The Comancheros

by Stephen Lodge

  “You’re goin’ to regret what you’re doing, Sunday,” he said. “As soon as Dr. Campbell finds out that you have that document, he’s not going to protect your life anymore.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” questioned Charley.

  “Up until now,” said McGrath, “we’ve had orders not to kill or injure you or any of your friends. But now, unless you’re prepared to give me that page you took from the kitchen table last night, Campbell’s going to hear about your little visit to the ranch yesterday evening.”

  “And who, may I ask, is going to tell him?” said Charley. “Because it sure isn’t going to be you, or these other boys. We have a special place where you’re going.”

  “You can’t keep us hidden for that long,” said McGrath. “One of us’ll find a way to escape.”

  “Oh?” said Charley. “I think not. Holliday,” he called out.

  Holliday moved over to where Charley was standing by McGrath.

  “What can I do for ya, Mr. Sunday?” he asked.

  “I want you, Roscoe, and Feather to take these fellas out for a ride. Out to that place we talked about this morning. Put ’em all in there, and lock it up tight.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Sunday,” said Holliday.

  “Or, just take ’em to jail. That’s better. In the meantime, I’m going over to that other hotel and have me a face-to-face conversation with Dr. and Mrs. Campbell.”

  Charley burst into the Campbells’ hotel lobby, nearly missing the couple, who were finishing up their morning meal in the area off the lobby that served as the hotel’s restaurant.

  “Oh, Mr. Sunday,” Mrs. Campbell called out, stopping Charley in his tracks.

  He turned and saw the two at the table, both of them acting as if nothing had happened. He crossed over to where they were sitting.

  “Just to let you folks know,” he began. “I am now in possession of a certain page of the official documentation of land sale records, regarding my ranch, that you so unceremoniously cut or tore out of the state’s book of records of such transactions. And as soon as the judge has seen it, I’d be obliged if you and your men would vacate my property, before I have the sheriff and his deputies throw you off.”

  He turned to walk away, then turned back again to face them, one more time.

  “And don’t be thinking that you can sic your dogs on me again, Campbell, because Wolf McGrath, and the rest of your hired guns, are over in the Juanita jail waiting to see the judge, too.”

  “I think you may have overstepped your boundaries, Mr. Sunday,” said Campbell. “I will still deny that my wife and I have done anything unlawful.”

  “The court don’t need any words from you two in defense of your actions,” said Charley. “I have witnesses now who’ll testify that you gave them the order to remove that page from a government book of documents, and that, Dr. and Mrs. Campbell, is a felony, right off the top.”

  “You’re not going to take the word of those . . . those gunslingers . . . are you, Sunday?” said Campbell.

  “It ain’t me that’s gotta believe them ‘gunslingers,’ as you call them . . . it’s the judge.”

  Campbell began to get to his feet, helping his wife to do the same.

  “I don’t have to stay around here, and neither does my wife, while you slander us both with your false accusations. We’re leaving now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, Mr. Sunday does mind,” came the voice of Willingham Dubbs, sheriff of Kinney County, who stood to the right of the couple, blocking their exit. He had his gun out and pointed at the couple. Two of his deputies were at his side, and they were the ones who put the cuffs on them.

  “Why, I’ve never been so humiliated in all my life,” said Eleanor Campbell as the steel restraints were tightened around her wrists.

  “You’ll be sorry for this, Sunday,” said Ben Campbell as the deputy started to lead him away.

  The second deputy, who was taking Mrs. Campbell into custody, could only chuckle to himself.

  “Ya know, Sheriff,” he said to his superior. “I’d sure like two cents fer every time I’ve heard that one before.”

  The Campbells were ushered toward the front door of the hotel. Charley followed, with a wink at the other customers.

  “Sorry we disturbed your meal, folks. But it was very important that I did.”

  He turned and continued following the others, until they were all out the door.

  On the street, where the sky was just misting, the sheriff bid Charley good luck, then, with both of his deputies, he marched the Campbells across the street to his office, which also housed the Kinney County jail.

