Blood Ties: A Texas Ranger Will Kirkpatrick Novel

by James J. Griffin

  Pete, his overo paint, was a bit unusual for a range rider, since most cowboys favored solid colored mounts, disdaining spotted horses as fit only for Indians or women, but still not that outstanding that he would attract much attention. Pete’s nondescript appearance belied the fact that he had plenty of speed and endurance. The gelding could go for days on little water and snatches of grass.

  So, when Will reached Pecos about four in the afternoon, no one would have even taken notice…if it weren’t for the two horses trailing him, carrying two dead men, and the young man riding alongside him, handcuffed, with his ankles tied to his stirrups. As he headed down the main street toward the Reeves County Sheriff’s Office, a crowd began to assemble and follow, some of its bolder members shouting out questions. Will ignored them, until he reined up in front of the office. Amos Pettengill, the county sheriff, had heard the commotion, and was standing in front of his door, holding a shotgun and watching Will approach.

  “I dunno who you are, cowboy,” Pettengill said, as Will reined up, “but you’d better have a damn good explanation for what I’m seein’ here. I don’t appreciate strangers ridin’ into my territory with two dead men lashed to horses trailin’ him.”

  Pettingill was a big, burly man in his early forties, slightly shorter than Will, but more muscular. Only the slightest hint of a paunch pushed out his gunbelt. A huge, flowing dragoon moustache adorned his upper lip. His piercing, almost dark-as-black brown eyes glared at Will from under a flat-brimmed, high crowned hat. Clearly, he could handle any trouble which came his way. Amos Pettengill was not a man to be trifled with.

  Will returned the sheriff’s glare with one of his own. He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out his badge, and pinned it to his vest

  “Texas Ranger Will Kirkpatrick, Sheriff. As for your ‘damn good’ explanation, these are the hombres who held up the San Angelo stage forty miles outside town. I’d been trailin’ ’em for almost ten days. They led me on a chase through the badlands for fair. When I finally cornered ’em, one of ’em made the mistake of goin’ for his gun. I had to plug him.

  “This mornin’, when we were startin’ for town, I made a mistake when I took my eyes off his pardner for a minute, and he managed to get the drop on me. If it hadn’t been for this young feller ridin’ alongside me, I’d be coyote grub right about now.

  “However, out here in the street is no place to talk about any of this. I’m tired and sore, and my horse is tired, which means we’re both plumb wore out. I just want to get my prisoner in a cell, get these two bodies to the undertaker, and get Pete a stall and good feedin’. Then I want a shave, haircut, and bath for myself, followed by a good meal and a soft bed in a decent hotel room. I also need to get the stolen money to the bank for safekeepin’. It’s in the horses’ saddlebags. Is that good enough of an explanation for you?”

  “I reckon it is,” Pettengill answered. “I also reckon I owe you an apology, Ranger. Amos Pettengill’s my name. I had a bad night last night, tryin’ to chase down a couple of horse thieves, who still managed to disappear into the malpais. I reckon I took out my mad on you, and I’m sorry.”

  “No apology needed, Sheriff,” Will answered. “I guess I came off a mite rough, too. Seems like we’re both tired. If you’ll just take this prisoner off my hands, then tell me where the undertaker’s at, and let the banker know I need to use his vault, I’d be obliged.”

  “There’s no need for you to haul those carcasses to the undertaking parlor,” Pettengill answered. He pointed at two men, and signaled to a third, who wore a town deputy marshal’s badge. “Curly, Fred. Take those bodies down to Monahan’s. Tell Mort he’s got a couple of customers, and that the county’ll be payin’ for the buryin’. Leave their horses and gear with Casey at the livery. Tell him the usual arrangement. The county will sell the animals and gear for his board and the funerals.”

  He pointed to the man wearing the town deputy’s star. “Harry, since the marshal’s outta town, take the money off the Ranger’s hands and tell John Slater to put it in his vault. Unless you have any objections, Ranger.”

  “None at all.” Will shook his head.

  “Fine. Then get down offa your horse, and bring your man inside. I’ll pour you a cup of coffee while we start the paperwork.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Will dismounted, looped Pete’s reins over the rail, and gave the horse a pat on the neck.

