Henry Ellis had turned all the way around to have a better view of the oncoming train through the isinglass at the rear of the surrey.
His mouth appeared to be locked in a perpetual grin as the locomotive drew up beside them and passed.
For a brief moment, Henry Ellis caught a glimpse of Ben and Eleanor Campbell sitting at a window in the passenger car. They were both waving at the surrey as the train roared by. The boy waved back, but the foggy weather and the rainwater collected on the isinglass must have prevented them from seeing him.
The train grew smaller as it gained distance, and eventually they were back to the regular slip-slopping of the trotters pulling the rig through the mud.
A sign beside the road said:
HONDO, TEXAS – 4 MI.
“When we get to Hondo,” said Charley, “there’s a little boardinghouse just the other side of town; it’s run by an old friend of mine, Bertie Clyde. She makes the finest blueberry-plumb butter in the state of Texas. That’s where we’ll stay tonight, if she’s got an available room. Just wait until breakfast rolls around tomorrow morning, and you spread that blueberry-plumb butter on a slice of warm bread. Greatest taste since huckleberry pie.”
“I hope she keeps a fire goin’ all night,” said Roscoe. “One thing I need during the winter is a warm room ta sleep in.”
“She even puts hot bricks between your sheets so your bed will be nice and warm when you climb in at night,” said Charley.
“She’s some woman,” said Roscoe, pulling the blanket that was covering him up around his neck.
“It all sounds real comfy to me,” said Henry Ellis. “I hope we get there soon because I’m getting hungry.”
He pulled the dime novel out of his pocket, found his place, then began reading.
“What’s that ya got there, Henry Ellis?” asked Roscoe.
“Just an ol’ dime novel,” said the boy. “I brought it along to help pass the time.”
“Bertie Clyde also makes the best pork stew you ever tasted, son,” said Charley, continuing his own conversation. “It’s even better during spring and summertime when her vegetables are fresh, instead of preserved in glass jars.”
About a half hour later, when the rain had turned into a light drizzle, Charley sat up straight in the front seat.
“What’s the matter, Grampa?” asked Henry Ellis, closing, then repocketing the book.
“Oh, nothing much, son. I just thought that train would have cleared Hondo by now and been halfway to Uvalde. Instead, it’s sitting right there by the station on a sidetrack, with half the town gathered around her.”
Both Henry Ellis and Roscoe leaned forward. They looked across Charley’s broad shoulders to see the rear car of the train—the gentlemen’s car—stopped dead on the sidetrack, with a little red lantern hanging off the rear railing, glowing in the afternoon gray.
Charley laid the lines to the trotters’ rumps, and the horses pulled the surrey over to where the crowd was gathered. The town marshal and two deputies stood talking with the conductor, engineer, fireman, and the baggage car clerk. Two others—obviously high-ranking townsmen—stood nearby. All were somewhat surprised when Charley climbed out of the surrey to join them in their conversation.
“Charles Abner Sunday,” said Charley as he shoved his hand into the hand of the marshal. The two men shook. “I’m a retired Ranger from down Juanita way, and it looks to me like something’s happened with this train.”
“Another robbery, Mr. Sunday,” said the conductor.
“It was the Cropper Brothers and their gang,” added the clerk. “I know it was them. The one called Dale kept a gun on me the whole time.”
“How much did they get?” asked Charley.
“They didn’t get nothin’,” said the clerk.
“You gotta be kidding me,” said Charley. “They got nothing?”
“They got nothin’ because we wasn’t carryin’ nothin’,” said the clerk. “But we’re pickin’ up a big shipment of freshly minted twenty-dollar coins here in Hondo. The government decided to transfer the coins by wagon from San Antonio to our bank here in Hondo. They suspected the Croppers would hit the train between San Antonio and here, and they were right.”
The marshal cut in.
“Now we’re going to load up them coins inta the baggage car,” he said, “where they’ll ride safely all the way to El Paso. That’s because the government has hired my two deputies to ride along with the shipment, just in case anyone else might want to make a try.”