  Charley watched as they followed the sheriff up the few steps and entered the building. As the doors closed behind them, the street seemed to be a quieter place.

  Charley stood there for a moment, thinking to himself.

  Lord in Heaven, his prayer began. Thank You for all You’ve done to help me get my ranch back. I was able to do it with the help of my friends, and, no one had to get killed.

  “Charley Sunday!”

  The voice had interrupted Charley’s prayer. He knew who it was, and he immediately rescinded a portion of the words he had just prayed.

  Sorry, Lord, if I said no one had got killed. I reckon I just forgot about . . .

  “Holly Birdwell,” he said out loud, slowly turning in the direction of the voice.

  Birdwell stood in front of the Juanita livery, with both legs spread. His gun was tied down and his hand hovered over his pistol like a hawk waiting to strike a rattler.

  “It’s all over, Birdwell,” said Charley. “The people who hired your services have been arrested, and they’re being locked up at this very moment. The rest of their hired guns are already behind bars. So, you can go home, Birdwell. You haven’t broken any laws.”

  “And I ain’t gonna be breakin’ any laws in the future, Charley Sunday. Because I’m gonna kill you in a fair fight. I just need me some witnesses, that’s all.”

  He drew his gun slowly, then fired into the sky.

  Doors opened all around as people stuck their heads out to see what was going on.

  Even the sheriff appeared, stepping through the courthouse doors. He was stopped cold when he saw Birdwell and Charley facing off in the center of the street.

  Roscoe, Feather, Rod, and Holliday came running from the direction of Flora Mae’s hotel, followed by Kelly, Flora Mae, and Henry Ellis. They all slid to a stop when Charley and Birdwell came into view.

  “Now I ain’t wearing a slick-draw holster like you are, Mr. Birdwell,” said Charley. “I carry my weapon in my boot.”

  “I can see that, Sunday,” said Birdwell.

  “So, don’t you think it’d be a fairer fight if I had the same advantage as you do?”

  “Someone give the man a holster.”

  Feather unbuckled his rig, removed his gun, then tossed it toward Charley. It landed at his feet.

  “Now, I’m gonna give you just fifteen seconds to buckle on that belt and move your gun from your boot to the holster. Starting now,” the gunman added.

  Charley did what the man said. He retrieved Feather’s gunbelt and buckled it around his waist. Then he bent forward and reached toward his boot . . .

  “Time’s up,” said Birdwell.

  Charley glanced up from his precarious position to see Birdwell was beginning to draw his gun.

  KA-BOOM!

  Drawing from his boot, Charley beat the man, hands down, sinking a conical piece of lead from the Walker Colt several inches into the hired killer’s heart.

  The blood didn’t even have time to reach the surface of the gunslinger’s skin before he fell facedown in the dirt—dead.

  Henry Ellis broke away from the two women and ran to his grandfather.

  Charley threw his arms around the boy, picking him up into his arms.

  “Uh,” said the boy, who appeared to be getting squeezed to death. “I think I’m a little too big for this anymore, Grampa.
”

  “You will never be that big, Henry Ellis,” said Charley. “And you will never be too old for me to hug you. The day comes when I can’t lift you up . . .”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  A ranch wagon, piled high with fresh-cut pine trees, was stopped in the Sunday ranch yard. Roscoe and Feather were helping the driver unload a pretty hefty specimen from the top of the pile.

  When they got the tree down to the ground, Roscoe held it by its trunk, mid-tree, then he bounced it on the ground several times to open up the boughs. Doing that also helped the tree to dispel the rainwater that had collected in its branches. Roscoe got himself wet all over.

  “It sure is pretty,” said Henry Ellis, who had been standing nearby with his grandfather, watching the others work.

  “We better get it in the house as soon as we can, before it starts ta rain again,” said Roscoe. “Otherwise, it’ll make one fine mess for me ta clean up.”

  “Feather,” said Charley. “Why don’t you give Roscoe a hand taking it into the house, while I pay the man for our tree?”