  “You’re gonna have to stay here a mite longer, Pete,” he told the paint. “Soon as my business with the sheriff is finished, I’ll get you a stall and a good feed. Extra oats and hay for you tonight, pard.”

  Pete shook his head and snorted. Will chuckled.

  “Time to get you in a cell, Jonas,” Will said. He walked over to Jonas’s horse, removed Jonas’s bonds, and helped the young outlaw dismount.

  “Right this way,” Pettengill said, swinging open the door to his office. Will and Jonas followed him inside. Pettengill removed a ring of keys hanging from a peg, and used one to unlock a heavy oak door, which led to a row of cells. He opened the first one vacant.

  “In there, you,” he told Jonas. Jonas walked into the cell and laid on his back on the bunk.

  “Can you get my prisoner some water, Sheriff?” Will asked. “It’s been a long, hot ride for both of us.”

  “Sure, soon as we get him logged in,” Pettengill answered. “He’ll be gettin’ his supper in about an hour, from the Pecos Café across the street. It won’t be anythin’ fancy, but it won’t be slop, like so many other jailers serve their prisoners.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Will said. “As soon as we get the paperwork out of the way, I’d like to talk to you about this boy.”

  Pettengill turned and gave Will an odd look.

  “Why? Somethin’ I should know about him?”

  “We’ll talk in your office, Sheriff. Jonas, I know it won’t be easy, but try not to worry, at least, not too much. With any luck, I can get this whole thing straightened out.”

  “All right, Ranger,” Jonas answered, hopelessness evident in his voice.

  “Let’s go, Sheriff,” Will said.

  He and Pettengill returned to the office. One of Pettengill’s deputies had just returned.

  “Mike, this is Ranger Will Kirkpatrick,” Pettengill said. “Ranger, Mike Hardy, my chief deputy.”

  The two men nodded at each other.

  “The Ranger here just brought in a prisoner,” Pettengill continued. “He’s in cell four. Would you mind fetchin’ him some water?”

  “Not at all, Amos,” Hardy answered. “Good to meet you, Ranger.”

  “Same here,” Will replied.

  “Grab yourself a cup of coffee and pull up a chair, Ranger,” Pettengill offered. He handed Will a tin mug. “You mind if I call you Will?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Good, then call me Amos. No point in bein’ formal,” Pettengill said. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove, then sat behind his spur-scarred desk, opened a drawer and removed three forms, then placed them on the desktop. Will also poured a cup of the black, steaming brew, reversed a straight back chair, placed it in front of Pettengill’s desk, then straddled it.

  “Two of these are for the dead men,” the sheriff said. “We’ll get to those after we take care of the paperwork on your prisoner.” He picked up a pen and dipped it in the inkwell on the corner of his desk.

  “Now, what’s the young renegade’s name?”

  “Jonas Peterson.”

  Pettengill scrawled the name on the form.

  “Whereabouts is he from?”

  “He claims his folks had a ranch down below San Angelo. When they passed, his aunt and uncle took him in. They also had a ranch in the same area. Their kids were his cousins.”

  “You said were his cousins, Will?”

  “Yeah. They’re the two jaspers on their way to the undertaker.”

  “Understood. What are the charges?”

  “Armed robber
y.”

  “That’s all? No murder, attempted murder, or resistin’ arrest?”

  “Nope. No one was hurt when they held up the stage, not even the shotgun guard. Seems like he didn’t put up much of a fight, which was probably the smart thing to do, but sure won’t endear him to his bosses at Wells Fargo. From what I understand, only two shots were fired. And the boy didn’t try to resist when I finally caught up with him and his kin. Good thing he didn’t. You saw what happened to the other two.”

  “Might’ve been easier all around if he had, and you’d plugged him, too,” Pettengill said. He slid the form across the desk and handed Will the pen, then opened his center desk drawer and took out another. “You know the routine. Fill out the complaint section and sign it. While you do that I’ll make start fillin’ in the other forms for the coroner. What were the other two jaspers’ names?”

  “Kyle Peterson, and Wylie Peterson.”

