Blood Ties: A Texas Ranger Will Kirkpatrick Novel

by James J. Griffin

  “That’s good advice, Will,” Gerard said. “I’ll see that Father takes it.”

  “Good,” Will answered. “We’ve wasted enough time palaverin’. Jonas, Max, let’s ride.”

  ****

  Spurr pointed to where the hoof prints of five horses turned off the main road to Fredericksburg.

  “Here’s where they turned off the road, and started cross-country.”

  “Yep, the tracks are pretty plain,” Will said.

  “For about another mile,” Spurr answered. “Then I lost ’em on some hardpan. I’m hopin’ you’ll be able to pick ’em up again, Will.”

  “We’ll see,” Will answered. He pushed Pete back into a lope. A bit more than a mile farther, the tracks disappeared on a stretch of gravel and rock.

  “This is where I lost ’em,” Spurr said.

  “They seemed to be headed northeast. We’ll ride a little way in that direction and see if we can pick ’em up again,” Will answered.

  At a slow walk, Will moved Pete forward. He leaned over in his saddle, scanning the ground from side to side, looking for any sign of the outlaws’ passing.

  “Seems to be some horse droppin’s up ahead,” Jonas pointed. “Let’s hope that means we’ve picked up the trail again.”

  “You’ve got good eyes, Jonas,” Will said.

  They rode up to the mound of manure. Will dismounted and squatted on his haunches next to the pile. He picked up some of the droppings in his hand, sniffed at them, then crumbled them between his fingers.

  “They’re about six hours ahead of us,” he said, as he wiped off his hand on his denims, then straightened up. “I was hopin’ they hadn’t kept pushin’ that hard, but it could be worse. They’ll have to slow up to give their horses a break before much longer. Let’s go.”

  “There’s somethin’ hangin’ off that bush up ahead,” Will said, a few hundred yards later. He plucked the object from the shrub. “Yep, it’s a hank of hair from a bay or black horse’s tail. We’re still on their trail. It’ll be harder to keep on it, on this ground, but they ain’t gonna give us the slip that easy.”

  Now, following the tracks of the bank robbers became a slow, painstaking process. Will had to scour the ground and vegetation for the slightest sign, a scrap of cloth snagged on an ocotillo wand’s spines, a bit of horsehair caught in a cholla’s needles, broken twigs where horses and men had passed, snapped off mesquite branches where a passing horse had decided to snatch a mouthful of leaves. Occasionally, on a stretch of soft or sandy ground, the outlaws’ trail once again became clear.

  Will pulled Pete to a stop as dusk fell.

  “This is as far as we go for today,” he said. “It’s gettin’ too dark to follow sign. We’ll make camp here for the night, get some rest for both us and the horses, and start out fresh at first light.”

  “Are we gainin’ any on ’em, Will?” Jonas asked.

  Will shook his head.

  “No. In fact, they’ve gained some on us. I expected that. They know where they’re goin’, so they can just keep on ridin’, while we have to keep searchin’ for sign. I ain’t worried, though. Sooner or later, they’ll start to relax and move slower, figurin’ they’ve made a clean getaway. That’s when we’ll start catchin’ up to ’em. And we will find ’em. I’ll bet my hat on it.”

  “No offense, Will. But that old Stetson of yours ain’t much of a hat,” Spurr said. “You ain’t riskin’ a whole lot.”

  “There’s nothin’ wrong with my hat,” Will retorted. “It’s just broken in.”

  “Mebbe so, but it’s pretty pathetic lookin’,” Jonas said. “Kinda like it was shot, then stomped by a crazed bronc, then thrown in the river and stampeded into the mud by a herd of maddened cows.”

  “Enough about my hat. Let’s get settled,” Will ordered.

  The horses were cared for first, as always, then Will built a small, almost smokeless fire. After eating their bacon, beans, and biscuits, and downing several cups each of thick, black coffee, the men rolled in their blankets. Jonas and Spurr were soon asleep, while Will stared up at the stars sprinkled across the night sky.

  Funny how things turn out sometimes, he thought. I leave home to get away from my father, and now I’m chasin’ the outlaws who robbed his bank. Whoever would’ve guessed? Well, if I am gonna catch up to those hombres, I’d better get some shut-eye.

  He rolled onto his belly, slid his Peacemaker out of its holster, put it where it would be within easy reach if needed, then pulled the blanket over his shoulders. Five minutes later, his soft snores joined those of his comrades.

  ****

  Two-and-a-half days later, Will and his partners reined their horses to a stop on the banks of the Colorado River.

  “It’s just like I told you boys yesterday,” Will said. “Those hombres are headin’ for the Balcones canyons. I was afraid of that. It looks like they’ll get there ahead of us. If they do, we’ll sure have a helluva time rootin’ ’em outta there.”

  The Balcones canyons, although not much more than forty miles from Austin, were as rugged a wilderness as any found in Texas. It was made up of a jumble of deep canyons, free-running streams, and rock terraces. Several of the streams formed waterfalls as they tumbled over the rocks and ledges. Heavily forested with oak, elm, hickory, sycamore, cottonwood, and even some big-toothed maple, the Balcones were an ideal spot for hunting and fishing…or a perfect hiding place for men on the run from the law.

  “How far behind ’em do you think we are, Will?” Jonas asked.

  “No more’n a couple of hours, now. But that’s more’n enough time for those hombres to disappear into the canyons. There’s no point puttin’ this off. Let’s get on in there.”

  The three men put their horses into the swirling blue waters of the Colorado. In mid-stream, the mounts had to swim for several hundred feet. They emerged from the river dripping wet, and shook themselves vigorously, much to the chagrin of their riders.

