Texas Gundown

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “Are you trying to be enigmatic?”

  Matt smiled. “Nope. Just don’t want to look like too big a fool if I’m wrong . . . and don’t go sayin’ that it’s already too late for that.”

  With a casual wave, Matt started down the street toward the marshal’s office. He moved at a leisurely stroll that concealed the tension he felt.

  Earlier in the evening, he and Sam had seen Seymour and Maggie O’Ryan walk over to the café to have supper together. Then later, the two of them had returned, arm in arm, to Seymour’s office. Knowing Seymour, Matt didn’t figure he would be interrupting anything too improper, but when he reached the marshal’s office he knocked on the door anyway before entering.

  Seymour and Maggie were on opposite sides of the room by the time Matt got inside. Seymour stood at the desk while Maggie was over by the gun rack, pretending to admire the Winchesters and shotguns arranged there. But both of them were a little flushed and breathless, so Matt figured there’d been some sparking going on a moment earlier, until he knocked.

  “Oh, hello, Matt,” Seymour said. “I was about to, uh, escort Miss O’Ryan home and then get started on my evening rounds. Perhaps you’d like to accompany me?”

  “No, thanks, Seymour. I need to look through those wanted posters again.”

  Seymour frowned. “The ones we were looking at this morning?” He reached for one of the desk drawers. “Of course. I have them right here. Is something wrong?”

  Matt glanced at Maggie and said, “No, nothing’s wrong. I just, uh, like to look at wanted posters.”

  Maggie put her hands on her hips and gave a sigh of exasperation. “Oh, please,” she said. “That lie wouldn’t fool one of my students. I know something’s going on.

  Seymour, you’ve been as nervous as a cat this evening.”

  “But that’s the way I normally am,” he suggested.

  Maggie shook her head. “When you first came to Sweet Apple, yes. But not now, Seymour. You’ve changed, probably even more than you realize yourself.” She looked back and forth between Seymour and Matt. “There’s going to be some sort of trouble, isn’t there?”

  Seymour stammered a little and looked to Matt for help. Matt shrugged and said, “You’re her beau, Seymour. It’s up to you how much you want to tell her.”

  “I . . . I’m what?”

  “My beau,” Maggie said. “And I’m not the least bit embarrassed to say that.”

  The blush on her face indicated that might not be completely true, but the stub- born look in her eyes and the defiant tilt of her chin told Matt that Miss Maggie O’Ryan had taken a step from which she would not be turning back. She went on. “I’m actually a little offended that you don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s going on, Seymour.”

  “That’s not it!” he said. “That’s not it at all. I just thought it best not to worry you if there was no need—”

  “If you’re worried, then I need to be worried, too.”

  Seymour couldn’t argue with logic like that. Leastways, he wouldn’t if he had any sense, Matt thought. But Seymour’s love life was the least of his concerns right now. “I still need to take a look at those reward dodgers,” he reminded Seymour.

  The marshal said, “Oh, yes,” and opened the drawer to take out the stack of pa- pers. He handed them to Matt, who spread them out on the desk and pawed through them until he found the one he was looking for.

  Matt separated out the wanted poster and slapped it down on the desk by itself.

  “That’s him,” he said. “It’s a good likeness.”

  Seymour looked at the paper and read aloud, “Jacob Pine. You saw him, Matt?”

  “Riding down the street bold as brass, no more than five minutes ago.”

  Maggie asked, “Who’s Jacob Pine?”

  “He’s an outlaw,” Seymour explained. “He works for a man named Deuce Mallory.” Seymour turned back to Matt. His face showed the strain of the thoughts that were going through his mind. “That means . . .”

  Matt nodded. “Mallory must’ve sent him into town to have a look around and make sure nobody suspects anything. They could be plannin’ the raid for later on tonight.”

  Maggie gulped and said, “Raid?”

  Seymour went to her and drew her into his arms, clearly no longer caring that Matt was there. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “You’ll be safe. I’ll see to that.”

  Maggie pushed back a step. “I’m not worried about myself. I have students here in Sweet Apple. If they’re in danger, Seymour, you’d better tell me.”

