Clay looked around. He felt reason beginning to return. He took a deep breath, and turned back to the captain. “Captain, you’ve got a civilian in there who’s been shot up some?”
“I might,” the captain said, “but I asked you what’s going on here, and I mean to find out before you go a step farther.” The captain turned to the advancing soldiers and waved them off.
“Captain, that man is a member of a gang, the Pinder Gang. They killed my ma, pa, and a friend. They shot, hanged, and burned my pa and raped my ma. I reckon I have a right to see if the man you have is one of them.”
“How do you know it was this man?”
“The sheriff had posters on all those killers. I can identify them with the posters.”
“Captain, what’s going on here?”
Clay and Jake turned. The hard voice issued from an army colonel flanked by two armed soldiers.
The captain quickly explained what he knew.
“My name is Colonel Ranald Mackenzie. I am in command of this fort. What are your names?”
Clay and Jake introduced themselves.
“Mr. Barlow, no man races into my fort armed. You will put your weapons on your horse. That goes for you too, Mr. Coleman. Then we will go inside and see if this is one of the men you are after.”
Clay slid the Roper into the scabbard, then unfastened his six-guns and looped them over the saddle horn. Jake followed suit. The two men stepped back onto the porch as Colonel Mackenzie opened the door of the infirmary. They followed the colonel and captain inside. The infirmary had eight beds, four on each wall. Half the beds were occupied. The captain headed for the one at the far end of the room.
The man, apprehensive, watched their approach. Clay immediately recognized him as Birch Hayes, from the wanted poster. “That’s one of them, Colonel. He’s Birch Hayes, wanted for murder in San Antonio.”
“That’s a blamed lie,” Hayes said. “I don’t know who you are, boy, but you’ve got a loose mouth. If I wasn’t laid up here, I’d teach you to have some manners for your elders.”
Clay shuffled through the wanted posters, found the one he was looking for, and handed it to the colonel. “No lies, Hayes. You’re going to swing, and I’m going to watch.”
The colonel looked at the poster, then at Hayes. “You’re right, boy. This looks like your man.”
Hayes swung his head between Clay and the colonel. “Now see here, Colonel, there ain’t no proof. Anyway, I ain’t fit to travel. I’m lucky to still be alive, what with those Apaches attackin’ us and all.”
It was all Clay could do to hold back from choking the man to death. “You weren’t attacked by Apaches, you lying piece of dirt. You were shot by Slim when you rode into our ranch.”
Hayes looked nervously to the colonel. “Now, Colonel, I don’t know what this here boy is talking about. It was Apaches that done this, almost done me in too. We ain’t been around any ranch.”
“Colonel,” Clay said, “if you’ll let me get my bowie knife and give me just a couple of minutes, I’ll have this liar singing like a mockingbird. He’s lying, and it won’t take much to get the truth.”
“There’ll be none of that,” Colonel Mackenzie said. “I’ll hold this man until he’s able to travel, then he’ll be escorted to San Antonio and turned over to the sheriff.”
“Doctor, when your patient is ready to travel, let me know.”
“Yes, sir,” the captain said.
“Gentlemen.” Mackenzie motioned toward the door.
Clay’s vision was riveted on the killer. Jake took him by the arm. “Boy, we’ve got to go. Now.”
Clay turned for the door, then back to Hayes. “We’re not done, Mister. Not by a long shot.” Then he turned and followed them out of the infirmary.
“Mr. Barlow, I understand your desire for justice,” the colonel said, “but I want no violence on this post. Do you understand?”
“Colonel, that man was one of those that killed my folks. I reckon I know what kind of justice he needs.” Clay swung the gunbelt around his waist, fastened it, swung up onto his horse, and, without looking back, rode out of the fort.
Jake followed him. “So what’s your plan?”
“I’ll just wait and watch. I’m bettin’ he’s mighty nervous right now. As soon as he’s feelin’ up to it, I think he’ll try to escape. When he does, I’ll be waiting for him.”
“You plan on killing him?”
“That depends on him. I want him dead. If it’s a rope, I’m good with that, but if he forces me, I’ll kill him myself. Right now, I just want to question him and find out where Gideon Pinder’s going. I’m sure Pinder will have his gang with him. Then I’ll be able to even the score.”