“Well, my partner, my grandson, and me are headed as far as Juanita in that red surrey over there. If they don’t go too fast with the train, we should be able to keep up with you and serve as backup if someone else does try to steal those coins.”
At the edge of the crowd, Henry Ellis climbed down from the surrey, followed by Roscoe. As Roscoe started off to join Charley and the others, the boy caught a glimpse of Ben and Eleanor Campbell, who were avoiding the drizzle by standing on the depot porch, trying to stay warm. The boy’s eyes widened, then he ran over to them.
“Dr. and Mrs. Campbell,” he yelled. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Henry Ellis,” said Ben as the boy ran up the steps to join them.
“Did you see the robbery?” Henry Ellis asked.
“Not so we’d make good witnesses,” said Ben. “We saw them when they rode alongside our train car; they were wearing masks. But most of the robbing was done after they boarded the baggage car and went inside.”
“I don’t think they got much,” said Eleanor. “I heard some townsfolk saying the train wasn’t carrying anything of value.”
“My grampa will know,” said the boy. “He’s over there with the marshal and the train crew.” He pointed.
“I understand the train will remain here in Hondo overnight,” said Ben. “Maybe you, your grandfather, and his friend could take supper with us this evening.”
“Well . . . we’re supposed to be staying at a friend of my grampa’s boardinghouse tonight. But I’ll tell him you invited us to join you, anyway.”
“The railroad is putting us up in the only hotel in Hondo, the Lawry House,” said Ben. “I’m sure there’ll be a nice restaurant nearby.”
“I’ll tell my grampa when I see him. Right now, I better go find him. He could be worrying about where I am.”
Bertie Clyde’s Boardinghouse was one of the five fully built structures that made up Main Street in Hondo, Texas. The rest of the businesses were tent houses—a wooden floor, built three feet above ground, with three-foot sides. On top of the structures was a frame, covered with canvas—all with hopes of becoming full-fledged buildings as the town continued to grow. The Lawry House Hotel, at the other end of the street, had two stories with four rooms upstairs, and a lobby and small café on the ground floor. Not big, but plenty big for Hondo, Texas.
Bertie’s, as the locals called the boardinghouse, was tucked in between Slawson’s Saloon, one of the canvas-covered buildings, and the City Marshal’s Office and Jail, which had been built from rocks found locally. It was around five o’clock in the evening when Charley pulled up in front of the old wooden building in the surrey. Even though the rain had started to come down harder again, Charley stepped down from the vehicle and went about tying off the trotters. Roscoe and Henry Ellis slid out of the backseat and to the muddy ground, joining Charley as they climbed the steps to the front porch of Bertie’s and went inside.
All three of them stood in the vestibule to shed their topcoats. As they turned to go farther on into the boardinghouse, they were met by a short, gray-haired woman, wearing a white apron over her calico housedress.
“Charley Sunday, you old law-dog,” said the woman, grinning from ear to ear. “What brings you to Hondo?”
Charley threw a big hug around the woman, kissing her fondly on the cheek.
“Nice to see you, Bertie,” said Charley. He stepped back.
“We were just passing through on th
e way back to Juanita when we saw that the train was stopped here. When we found out there had been an attempted robbery, I offered our assistance to the town marshal . . . We’ll be following along with the train from now on, just in case someone else decides to rob her again.”
Bertie’s eye finally caught sight of Roscoe.
“And, Roscoe,” she said much louder. “What are you doin’ these days? Still running around with this handsome old charmer?”
“I sure am, Miss Bertie,” said Roscoe. “We both retired from Rangerin’ around the same time, and we decided ta buy a ranch together.”
Charley threw him a distinct frown.
“Well,” Roscoe went on. “It was Charley who bought the ranch. I just hang around an’ help him fix things. I do all the cookin’, too.”
“We need a room that’ll hold three for the night,” said Charley.
Bertie glanced around, squinting.
“Three?” she said. “Where’s the other one? Don’t tell me you got ol’ Feather Martin with ya, too.”
