

  “Probably to the Worth place. It’s not far if you walk through those trees. The road leads to a crossroads and the right branch goes to the Worth place.”