  Feather nodded, then he moved to the other side of the tree and took hold of it. The two men started off toward the back steps, carrying the tree between them.

  “Hold it right there, you two,” called out Charley. “Don’t you think it’d be better to take it around through the front door . . . ? That’s where the parlor is. It’d be a shame to drag it all the way through the house, wet like it is, and with them damn needles falling off in every direction.”

  “We’ll do ’er, Boss,” said Feather.

  “Thanks fer thinkin’ of me, C.A.,” echoed Roscoe.

  As they stared off around the house, Henry Ellis called after them.

  “Wait for me, fellas,” he said. “I want to be there when you pick the spot for the tree.”

  He looked up for Charley’s permission to go and got an immediate nod.

  He took off running after the others.

  Charley paid the driver for the tree, then he stepped back as the man climbed up to the seat, took the lines, and slapped the mules into a slow trot.

  As the wagon rolled down the muddy entrance road toward the front gate, two riders passed him coming from the other direction.

  As the riders got closer, Charley recognized the horses as belonging to Rod and Kelly Lightfoot.

  When the couple entered the ranch yard, reining up in front of Charley, the old rancher removed his hat.

  “Welcome, you two,” he said. “You got here just in time to help set up the Yule tree. Roscoe, Feather, and Henry Ellis just took it around to the parlor.”

  “We’ve brought two saddlebags full of trinkets to hang on the branches,” said Kelly. “Plus we brought a couple of boxes of candles.”

  “I don’t rightly know if I still have any of Willadean’s Christmas tree candleholders,” said Charley. “But if we do, Roscoe’ll know where they are. C’mon,” he added, “c’mon inside. Now that I know you’re staying for a while, you can help us with the tree trimming . . . and Roscoe’s going to whip up something special for our midday meal. I sure hope you’ll break some bread with us.”

  “Thank you, Charley,” said Kelly. She removed the saddlebags from both horses and climbed up the steps to the screen door. She opened the screen.

  “I won’t forget to wipe the mud off my boots,” she said. “I know how it bothers Roscoe when someone forgets.”

  “Go on in, darlin’,” said Charley. “I’ll make sure your horses get tied up under some shelter so’s your saddles don’t get too wet if it rains again. Tell Roscoe I’ll be there by and by,” he added. When she had disappeared into the house, Rod turned back to Charley.

  “Mind if I tag along with you, Charley?” he asked.

  “Come right along, son. I ain’t going far,” Charley answered.

  With Rod following along, Charley led the two horses over to the side of the creek house, where he tied them off to a metal ring that was embedded into the stonework beneath the roof’s extended eaves.

  “That oughta keep ’em dry if we have another one of those storms come through,” said Charley.

  Then, standing side-by-side, the two of them began loosening the cinches on the horses’ saddles.

  “Charley,” said the young Indian. “I didn’t want to talk in front of Kelly, but I overheard from an old acquaintance of mine that the little town of Langtry . . . out west of Del Rio . . . is in some big trouble, if someone doesn’t do something to help the old judge who owns the property.”

  “Why, that’s Roy Bean you’re talking about,” said Charley. What is it that’s going on out at his place?”

  “Mind you,” said Rod, “this is only hearsay, but my source is reliable. He told me that a band of desperados, who some are calling the New Comancheros, have taken over Bean’s Jersey Lilly saloon and are using it as their headquarters while they transport stolen United States horses across the border into Mexico. Once there, they’re sold to the highest bidder.”

  “Roy’s a pretty tough old man,” said Charley. “He’s also the Justice of the Peace down there.”

  “Not anymore,” said Rod. “It seems that these fellas, the New Comancheros, rode in to Langtry one day last week posing as a bunch of cowboys going home after a drive. They moved into Bean’s saloon, and within minutes a shooting match broke out.”

  “Judge Bean is used to that kind of behavior,” said Charley. “He usually has some of his hangers-on stop the ruckus, then he opens court and fines the offenders.”

