Guns on the Border

by Ralph Cotton

  ‘‘Sam Burrack,’’ Prew said flatly, watching for what effect the name had on Sherard. ‘‘Does that name ring a bell?’’

  Sherard’s smile went away. ‘‘Ring a bell? Hell, it fires a cannon.’’ He half turned and said, ‘‘My army friend ain’t going to like this and neither do I, you showing up with a ranger ‘pestering’ you, as you call it. Most people Burrack pesters end up being shit out of a buzzard’s ass, all across these badlands.’’

  ‘‘Hey, take it easy, Sherard,’’ said Prew. ‘‘I told you so you’d be warned, not so you’d soil yourself.’’

  ‘‘Soil myself?’’ said Sherard. ‘‘I’ll act like I didn’t hear that, Prew, ’cause I ain’t taking the time to be offended this morning. You and Burrack have yourselves a real good time out here. Maybe I’ll see you flying over or splattering down the side of a cactus.’’ He stepped down onto his horse and gave it his heels, riding away quickly.

  ‘‘For two cents I’d have staked him to the ground and burned the name of his army friend out of him with a cigar,’’ Prew said to Cherokee as they watched Sherard ride away, his yellow duster tails flapping behind him.

  ‘‘Say the word, boss,’’ said Cherokee. ‘‘I’ve got a cigar. I can ride him down and get to it.’’

  ‘‘Naw,’’ said Prew. ‘‘We’d be taking a chance on losing what we’ve got set up with him. Maybe he’d lie to us. Maybe there is no army friend. Maybe whoever it is will only deal with Sherard instead of us.’’ He gazed off toward Sherard’s galloping horse. ‘‘We’ll stick with what we’ve got.’’

  Along the trail leading back to the main set of rail tracks, the ranger and Jefferies heard Sherard’s hooves slow down to a walk as he moved cautiously toward the rail station. They pulled their horses into a stand of trees until Sherard drew closer. Even in the grainy silver light the ranger recognized Sherard as the man stopped his horse, raised his hat, wiped a hand across his forehead and looked behind him with a worried expression.

  ‘‘It’s Ike Sherard,’’ Sam whispered. ‘‘Let’s take him.’’

  With a troubled look, Jefferies said, ‘‘No, let’s let him pass. We’ll get to him later—’’

  His words cut short as the ranger’s big Colt jammed into his side. ‘‘I say we take him now, William Jefferies, and see what he’s got to tell us.’’ Before Jefferies could make a move, the ranger’s free hand slipped his gun from his belt. ‘‘Walk forward,’’ he said quietly.

  ‘‘Who’s in there?’’ Sherard called out, his hand clamping around his gun butt as he saw the two horses stepping out toward him.

  ‘‘It’s me. Don’t shoot,’’ Jefferies said flatly as his horse walked into sight, the ranger’s stallion close beside him.

  ‘‘Oh, it’s you, Captain,’’ said Sherard. His hand came away from his gun butt. ‘‘At first I thought it might be that ranger . . .’’ His words trailed off as he recognized Sam. His hand clamped back around his revolver and raised it halfway from his holster, then stopped, seeing the ranger’s Colt already drawn, cocked and ready to fire.

  ‘‘Drop it or fall with it, Ike Sherard,’’ Sam demanded.

  ‘‘Hey, what’s going on here?’’ Sherard asked. Instead of dropping the Remington he slipped it back into his holster, as if the ranger wouldn’t notice such a move.

  Sam let the move go and said, ‘‘I’m glad to see I don’t have to introduce you two.’’

  ‘‘Damn it,’’ Sherard said to Jefferies, ‘‘I never trusted you, you sonsabitch. This setup went to hell when Sergeant Keough died. Like as not, it was you killed him.’’

  ‘‘Like as not it was,’’ Jefferies replied. Then to Sam he said, ‘‘Listen, Ranger, you’re making a big mistake here.’’

  ‘‘He’s right, Ranger,’’ said Sherard. ‘‘I’ve got twenty thousand dollars in my duster. What say I give it to you two to split however you like, and I just ease away from here, no harm done?’’

  ‘‘Not today, Sherard,’’ said the ranger. ‘‘We’re going to ride into the trees and have a good honest talk about who’s who and what’s what—’’

  Before Sam’s words had left his mouth, Jefferies shouted, ‘‘Look out, Ranger!’’