  Seymour looked around. “Matt . . . ?”

  “Go ahead and tell her,” Matt said with a nod. “But you’ve got to keep this to yourself, Miss O’Ryan, at least until we find out for sure what’s going on.”

  “How are we going to do that?” Seymour asked.

  Matt’s voice was grim as he replied, “Sam and I are gonna have a little palaver with Jacob Pine.”

  Chapter 28

  “He’s still in the saloon,” Sam said when Matt returned to the hotel porch a few minutes later. “Now are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

  Matt nodded. Quietly, he explained, “When the fella rode past a while ago, I thought he looked familiar. I checked those wanted posters Seymour has of Mallory and his gang, and sure enough, that hombre was one of them. Name of Jacob Pine. One of Mallory’s right-hand men.”

  Sam stiffened just as Matt had when he recognized Pine. “That means . . .”

  “Mallory sent Pine in to scout out the place,” Matt agreed, knowing that was what Sam was thinking. “The raid has to be soon.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I thought we’d get out hands on Pine and have a talk with him, try to find out exactly what Mallory is plannin’ to do . . . and when.”

  Sam stood up. “I remember reading about Pine on that wanted poster. He’s a vicious killer like the rest of the gang. What makes you think he’ll tell us anything?”

  A grim smile touched Matt’s wide mouth. “Why, I got a crazy redskin who likes to torture white-eyes that I’ll turn loose on him if he doesn’t talk.”

  Sam shook his head. “My professors would be so disappointed in me.”

  “Come on. We’ll wait until he comes out of the Black Bull and then grab him.”

  They angled across the street toward the saloon and took up positions in the mouth of the alley beside the Black Bull. Time dragged, but both Matt and Sam had the patience to wait in situations like this. After a while, the man they were looking for came out of the saloon and walked over to the hitch rack where his horse was tied. By the time Jacob Pine reached the animal, Matt and Sam were ambling past as if they had no interest in him.

  When the blood brothers struck, it was swift and unexpected. Matt clamped an arm around Pine’s neck from behind and dragged him away from the horse. With his other hand he jerked the gun from the holster on Pine’s hip. At the same time Sam put a hand over Pine’s mouth to stifle any outcry that might escape despite Matt’s chokehold on the outlaw’s throat. Sam held up his bowie knife with his other hand and let Pine see it. Pine got a good look at it since the tip of the deadly blade was only a couple of inches from his right eye.

  Pine started to struggle as Matt dragged him toward the alley. Sam tapped the owlhoot on the head with the Bowie’s handle, stunning him for a moment. That was all Matt needed to finish hauling the prisoner into the shadows. They took him behind the Black Bull, lashed his hands behind his back with his own belt, and propped him against the wall.

  Matt had switched his grip so that his hand was now fastened around Pine’s throat, keeping him from crying out. Sam leaned close to the outlaw and waved the knife in front of his face. Enough moonlight penetrated back here so that silvery glints flashed off the blade. Sam’s face was set in a savage snarl quite unlike his usual expression.

  “Listen, mister,” Matt said. “We know who you are. You’re gonna answer some questions, and if you don’t, I’m gonna l
et my friend here go to work on you with that knife. First he’ll cut off your ears . . .”

  Sam tapped each ear in turn with the flat of the blade. Pine shuddered.

  “When he gets done with that, he’ll slice off your nose,” Matt continued. “Then things’ll start to get really interestin’—and painful.”

  Sam leaned closer and bared his teeth in a grimace that made him look half-insane. Maybe more than that.

  “I’m gonna let off on your throat,” Matt said. “Don’t try to yell. Don’t even think about it. You got that?”

  Pine managed to jerk his head in a tiny nod. His eyes were wide with fear.

  Matt released some of the crushing pressure on the outlaw’s throat. Pine gasped for air for a couple of seconds, then rasped, “Wh-what do you hombres w-want? If you’re plannin’ to rob me—”

  “We’re not thieves,” Matt said. “Like I told you, we just want answers.”

  “I don’t know nothin’—”

  “You know your name, don’t you? You know that you’re Jacob Pine.”