  “It didn’t happen that way this time, Charley,” said Rod. “This gang was ready for Bean’s men and stopped ’em cold before anything could be done. My friend says that the old judge marched out of his back room with his law book in his hand, all ready to convene his court, and he ran right into the leader’s gun barrel. In one weekend, two days, the gang had set up shop in the Jersey Lilly. Not just that, Charley, but they took over the Langtry Hotel, up the street, kicking out anyone who was lodging there, then they started using it as a place for the gang to sleep.”

  “Any idea how their operation works?” asked Charley.

  “Only that the first thing they did was to build a few corrals to pen the stolen horses, until they have enough to cross over into Mexico.”

  Charley scratched his chin. He was thinking.

  “How many days left until Christmas day?” he asked.

  Rod did the calculation in his head.

  “Nine days,” he said.

  “If we left tomorrow morning, could we be in Langtry in two days?”

  “If we were to push it hard,” said Rod.

  “Well, let’s go on inside and see what the others have to say. And I promise that I won’t let on to Kelly that it was you who told me about all this.”

  As the two men walked back toward the house, Charley added, “I’d sure like to meet this ‘friend’ of yours one of these days. Any man that Kelly doesn’t approve of you being around must be somebody special.”

  Hearing all about a friend in need perked everyone’s interest. Especially when Charley reminded them that it was the judge who helped them get the Colorado to Texas cattle drive moving again after they’d come face-to-face with a train when trying to take a shortcut across a railroad bridge that spanned the Pecos River. “So, you’re all up to helping out old Roy?” Charley asked.

  “I can stay here and watch over Henry Ellis,” said Kelly.

  The boy, standing behind Kelly, made an awful face. He wasn’t happy hearing that he would have to stay behind.

  “I mean it, Charley,” Kelly went on. “The two of us’ll be just fine staying here at your ranch.”

  “No, darlin’,” said Charley. “I’m pretty sure I’d like you to go with us on this one. I want to take Henry Ellis, too.”

  Henry Ellis’s face brightened considerably.

  “Gee, Grampa,” he said. “Do you really mean that?”

  “I think you’re getting to be old enough now to ride with us. Especiall
y when I need you to.”

  The boy and Kelly couldn’t keep from throwing their arms around him and covering him with kisses.

  “Not so fast, you two,” said Charley, pulling away. “This ain’t going to be a vacation. You’re both going to approach the Jersey Lilly as a mother and son who’ve been traveling and just lost your way. All you’ll be asking for is the road to El Paso. Hopefully, they’ll give you directions and you can leave. That’s when Feather and Holliday will . . .”

  The Texas Outfit rode along at a good pace, paralleling the railroad tracks. Like they had done so many times before, Charley took the lead, with Roscoe, Feather, Holliday, and Rod spread out behind them.

  Henry Ellis, who usually rode beside his grampa Charley, was riding this time in the old chuckwagon—which had once been Charley’s two-seat buckboard.

  Charley and the others had removed the chuck box from the rear end, plus any other additions that had helped it to function as a working chuckwagon. And finally, after replacing the old canvas covering with relatively newer material, the old two-seat buckboard had begun to resemble a small covered wagon.

  That would serve as a mode of transportation for Kelly and Henry Ellis. Charley told them what he wanted them to say and made them both memorize those words.

  Charley also filled them all in on the rest of his plan when they made camp alongside the Rio Grande. As with Kelly and the boy, he made sure everyone else knew their part, too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Judge Roy Bean must have liked signs. The front of his tiny saloon in Langtry, Texas, had at least five of them nailed to its facade. The sign on the roof read: JUDGE ROY BEAN NOTARY PUBLIC, another beneath that proclaimed: JUSTICE OF THE PEACE, and a larger one beside that one stated: LAW WEST OF THE PECOS. There was still another, below that, displaying the saloon’s name, THE JERSEY LILLY (named after the Judge’s favorite singer, Lilly Langtree), plus an advertisement that simply offered: Ice Beer.

  Another building had been added to the original structure since Charley had visited before. It had been attached to the right-hand side of the saloon, and had another sign tacked above its door that said: BILLIARDS.