  Sherard had made his play—the play Sam knew was coming when he saw the former lawman hadn’t dropped his gun the way he’d been told to. But his play wasn’t fast enough. Sam’s bullet lifted him from his saddle and dropped him to the ground as his horse bolted in fear and raced off along the rails.

  ‘‘A man can sure stay busy riding with you, whoever you are,’’ Sam said, reaching over and snapping a cuff around Jefferies’ wrist. His smoking Colt had swung back to Jefferies almost before Sherard hit the ground. ‘‘Now the other one,’’ Sam said firmly.

  Jefferies let out a breath and held his other wrist over. ‘‘Ranger, you’ve got to listen to me. You’re making a big mistake.’’

  ‘‘Oh?’’ said Sam, gesturing for him to step down from his saddle. ‘‘Bigger than the one I made trusting you to begin with?’’

  Jefferies dismounted and led Sam to the body on the ground. ‘‘I am Captain William Jefferies, Ranger. Everything I told you is the truth, except that I am the inside contact man who set this up.’’

  ‘‘I see,’’ said Sam. He stooped down and took the envelope full of money from Sherard’s duster. ‘‘The part about you being the main one who set this up slipped your mind?’’ Keeping his gun on Jefferies, he dragged Sherard’s body into the trees. Jefferies tagged along, his wrists cuffed in front of him.

  ‘‘No, I didn’t tell you I set this up because I knew how you would take it,’’ said Jefferies.

  ‘‘Save it, Jefferies,’’ said Sam, knowing that any minute some of Prew’s men would be riding from the siding rails to investigate the gunshot. ‘‘Whatever you want to tell me, you can tell the tree.’’

  ‘‘The tree?’’ Through swollen eyes Jefferies gave the ranger a questioning look.

  ‘‘Yes, the tree,’’ said Sam, waving him back to the horses with his Colt barrel. ‘‘Let’s go. I still plan on putting your operation out of business.’’

  Chapter 25

  Standing with his face only inches from the trunk of a wild cherry tree, his arms cuffed around it, Jefferies said, as if speaking directly to the tree, ‘‘It’s true I’m the one who killed Sergeant Keough. I found out he was the one informing Sherard when there were arms and ammunition headed this way. Instead of agreeing to cooperate with me, help me bust up this thieves ring, he tried to kill me. I killed him first.’’ He paused for a moment, then said, ‘‘Ranger, are you listening to me?’’

  ‘‘Hmm? Oh, yes, of course I am,’’ said the ranger, sitting on the ground a few feet away as he cleaned his Colt and his Winchester. ‘‘You just keep telling me your story over and over. I’ll let the tree decide when we’ve heard enough.’’

  Jefferies let out a breath and stared at the tree, shaking his head. ‘‘You’re going to need my help with the dynamite, Ranger,’’ he said. ‘‘When we get there, at least let me wire everything up. You can hold your gun on me while I do it. But please don’t let these men get away from us. Do you have any idea how much they have stolen from the army?’’

  ‘‘You can relax, Captain,’’ said Sam. ‘‘Nobody is getting away, including you.’’ He continued cleaning his rifle. ‘‘As for what they’ve stolen, I don’t see how they would steal anything else if you hadn’t set it up for them after killing this Sergeant Keough.’’

  ‘‘Prew and Murella would have replaced Keough soon enough,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘I had to set this up in order to stop them, once and for all. You can check with the army. I am who I say I am, blast it!’’

  Sam smiled thinly to himself. ‘‘Yes, I could do that, but like you said, the lines are down. I can’t reach anybody.’’

  ‘‘It’s true they are down,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘But later, after this is over, you can check and see that what I’ve told you is the truth.’’

>   Sam stood up and walked to the tree. ‘‘Rest your tongue a while, Captain.’’ He drew the keys to the cuffs from his pocket. ‘‘We’ve got to get behind Prew.’’ He reached out to unlock the cuffs, then stopped and said in a grim tone, ‘‘Make no mistake. If you try to interfere with what I’m doing I will kill you.’’

  ‘‘I understand,’’ Jefferies said, rubbing his wrists as Sam released him from around the tree. ‘‘But you’ve got to tell me what I have to do to make you believe me.’’

  Sam gave him a nudge toward the horses. ‘‘Just keep talking to the tree every chance you get.’’

  Once mounted, the two continued on in the midmorning sunlight, staying back far enough to keep from being seen, yet following close enough to keep an eye on the three lumbering freight wagons.