  The startled hiss of breath between the captive’s clenched teeth told Matt that he hadn’t made a mistake. This man really was one of Mallory’s lieutenants. But Pine tried to deny it anyway.

  “You got the wrong man, mister, I swear—”

  “Don’t waste our time,” Matt cut in. “Where’s Mallory? When does he plan to raid the town?”

  “Damn it, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!” Pine’s voice was practically a wail. Knowing Mallory’s reputation, Matt wasn’t surprised that Pine didn’t want to betray the leader of the gang.

  Matt looked at Sam and nodded. Sam grabbed Pine’s left ear and pulled it out straight from the outlaw’s head. That had to hurt by itself, but then Sam laid the razor-sharp edge of the blade against the tight-drawn skin.

  “Stop! Don’t do it! I . . . I’ll tell you what you want to know!”

  Matt smelled the acrid stink of urine and knew that Pine had pissed his pants in terror. That was a little easier than he had thought it might be. He had hoped that they wouldn’t have to cut the varmint’s ears off for real.

  They might have done it, though, what with the life of every man, woman, and child in Sweet Apple being at stake.

  “Make it quick,” Matt snapped. “Where’s Mallory and the rest of the gang?”

  “About f-five miles north of here.” Pine panted a little in his terror.

  “Why hasn’t he raided the settlement already? We know that’s what he planned to do.”

  Pine didn’t ask how the blood brothers had discovered that. He just said, “D-

  Deuce found out . . . that the army’s bringin’ a shipment of guns through here on the train. He’s gonna hit the town while the train’s stopped here and get the rifles, too.”

  Matt and Sam exchanged a quick glance. This was the first they had heard about a shipment of military rifles. That put a different light on things. Deuce Mallory was going after an even bigger prize than usual.

  That meant he would be even more ruthless than usual.

  “So he’s been waitin’ for those guns to get here?”

  Pine nodded. “Y-yeah.”

  “When are they due?”

  Pine hesitated. Sam reached for his ear again, and the outlaw bleated, “Tomorrow mornin’! They’ll be on the westbound train that’s supposed to roll in at nine o’clock! But . . . but that ain’t all.” A note of eagerness came into Pine’s voice, as if he thought that spilling something else might improve his chances of getting out of this without losing his ears or nose or any other important body parts. “Deuce ain’t the only one who’s after the guns.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?” Matt demanded.

  “There’s a Mexican . . . Diego Alcazarrio . . . calls himself a revolutionary but I reckon he’s really just another bandido . . . He knows about the rifles, too, and plans to steal them.”

  A chill went through Matt. Having the threat of Mallory’s gang hanging over Sweet Apple was bad enough. Now Pine was telling them that they might have to deal with a small army of Mexican bandits as well.

  “Alcazarrio’s plannin’ to hit the train here?”

  Pine shook his head and said, “I . . . I don’t know. That’s the truth, mister. I got no idea what that greaser’s gonna do. But he might. That’s worth somethin’, ain’t it? Ain’t it?”

  “You know anything else?” Matt asked.

  “Not a damned thing. I swear. I’d tell you if I did.” Pine swallowed. “How about lettin’ me go? My life won’t be worth a plugged nickel if Deuce ever finds out I talked. I’ll ride west toward El Paso and you’ll never see me again. I won’t warn Deuce that you’re expectin’ him. I swear it.”

  “Mallory sent you into town to have a look around and make sure nobody knows he’s comin’?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What’s he gonna do if you don’t come back?”

  Pine hesitated. “He’ll attack the town anyway. He wants those guns more’n I’ve ever seen him want anything before.” The outlaw licked his lips. “I helped you, didn’t I, mister? You can give me a break. It won’t hurt nothin’.”

  “It’d hurt the memory of those people you helped murder in Buckskin,” Matt said. Then his fist crashed against Pine’s jaw in a short, powerful blow that rocked the outlaw’s head back and knocked him out cold.

  Sam sheathed the bowie knife, bent at the knees, and let the senseless owlhoot fall forward over his shoulder. He straightened. “We’re taking him to Seymour’s office and locking him up?”