“That’s a mighty big bite, boy, even for Bill Barlow’s son. You could be gettin’ in way over your head.”
“Jake, I realize that, but I don’t know what else to do. Those men killed my folks, and you know they’ll kill again. Their type has no remorse. They’ve got to be stopped. I just don’t see anyone else signing up for the job.”
Jake took his hat off and brushed his long hair back with his fingers. “Look, the wagon train’s in Brackett. Mr. Tropf will be unloading some of his supplies at the general store. He’ll spend the night here. We’ll be heading on for San Felipe del Rio in the morning. You’re welcome to continue on with us.”
“Thanks, Jake, but I think I’ll hang around here and see what happens with the army’s prisoner. I don’t imagine he wants to go back to San Antonio. If he tries to escape… No telling what kind of conversation we could come up with.”
“Reckon I’d do the same thing, were I you. But he ain’t goin’ to be doin’ any traveling for at least a couple of days. Come on with me. We’ll go into Brackett and get us some vittles that weren’t burnt over a campfire. Maybe I can round up something to wet my whistle.”
Clay agreed, and the two men rode the short distance into Brackett.
Jake stopped in front of the Cattleman’s Saloon. “The food’s mighty good. The liquor ain’t bad either. You a drinkin’ man, Clay?” Jake said as he stepped down from his horse and looped the reins over the hitching rail.
“Nope, Pa didn’t drink. Reckon he set me a good example. Although, I always did like a good sarsaparilla.” Clay followed Jake and looped his horse’s reins over the hitching rail.
The two walked into the saloon. Several of the bullwhackers were already inside. A couple of them nodded and went back to drinking. Jake walked over to a table and sat down, then motioned to the barkeep.
“Hildi,” the barkeep called to the back.
A tall woman of indeterminate age came out of the back and looked toward the bartender. He nodded toward Jake and Clay. She marched over to their table, gave Jake a look, and said, “If you’re looking to eat, we got some fine steak, and we’ll toss in some beans to go along with it. I’ve whipped up a tasty peach cobbler, if you’ve a need to cater to your sweet tooth.”
Clay smiled. “Ma’am, all that sounds mighty good. Could I have a sarsaparilla to go along with it?”
Jake grinned. “Hi, Hildi, been a while.”
“Quite a while, Jake. Understand you’re scoutin’ for this freight outfit.”
“Yep, keeps me eatin’.”
“Jake, you hear next year they may be startin’ the Rangers up again?”
“I heard that, Hildi. If we can get Coke elected and get that carpet-bagging Davis out of office, it just may happen.”
“You gonna sign back up, if’n you get a chance?”
“If they’ll take me, I imagine so. But here now, where’s my manners? Hildi, this sarsaparilla-sippin’ feller next to me is Clay Barlow. Reckon you remember his pa, deputy in New Braunfels back in the fifties.”
“Why, I sure do, had my cap set for him, but he never knew I was around. That little French girl from D’Hanis had his attention.” Hildi stuck her hand out. “Nice to meet you, Clay. You look just like your pa, only bigger. How are your folks?”
&nb
sp; Her hand disappeared in Clay’s when he shook it. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. My folks are dead. Murdered just over a week ago.”
Hildi stood silent for a moment, shocked by the news. “I’m mighty sorry. You’ll be looking for those who done it, I imagine.”
Clay nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll sure be doing that.”
“Hildi,” Jake said, “this here’s a growing boy. Reckon we could get him some food? I’ll have the same, but with a beer. We’ll talk later.”
Hildi nodded, her smile returning. “I bet we can do that mighty quick.” She turned and started for the kitchen.
“You better hurry up there, girl.” Cain Nestler was sitting with the bullwhackers and had already tossed back a few drinks. “That boy looks like he’s in mighty serious need of his sarsaparilla.” The other two men at his table roared along with him.
Clay looked over at the big bullwhacker. It was obvious the man was on the prod. Even at his young age, Clay knew what a bully looked like. I’m tired. I really don’t want to get into a fight with Nestler. It won’t accomplish anything.
“Ignore him,” Jake said. “He’s trying to needle you into a fight. In his mind, he knows he can beat you. You’re going to have to fight him, but it doesn’t have to be now.”