  They had crossed the border in the late afternoon when Sam saw the dust from the riders and the wagons settle. But instead of making camp right there, he rested their horses and donkey until darkness set in. ‘‘We’re going to get in front of them,’’ he said to Jefferies, who sat on the ground with his wrists cuffed around a smaller pine.

  ‘‘Good,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘Tomorrow afternoon we’ll reach the bridge crossing Cala del Rescate. We’ve got to get ahead and wire it. That’s where they’ll meet Murella.’’

  ‘‘Redemption Creek, eh?’’ said Sam, considering it as he unlocked the cuffs. Jefferies stood up and stretched his arms before Sam cuffed him again. ‘‘What makes you so sure they’ll meet there?’’

  ‘‘They always do,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘Keough told me that much before he decided to try and kill me.’’ Walking to the horses, Jefferies continued. ‘‘Prew knows he can’t trust Murella, not out on the open land. They meet on that narrow bridge, Prew gets him money, Murella gets his munitions. By the time his federales got across the bridge and around those wagons Prew and his men would be long gone.’’

  ‘‘Makes sense to me,’’ said Sam, giving him a hand up into his saddle. ‘‘What makes you think Murella won’t send one of his men to deliver the money?’’

  ‘‘He never does,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘Would you if you were him—trust one of the troops to carry forty, fifty thousand dollars?’’

  ‘‘No.’’ Sam stepped up into his saddle, the lead rope to the donkey in hand. ‘‘I expect I wouldn’t.’’ Before nudging the stallion forward, he reached into his shirt pocket and took out one of the cigars he’d taken from the leather supply bag. He lit it and blew a long stream of blue-gray smoke.

  ‘‘You’re not a cigar smoker, are you?’’ Jefferies asked.

  ‘‘On occasion I am,’’ Sam said. ‘‘I thought I’d better try one of these, make sure they’ll stay lit when I need them to.’’

  ‘‘Are you going to offer me one?’’ Jefferies asked.

  Considering it for a moment, Sam pulled one of the black cigars from his shirt pocket and handed it to Jefferies. He struck a match and held it cupped in his hands until Jefferies got the cigar burning. ‘‘El capitán might have some hard feelings toward Prew when they meet,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Oh?’’ Jefferies looked curious.

  ‘‘That was no dry run,’’ said the ranger. ‘‘Murella and Prew set up the bank at Plaza Fuerte. I followed Prew and left a small amount of money for Murella to find and think it was his share. So, there’s no telling what we should expect out on the bridge at Redemption Creek.’’

  A thin smile came to Jefferies’ sore lips. ‘‘That’s pretty good, Ranger.’’

  ‘‘I try,’’ said Sam, shaking out the match and gesturing Jefferies forward. ‘‘Let’s go.’’

  Circling wide around Prew’s dark camp, they rode on throughout the night until they reached the high wood and stone bridge at Cala del Rescate. There they dismounted and hitched the animals to the bridge railing. The ranger swung the supply bag over his shoulder and kept Jefferies in front of him as they walked down under the bridge out into the cross-structure of thick wooden support beams.

  Two hundred feet below them the creek lay black as coal.

  ‘‘So you are going to let me help,’’ Jefferies said, sounding confident. ‘‘Good. Believe me, I want these men as bad as you do—’’

  ‘‘Talk to the post,’’ the ranger said, motioning toward the thick wooden support post.

  ‘‘Ranger, you’ve got to let me do this,’’ Jefferies insisted, even as he held out his handcuffs for the ranger to unlock and relock around the post.

  ‘‘Why?’’ said Sam. ‘‘You told me not long ago how easy it was going to be if I had to do it without you.’’ Snapping the cuffs he said, ‘‘I’m having to do it without you.’’

  ‘‘But you don’t have to,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘I’m right here. Let me do it!’’

  ‘‘Anything I need to know, you can tell me from here,’’ Sam said.

  ‘‘In the dark?’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘This is crazy. It’s never going to work. Turn me loose. Let me help.’’

  ‘‘I can’t trust you, Jefferies. Now shut up,’’ Sam said. Setting the leather supply bag down at his feet, he stooped down and opened it.

  Before dawn the ranger led Jefferies back to where they’d left the horses and the donkey. The leather supply bag on the ranger’s shoulder was much lighter, with nothing in it now but the hand grenades and a short coil of fuse. As Jefferies swung up onto his saddle, Sam tied down the supply bag.