“No, Bertie,” said Charley. “Feather’s back in Juanita, taking care of the ranch and my cattle. We have my grandson, Henry Ellis, with us.”
Henry Ellis stepped out from behind the two men, and with his hat in hand, he bowed to Bertie Clyde.
“Name’s Henry Ellis Pritchard, ma’am. Charley’s my grampa. Nice to meet you.”
He held out his hand, and the two of them shook.
“Pleased ta meet you, too, Henry Ellis,” said Bertie. “You must be Betty Jean’s boy. My, how you’ve growed up.”
“So, can you help us out?” said Charley, changing the subject. “Do you have a room that’ll hold us all?”
“Oh, I think I might have a room available that’ll hold you three. What about your animals?” she asked.
“We’re not on horseback this trip, Bertie,” said Charley. “I just bought a new surrey in San Antonio. We got two brand-new trotters pulling it. You wouldn’t happen to have a couple of spare stalls and feed for them in your barn out back, would you?”
“’Course I do,” said Bertie. “I got more room in the barn than I do in the house. I’ve been known ta put people up out there in the barn . . . when the weather’s good.”
“Just so my trotters don’t freeze to death, Bertie,” said Charley.
“I got plenty of horse blankets out there in the barn,” said Bertie. “Plus some oil lamps that’ll help keep the cold out.”
“That’ll do for one night, I s’pect,” said Charley. “I just hope none of the animals kick over one of those lamps.”
“These’re hangin’ lamps, Charley. They’re up too high to get kicked.”
“Hearing that puts my mind at ease, Bertie,” said Charley. “Otherwise I was going to have Roscoe sleep out there with the trotters.”
“Me?” said Roscoe. “You was gonna ask me to sleep out in the barn?”
“It woulda been just for the one night, Roscoe,” said Charley. “One night sleeping in the barn never hurt no one.”
A flash of lightning lit up the vestibule, followed by a loud clap of thunder. Henry Ellis pulled the door closed behind them, as the rain had started to come down harder again.
“I’ll show you to yer room, gents,” said Bertie. “Then I’ll have Juan, my handyman, help you put away the horses. I serve supper around here at five p.m. sharp. No need ta dress up at my table, Charley, but I do get a little touchy if someone shows up with dirty hands. You can wash up out on the back porch. I had a water spigot installed out there to help me with my laundry.”
“Oh, Lord-a-mighty,” said Henry Ellis, throwing his hands into the air.
Everyone turned to the boy.
“What’s the matter, son?” said Charley.
“I promised Dr. and Mrs. Campbell that we’d join them for supper tonight.”
“That’s all right,” said Charley. “They’re your friends, so why don’t you go on and join them. Roscoe and me got a lot of catching up to do here with Bertie, so we’ll take our evening meal with her.
“Just be back here before eight o’clock, son, if you know what’s good for you.”
Ben and Eleanor Campbell were only a little bit upset when Henry Ellis showed up alone for their supper engagement. Ben told the boy that he’d really been looking forward to talking with his grandfather and his friend, because Ben had never conversed with any real Texas Rangers in person before. So, without Charley and Roscoe, Ben and Eleanor bundled up some more, and the three of them walked up the boardwalk, two buildings from the hotel, where Eleanor had found a little restaurant earlier, and they went inside.
At the same time, Charley and Roscoe joined Bertie and some of her regular boarders at the dining table.
One of the regular diners was Nathan Hambler, the local druggist. Another was Annabelle Troutman, a nurse who worked in the local doctor’s office. Plus, a third person, who joined the table a few minutes after five with the excuse that he’d been caught in a downpour on his way home from the off ice, was one of the two deputy marshals Charley had met at the train station earlier.
“Pleased ta meet you again, Mr. Sunday,” he said as he sat down and removed his hat. “Name’s Buck Wadell, deputy marshal here in Hondo. We met earlier today.”
“Nice to officially meet you, Buck. Anything new on the train robbery?” asked Charley as the local lawman tucked his napkin into his collar, then stuck a fork into a chicken thigh on the large plate in the table’s center.