“You’re right, Jake. I’ve more important things to do than fight a loudmouth.”
“What’s a matter, boy?” Nestler said. “You miss your mommy?”
Clay was on his feet instantly.
Nestler was grinning, as if he relished the opportunity to whip the kid. But Nestler’s type liked to talk, build up to a fight, belittle his opponent. He leaned back in his chair just as Clay walked up to him. Clay kicked the chair’s back leg, sending the big man sprawling. Nestler scrambled to his feet and met the barrel and charging handle of Clay’s Navy Remington with the side of his head. He crumpled to his hands and knees, and Clay hit him again across his left ear and head. His ear and scalp split, sending blood across the floor, but Nestler didn’t care. His nose smashed into the cedar planks of the floor as he collapsed, unconscious, to the floor.
Clay thumbed the hammer back on the Remington and swung the muzzle to cover the other bullwhackers who were with Nestler. “I aim to have my sarsaparilla in peace. I want no trouble. You might ought to have your friend looked at by the doctor before he bleeds to death.” His hands were steady, and his voice was calm, but inside, he was shaking like a cottonwood leaf in a windstorm. He’d had fights as a youth, and a couple of times he had felt anger build, but never had it reached today’s point. When Nestler spoke of his ma, all he could think about was killing the man. He wasn’t interested in fighting him. He just wanted him dead. Looking down on him now, he felt a twinge of regret. The man lay bleeding on the floor, blood pouring from his head wounds. Rage had taken over his mind. Adrenaline had coursed through his body, and this was the result. He felt small regret for Nestler, but more for his loss of control.
The two bullwhackers got up and went over to Nestler, stepping carefully to keep their boots out of the blood. One turned to Clay and said, “Boy, you might of killed him. He’ll be almighty mad when he comes to—if he does. You best watch out.”
Clay turned back to his table, holstered the Remington, and sat down. “Tell him to look me up anytime. When he does, he better be healed. There’s too many of his kind in this country. One less won’t make much difference. One more thing, Mister. I may be young, but I’m no boy. Remember that.”
The two men dragged Nestler out of the saloon, a trail of blood marking his passage.
Hildi came from the back carrying their drinks. The bartender had watched the altercation, silently cleaning a beer mug. When she came through the door, he said, “Hildi, after you get them their drinks, clean up the floor.”
She set the drinks in front of the them and reappraised Clay. “I’d say you’re a chip off the old block. Your pa could be sudden, just like that. I’ll bring your food in just a minute.” Smiling at Clay, Hildi said, “Gotta clean up this mess you made first.”
The two men picked up their drinks, saluted each other, and let the liquid flow down their throats. The sweet, cool bite of the sarsaparilla was soothing to Clay. He took another sip and set the bottle back on the table.
Jake wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You can be a mighty sudden feller.”
“He spoke ill of my ma. I’ll not abide any man doing that.”
“Understand, rightfully so. But, I’ve gotta tell ya, that six-gun came out of your holster unholy quick. I thought Nestler was dead. I reckon his two partners did too.”
“Pa and Slim taught me. They worked with me when I felt I was too tired to draw another time, but I did. Pa always said this is tough country and I needed to be ready.”
Jake chuckled. “I’d say you were ready. A word of caution: Keep your head. I saw your eyes. You were totally focused on Nestler. If there woulda been other men gunning for you, you’d be dead. ’Course I might’ve taken care of one or two, but the point is, always be aware of your surroundings. That’ll keep you alive, the other won’t.”
Clay took another sip of his sarsaparilla and nodded. “Thanks, Jake. I know I’ve got a lot to learn. I just hope I learn enough before I catch up to the Pinder Gang.”
Hildi had walked up with their food as they were talking. She set the plates out in front of them. “Did I hear you say Pinder Gang?”
“Sure did,” Clay said.
“You know, they were through here a few days ago. Are they the ones who killed your family?”
“Yes, ma’am. They surely are.”