  ‘‘Let’s hope you got it all wired just right,’’ Jefferies said, his hands still cuffed in front of him. ‘‘How much fuse did you leave?’’

  ‘‘Six feet,’’ Sam replied, swinging up onto his saddle,the donkey’s lead rope in hand. ‘‘That should give me time to light it and get at least a hundred yards away before it goes off.’’

  ‘‘I’d feel better if was me lighting it,’’ Jefferies commented under his breath.

  ‘‘I bet you would,’’ said Sam. He nudged his stallion toward a long stretch of woodlands whose outline stood black against a purple sky.

  ‘‘What about me?’’ Jefferies asked. ‘‘Where are you going to leave me when you slip back to light it?’’

  Nodding toward the dark stretch of woodlands lying ahead of them, Sam said, ‘‘There are plenty of trees there. We’ll find one that fits.’’

  ‘‘You can’t leave me cuffed around a tree, Ranger,’’ Jefferies protested. ‘‘What if something goes wrong and you don’t come back?’’

  ‘‘I suppose you better be rooting for me.’’

  They rode thirty yards into the dark woods and stopped at a small clearing. In the east, a thin sliver of daylight seeped up over the horizon. ‘‘Now we wait until I know Prew and his wagons are close by.’’ He stepped down from the saddle and gestured for Jefferies to do the same.

  Once he had him cuffed around a tree, Sam untied Jefferies’ bandanna from around his neck, looked at it and said, ‘‘This will have to do.’’

  ‘‘Ranger, you can’t leave me here tied and gagged—’’

  ‘‘Shhh,’’ the ranger said, cutting him off.

  They both listened to the sound of something or someone slipping in closer on their right, then on their left. Sam stepped over and lifted his Winchester from his saddle boot, realizing even as he did so that they were slowly being surrounded. He started to step forward, unlock Jefferies’ cuffs and make a run for it. But before he could take a step, Sway Loden called out from within the trees, ‘‘Drop that rifle, lawdog. We’ve got you circled.’’

  Sam stalled, trying to get an idea of how many guns pointed at him from within the predawn darkness. ‘‘I don’t drop my firearms unless there’s an awfully good reason,’’ he said, his eyes cutting around, seeing no one.

  ‘‘Let’s see if these are reasons enough,’’ Loden said.

  After a moment of silence, Caridad called out to Jefferies in a frightened tone, ‘‘William, they have me and Sabio. But do not do something to endanger your own life—’’

  ‘‘That’s plenty, li
ttle lady,’’ Loden said. ‘‘Ranger, you’re the one holding the gun. What say you now? You want to drop it, or you want me to pitch one of these Mexicans in there with their throat cut?’’

  ‘‘Do what he says, please, Ranger!’’ Jefferies said from his tree. ‘‘He’ll kill them both without batting an eye!’’

  Hearing Jefferies, Loden chuckled and said, ‘‘Sounds like he knows me well enough, Ranger. Now what’s it going to be?’’

  Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘‘Don’t hurt them. Here’s the rifle.’’ He gave the rifle a slight pitch away from him.

  ‘‘Toss the Colt away too,’’ said Loden. ‘‘Lift it easy like.’’

  Sam raised his Colt with two fingers and threw it over beside the rifle.

  ‘‘Now pull your hands up and keep them where we can see them,’’ Loden said, starting to step closer out of the darker woods into the grainy light in the small clearing.

  Glancing around, Sam saw other figures emerging slowly from the darkness like phantoms from some lower world. In front of him, Loden held Caridad against his chest with his right arm, his gun hand swollen from the beating he’d given Jefferies. Holding his revolver in his left hand, he raised a boot and gave Sabio a hard shove in the rear, launching him forward.

  The former priest fell at the ranger’s feet. When Sam instinctively started to reach down and give Sabio a hand up, Loden called out, ‘‘Uh-uh, Ranger. He gets up on his own, or else lays there. Keep your hands high.’’

  Sam straightened and watched Loden walk closer. When he stopped and kept Caridad against his chest, Jefferies tugged at his cuffs as if he might pull them loose. ‘‘If you hurt her, Loden,’’ he growled.

  ‘‘Shut up, Kid,’’ Loden snapped, ‘‘or I’ll kill her just for the fun of it.’’ He eyed Jefferies warily, his arms cuffed around the tree. Looking at the ranger, he said, ‘‘What’s this all about, a lovers’ spat?’’

  Sam didn’t answer. He wondered how much Loden and these men had seen and heard as they’d crept in.