  “And you caught up with ’em in Reeves County?”

  “Sure enough did.”

  “Bueno. That’ll simplify things, at least a bit. No jurisdictional problems. I’ll fill in what I can, then you’ll have to do the rest.”

  “I’m obliged, Amos. Sooner we can get this business done, the sooner I can settle my horse and myself.”

  ****

  Forty minutes later, the papers were completed and filed. Will tilted back in his chair and sighed. Pettengill refilled his pipe, and touched a match to it.

  “You said you wanted to talk to me about your prisoner, Ranger,” he said, once the tobacco was burning. He took a puff on the pipe, then blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling. “Would you like to get some supper first? We could head across the street to the café. Mebbe you could tell me what’s on your mind over a good steak.”

  “I’d rather not talk in public,” Will answered. “You said the café provides your prisoners’ meals, if I recollect.”

  “That’s right, they do.”

  “Tell you what. If it’s okay with you, would you mind having them send over our supper, along with Jonas’s? That way, we can eat, and also discuss his situation in private.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Pettengill answered. He called to his deputy, who was stationed at the front desk.

  “Mike.”

  “Yessir, Sheriff,” Hardy answered.

  “Me’n the Ranger, here, are gonna have our supper in the office tonight. You mind goin’ for our meals?”

  “Not at all,” Hardy answered. The tone of his voice indicated he’d really rather not go get the suppers, but he knew from years as Pettengill’s deputy, he had no choice. “What’re you gonna have?”

  “Steaks and spuds for both of us, along with whatever kind of beans Miss Sally has tonight. How do you want your steak cooked, Will?”

  “Nice and seared on the outside, still red on the inside, if it can be managed,” Will answered.

  “Not sure how it’ll turn out,” Hardy said. “Miss Sally’s chuck is all right, but she’s not the best cook. Most folks eat there simply because May Pardee, who runs the only other restaurant in town, is even worse, plus she’s ugly as sin, to boot. At least Sally Johnson’s easy on the eyes. And her coffee is real good. May’s is more like dishwater.”

  “I’m not the best cook, either,” Will answered. “After weeks on the trail eatin’ my own cookin’, I’m sure however Miss Sally cooks my steak, it’ll taste just fine.”

  “Same thing for the prisoner, Sheriff?” Hardy asked. Will answered him instead.

  “Yes, Deputy. If there’s any apple pie, order me and Jonas a slice of that, also.”

  “Is that all right, Sheriff?” Hardy questioned his boss.

  “As long as the Ranger says so, yeah,” Pettengill answered. “You might as well order your supper too, Mike. Get the same for yourself, also.”

  “All right. You want pie, too?”

  “Silly question, Mike.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Hardy said, grinning. “Four orders of steak, taters, beans, and apple pie. Along with a pot of coffee. I’ll be back in half an hour or so.”

  “That’s fine, Mike.”

  “Take your time, deputy. There’s no hurry. While you’re pickin’ up our supper, I’m gonna take my horse to the livery stable and get him settled in. Ol’ Pete’s pretty tired, and deserves a good rubdown and feedin’ after chasin’ Jonas and his kinfolk practically to Hell and back. I’ll just get him a stall and his supper, and give him a quick brushin’ until later. I’ll be back by the time you return.”

  “You know your way to the livery?” Pettengill asked.

  “Yup,” Will answered. “I’ve passed through Pecos a couple of other times. Never had cause to stop in your office since I was on my way elsewhere. Joe Bates knows how I want my horse taken care of. Pete’ll be in good hands. I’ll see you shortly.”

  Will and Hardy left together, the deputy heading across the street to the café, while Will untied Pete, climbed into the saddle, and rode his tired gelding toward the stable.

  “You’ll rest good tonight, Pete,” he told the horse, with a pat on the shoulder. “Mebbe a couple of nights, dependin’ on what Austin has lined up for us next. C’mon, let’s get you tucked in.”

  He put Pete into a slow trot.