  “That’s right,” Matt said. “We need to tell Seymour that things are even worse than we thought.”

  In less than twelve hours, the train carrying those rifles would be rolling into Sweet Apple, with killers converging on the town from the north and possibly from the south.

  Matt and Sam had a lot to do between now and then.

  DEUCE MALLORY paced back and forth on the sandy rise, his anger growing with each step. He peered to the south, where the settlement of Sweet Apple was located about half a mile away. Then he glanced to the east, where the sky was growing gray with the approach of dawn.

  Mallory swung around toward the rest of the gang. They sat their saddles un- easily, knowing that Mallory was upset and knowing as well that there was no telling what he would do if he lost his temper.

  “Jake should have been back a long time ago,” Mallory snapped as he stalked over to take the reins of his horse from Steve Larrabee, who had been holding them while Mallory paced and waited for Pine to meet them as planned. “Maybe he just got drunk and passed out in some whorehouse, Deuce,” Larrabee suggested.

  Mallory shook his head and then swung up into the saddle. “He knows better than to do something like that. He knew I was expecting his report. He got himself arrested and thrown in jail—or gunned down in a fight.” Mallory rubbed his jaw in thought. “Sweet Apple’s a rough place. Plenty of hombres there who fancy them- selves fast guns. Somebody could’ve goaded Pine into a showdown, I suppose.” “That’d be the best thing for us in a way,” Larrabee said. He frowned. “But what if the law caught him? What if the folks in Sweet Apple know we’re comin’?” Mallory waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. Those rifles will be there in a little while, and I want them. I intend to have them.” He sneered. “I’m not afraid of a bunch of settlers. Those hardcases in Sweet Apple aren’t nearly as dangerous as they think they are. Not compared to us.”

  Larrabee looked like he hoped Mallory was right about that.

  Mallory turned in his saddle and said, “Gus.”

  Brody rode up alongside him. “Yeah, Deuce?”

  “We’re proceeding as planned. Take the boys you picked out and plant that dynamite where I told you to.”

  Brody nodded. “Sure, Boss. Once it blows, that train won’t be able to go anywhere. It’ll be stuck there while we clean it out.”

  “That was the idea,” Mallory snapped. “Get going.”

 
Brody wheeled his horse, motioned to several of the other outlaws, and rode off into the darkness. They would do their work under cover of what little night was left.

  Larrabee risked asking, “Are you sure about this, Deuce? We could be ridin’ into a trap.”

  “The trap hasn’t been made that can catch me,” Mallory said with complete confidence. He gave a curt nod in the direction of Sweet Apple. “Soon that whole town is going to belong to us.”

  * * *

  South of Sweet Apple, another group of riders moved through the night toward the settlement. Water still streamed from the coats of their horses after fording the Rio Grande a short time earlier. Diego Alcazarrio rode proudly at the head of the group. If those who thought of him only as a bandit could see him now, he told himself. Riding like a general at the head of an army. A small army, to be sure, but still an army.

  Alcazarrio called a halt when he and his men were approximately a mile south of the town. They hid themselves in a dry wash so that anyone who happened to be riding by in the early morning wouldn’t see them. All the rebels had to do was wait until the train carrying the guns arrived at Sweet Apple. From here they would be able to hear the train’s whistle as it approached. That would be the signal for them to mount up and begin their charge. They would sweep into town, ruthlessly over- whelming any opposition, capture the train station, kill the small force of gringo soldiers guarding the weapons, and take the rifles for themselves. Like any good general, Alcazarrio could see the whole thing in his mind, as vividly as if it had been painted on canvas before him.

  He felt impatience nagging at him, but suppressed the feeling. Soon his revolution would enjoy its greatest success so far. He could afford to wait a little while. He even told himself to savor the moment.

  By the time this morning was over, Diego Alcazarrio and his men would be a force to be reckoned with in Mexico. El Presidente Díaz would quiver in fear if he knew what was going to happen today.

  Alcazarrio smiled. That image of a humiliated Díaz in his mind helped the time pass faster.