“Just that we’ve officially identified the robbers as the Cropper Brothers’ Gang. Turns out one of the passengers had gone to school with the Croppers. They all grew up together in Eagle Pass . . . the witness, and Sam and Dale.”
“We had the pleasure of meeting Sam and Dale Cropper a year or so back, when they tried to rob a train we were on headed for Denver,” said Charley. “We ended up getting the drop on the ones who boarded the train, and the last we saw any of ’em, they were being hauled off to jail by some local Colorado badges.”
“Well,” the deputy went on, “Sam and Dale escaped from prison a few months back, and they’ve been robbing trains along this San Antonio to El Paso line ever since. They’ve even become local legends in several counties.”
“Any idea where they hole up?” asked Roscoe.
“The marshal thinks they’re here in the area somewhere. Close to a town so they can easily get information on shipments and time schedules.”
He pulled his handkerchief from a rear pocket and blew his nose again, wadding it up, then returning the soiled cloth to the same pocket he had retrieved it from.
“Damn,” he said. “I almost forgot to tell you folks what time the train’s pulling out tomorrow morning. Passengers board at five forty-five, train departs at six . . . sharp. I’ll be the early bird come tomorrow morning,” he added, “because it’s my job to make sure all the passengers make it to the train on schedule. I’ll get you folks up earlier because I know harnessing and hitching two horses can take some time.”
“Thank you, son, but we can wake ourselves up on our own just fine,” said Charley. “And Roscoe here is probably the fastest harnesser and hitcher in all of Kinney County, so we won’t be late. That’s for sure.”
“When’ll we eat?” asked Roscoe.
“Since a few of the passengers are staying with Bertie Clyde, just like us, the marshal has made arrangements for your breakfast to be served at four a.m. . . . sharp.”
“We’ll be here,” said Roscoe.
“Then all of us better be thinking about going to bed early, don’t you think?” asked Henry Ellis, who had just returned from supper with the Campbells.
Charley winked at the boy before turning back to the deputy.
“I reckon I never told you that I got me a real smart grandson, did I?” He winked again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Henry Ellis lay in his hotel bed thinking, while Roscoe and his grandpa Charley fell asleep immediately. Charley had taken the main bed, while Roscoe grabb
ed the smaller second. All that was left for the boy to sleep on was a rickety old chesterfield over in the corner.
As Charley and Roscoe began to snore, rattling the windows and doors as if a freight train were passing, the boy closed his eyes and began to think of that time, over a year ago, when he and Grampa Charley, Roscoe, and their friend, Feather Martin, took the northbound train out of Del Rio, with hopes of reaching Denver, Colorado, in time to participate in the longhorn cattle auction. The auction that would eventually terminate in the cross-country cattle drive that would bring the longhorns back to Texas where they belonged. As Henry Ellis began to drift off to sleep, his thoughts turned into a reverie, of sorts, reminding the boy of that particular time in his past.
Inside the train’s darkened mail car nothing moved except Charley’s dog Buster’s hind leg. The dog had begun scratching himself behind his left ear.
“Can’t you hush him up?” whispered Charley.
Henry Ellis took hold of Buster’s rear paw and the scratching stopped.
The boy’s eyes widened considerably as the rear door burst open.
Sam Cropper, followed by his brother, Dale, and three other outlaws, stepped quietly into the darkened mail car.
Their only source of light was the orange glow from the tiny flame inside a lantern’s globe on the box that had been used earlier as a card table. Nothing moved—no sound was heard—until a loud snore cut the air.
Five revolvers were cocked in unison. “What was that?” said Dale.
Another snore was heard—all eyes turned in the direction of the obtrusive reverberation.
And there he was in all his glorious splendor—Feather Martin. He was still passed out cold, only now he lay faceup on a pile of empty mail pouches. And right there on the other side of Feather was the iron strongbox containing the mine payroll.
“There it is,” said Sam Cropper.
The Comancheros Page 4