  ****

  Will usually groomed Pete himself whenever he put the horse up at a livery stable. However, he’d put Pete up at the Bates Livery several times previously, and knew the owner, Joe Bates, would take good care of his mount. He did stop by Marie’s Bakery, just as the owner was locking up, to buy Pete two leftover doughnuts. Once Will’s horse had his treat, he ran a curry comb over him to remove the heaviest dirt and dried sweat, then left him in Joe’s capable hands. He was back at the sheriff’s office slightly more than forty-five minutes after he’d left. Pettengill and Hardy were already working at their meals.

  “We were wonderin’ where you got yourself off to, Will,” Pettengill said. “Your supper’s keepin’ warm on the stove.”

  “I stopped by the bakery to get my horse some doughnuts before I took him to the stable. Pete always looks for doughnuts when we’re in a town,” Will explained. “Plus, I always take a few minutes to say goodnight to him.”

  “Sure sounds like you spoil that horse, Ranger,” Hardy said. “It’s just a bronc, after all. Horses are made for work, that’s it. Soon as you wear one out, you send it off to the renderin’ factory, then get yourself a new one. Simple as that.”

  Will’s face visibly darkened in anger. He struggled to keep his temper in check, his voice even.

  “You’re wrong, Deputy, and if you treat your horses like that, some day you just might be dead wrong. Yeah, I probably do spoil Pete, I’ll admit it. However, he’s saved my life more’n once, and he’s the one friend I can count on, no matter how tough things get. When you depend on your horse as much as I do, and when you spend weeks on the trail, sometimes with only him to talk to, you find out right quick that a good horse ain’t just another animal. He’s a friend, companion, and pardner. One thing I can’t abide is anyone mistreatin’ a horse.”

  Pettengill broke in, before the mounting tension between the Ranger and his deputy could escalate into something more serious.

  “Will, you said you wanted to talk with me about the prisoner you brought in. Is that for me and you alone, or can Mike stay and finish his supper?”

  Will thumbed back his Stetson and ran a hand through his hair before answering.

  “I don’t guess it’ll do any harm to let him stay. What I’m gonna bring up will all be public soon enough.”

  “All right, then. Go ahead,” Pettengill said.

  “Sure.” Will cut off a piece of his steak and popped it in his mouth before continuing. “That is, if I don’t bust my jaw on this hunk of leather. Must’ve come from a real old cow.”

  “I warned you Miss Sally wasn’t the best cook, but she’s runnin’ the only halfway decent restaurant in town,” Pettengill answered, chuckling. “Doesn’t give us much choice
, unless you want to sample some of my cookin’, which is even worse, I promise you that. Since my wife passed, I would have plumb starved to death if it weren’t for Sally. See if you can spit out your story without any broken teeth.”

  Will grimaced when he bit down on a particularly tough bite of his steak. He spit the gristly, inedible, half-chewed piece onto his plate.

  “I’m not gonna go over the whole story, Amos,” he said. “Jonas Peterson doesn’t seem like he’s really a bad kid. He’s been more scared than anythin’ else, from the moment I tracked him and the other two down. He just was forced into bad company when his ma and pa died, so he had to go live with his no-account kinfolk, from what he told me. He didn’t want to take part in that stagecoach robbery. His cousins talked him into it.”

  “Could be he’s just runnin’ a sandy on you,” Pettengill said. “With both his cousins dead, there’s no one to back up his story…or contradict it.”

  “That could be, but I don’t think so,” Will said. “When his cousin Kyle got the jump on me, the kid saved my life by stoppin’ him before he could plug me. In the fight for my gun, Jonas ended up killin’ his own kin. I was still helpless, lyin’ on the ground doubled up in pain, when Jonas got my gun back. He could have shot me on the spot, and gotten clean away. Instead, he gave me my gun, told me he was done bein’ an outlaw. Said he was gonna let me take him in and face the consequences. Besides, like I said, the entire time he was scared half to death. The boy just doesn’t have the makin’s of a renegade. However, if he ends up in Huntsville, he will, and fast. You’n me both know that’s no place for a kid.”

  “The Ranger’s right, Sheriff,” Hardy agreed. “I hate it when I have to escort a man to Huntsville. The place gives me the willies, and I’ve been a lawman long enough there ain’t much that bothers me. But that place makes my skin crawl, every time.”