“I never did like Gideon Pinder,” Hildi said. “I don’t think he has a kind bone in his body. Saw him shoot a boy’s dog when the dog didn’t move fast enough to get out of his way. He’s bad clean through, and him always quoting scriptures. But, Clay, I did hear them say they were going to hole up north of San Felipe. That’s all I heard, other than the fact that Birch Hayes is in the infirmary, with a bullet hole in his chest. They said he got it from Apaches. But now I reckon I know where he got it from.”
“Ma’am,” Clay said, “you don’t know how much I appreciate you telling me this. I was concerned they were headed for El Paso. San Felipe is a lot closer.”
“Glad to help,” Hildi said before she headed back to the kitchen.
Jake cut into his steak and took a big bite. After moving it to the side of his mouth, he said, “What are you going to do now?”
“If they’re going to ground in San Felipe, I reckon they’ll be there for a while. I still want to talk to Hayes and get the truth out of him. What with the time I spent with the Tonkawa, I should be pretty persuasive.”
“You be careful. Birch is fast with a gun and knife. Smart too. Even with a bullet through him, he’s a handful. But, Clay, your trouble’s not near over when you finish with him. I wish you were coming with us. A lone man on the trail between here and San Felipe del Rio is a sitting duck for the Apaches. I’m serious, now. There’s word they’re out, and you don’t see Apaches until they’re on you. Keep that shotgun handy.”
“Thanks, Jake. I’ll keep my eyes peeled. Now let’s finish this steak.”
CHAPTER SIX
Clay watched the shadowy figure of Hayes approach. The moon was up. It provided very little light, but enough to recognize Hayes. Clay had been hiding in the thick mesquites behind and to the west of the infirmary for the past five nights. Tonight was to be the last night, and he would have to give up and head over to San Felipe. But now he waited, watching as Hayes drew closer.
“This shotgun makes a mighty big hole at this range. Gently unfasten that gunbelt, hang it over the saddle horn, and step away from your horse.”
Hayes froze. Clay didn’t want to kill him—he wanted to question him. He’d never killed a man, but if he went for his gun he would. Clay waited for a few more moments. Then Hayes’s body relaxed, and he slowly unfastened the gunbelt and dropped it to the ground.
“I told you to ha
ng it on the saddle. Pick it up and do what I say.”
Clay was close enough to see Hayes’s right hand go to his belt as he bent over to pick up the gunbelt with his left. “Hayes, you pull that gun and you’re dead. At this range, this buckshot will make a mighty nasty hole. Now, git that right hand up, empty.”
“How’d you know I’d be here?”
“Walk over to me, slowly.”
“They’ll hang me, if you take me back.”
Hayes walked to Clay with his hands up. Clay shoved the shotgun barrel against the man’s throat, then reached under Hayes’s belt and pulled out a double-barrel derringer. He stuffed it behind his belt, and with the shotgun still tight against Hayes’s throat, he pulled out the piggin’ string. “Lay down, face-first,” Clay said. He remembered how Pa talked about tying a man up when he was alone.
“There’s goat heads, grass burrs, and mesquite thorns, not to mention cactus. Why, I just ain’t—”
“Fine, I’ll just knock you in the head.”
Hayes laid down, carefully, face-first.
“Now spread your feet and stick your hands in front of you as far as you can.”
Clay walked around in front of Hayes. He wasn’t afraid of Hayes overpowering him. Hayes was still a sick man, but he could have another hideout gun or knife. He laid the shotgun down and quickly tied both of Hayes’s hands together.
“That’s too tight.”
“Get up.”
Clay picked up the other gun and pulled the gunbelt off the other man’s horse. He moved back to Blue, who had been standing quietly a few feet from the two men, and slipped the three guns and holster into his saddlebags. While keeping his eyes on the shadowy figure of Hayes, he mounted Blue.
“Mount up.”
Clay picked up the reins of Hayes’s horse and handed them to him.
“Ride slow and quiet into that little dry creek. It’ll take us away from the fort and Brackett. Take it nice and easy. My trigger finger is gettin’ tired.”
The two men rode into the dry creek bed and headed southwest. After a mile, Clay motioned Hayes out of the branch and pointed west. The two men turned west, and Clay prodded Hayes to pick up the pace. The two horses picked up a lope for the next two miles. Clay slowed them down to a fast walk, and they continued their journey west.
Forty-Four Caliber Justice Page 5