  “Now that we’re across, which way do we head, Will, upstream or down?” Spurr asked.

  “The deeper canyons are still downstream, so we’ll head that way. I’ve got a gut feelin’ that’s the way our men headed.”

  “My hunches have played out plenty of times,” Spurr said. “I’m sure not gonna doubt yours.”

  They put the horses into motion once again. A quarter-mile later, Will’s hunch proved accurate. He pointed to several hoof prints in the damp sand along the riverbank.

  “There’s the tracks we’re lookin’ for. Those hombres sure aren’t worried about anyone tryin’ to follow ’em into the Balcones. They ain’t even tryin’ to hide their tracks. We’ll make better time now. We should come up on ’em before sundown. C’mon.”

  He put Pete into a slow lope, which would cover plenty of ground, but still allow Will to follow the outlaws’ trail with no trouble.

  Two miles later, the outlaws’ tracks turned away from the river, into a wide, deep, and heavily wooded canyon.

  “We go slow and easy from here on in,” Will warned. “This is an ideal spot for an ambush. Keep your eyes peeled and your ears open.”

  He turned Pete into the canyon, with Jonas and Spurr close on their heels. The trail wound along the left side of a good-sized stream which ran through the canyon. The canyon’s left wall was not nearly as steep as its right, and was marked by shallows and wide, sandy banks along the stream. The right was much steeper, in places sheer rock walls, which rose nearly vertically from the canyon’s floor.

  Jonas looked up at the top of one of those cliffs and shook his head.

  “Those hombres could pick us all off from up there before we even knew what hit us. You think they might’ve spotted us?”

  “Quien sabe?” Will said. “If they’re smart, they’ve got a man watchin’ their back trail.”

  “Don’t see how they could’ve gotten up there, anyway,” Spurr said.

  “That’s right. So far, there hasn’t been anyplace to cross,” Will agreed. “We should be
all right, unless they ducked into the trees and have doubled back on us. Just keep alert. Pay attention to your horses, too. They’ll probably smell or hear somethin’ long before we do.”

  Another half-a-mile into the canyon, the trail crossed the stream, then continued up a steep ridge on the other side.

  “Here’s where it could get real interestin’,” Will muttered. “We’d better hope those hombres aren’t on the other side, waitin’ until we get mid-stream, where they can cut us down real easy. I’m not certain how deep the water is where it runs up against the other wall. Pull out your guns and hold ’em over your heads to make certain they stay dry.”

  After pulling out his own weapons, Will put Pete into the stream. The water came to just over belly deep on the horses when they reached the far side of the stream. Pete, in the lead, lunged from the water and up the bank. Rebel and Durango were right behind, snorting their displeasure.

  “Well, we made it across without gettin’ plugged, and we didn’t get all that wet,” Will said. “Let’s keep on movin’. We’re sittin’ ducks right here, and if we don’t come up with those renegades before dark, they’re liable to give us the slip.”

  He slid his six-gun back into its holster, his rifle back into its scabbard, and heeled Pete into a walk once again.

  The trail climbed steeply for several hundred yards, then leveled off, winding through the wooded terrain above the canyon’s rim. The hoof prints of the outlaws’ horses were still plain. There was still no sign of the lawmen’s quarry, and their horses gave no indication of anyone nearby. Will and his partners had just rounded a bend when several rifle shots rang out in front of them. Spurr yelled out in pain.

  “I’ve been hit!”

  He’d no sooner done this than more shots rang out, this time from behind.

  “Ambush! They’ve got us in a crossfire!” Will shouted. “Get into the woods and head back for the stream. Follow me!”

  He whirled Pete and sent him crashing into the forest undergrowth. Bullets smacked into tree trunks as the outlaws attempted to gun down the fleeing lawmen.

  “Keep movin’ until we reach the water,” Will ordered. “Max, how bad are you hit?”

  “I don’t think too bad,” Spurr said. “Took one in the side, but I don’t think the slug’s still in me. Seems to be just a crease.”

  “Can you hold on until we reach a place to hole up?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “Lemme know if you can’t.”

  Will led his partners on a mad dash for safety, weaving in and out of the trees, pushing the horses through thickets and brambles. When they came out atop a steep drop that led down to the river, Will didn’t hesitate. He dug his spurs deep into Pete’s sides, sending the paint over the edge, into a scrambling, sliding drop to the stream below.

  The water had undercut the stream bank at that point, so Pete hit the water hard. The impact drove him to his knees, and he half rolled, dumping Will into the water. Spluttering, Will scrambled to his feet, pulled out his Colt, and began a covering fire for Jonas and Spurr, whose horses were still plunging madly down the bank.

  A red streak showed on the right side of Spurr’s blue shirt. The marshal also wore a pair of yellow cavalryman’s suspenders. One more shot rang out before Spurr reached the water, and the suspender over his right shoulder snapped when the bullet clipped it. Rebel dropped into the stream a moment before Durango. Both men jumped from their saddles, and began returning the outlaws’ fire.

  Will had emptied his revolver, so he yanked his Winchester from its scabbard and waited. Three horses and riders appeared on the bank above, unaware of the danger waiting below, in their determination to kill their pursuers. Two were able to pull their horses to a sliding stop. The third could not jerk back on the reins in time to stop his chestnut from slipping over the brink. Halfway down, his horse stumbled, then toppled end over end, throwing his rider, who hit the rocky ground head first, snapping his neck. His body slid to within twenty feet of the stream, where it became tangled in a blackberry thicket.

  Will aimed his rifle at the two men above and took two quick shots, the first one striking one of the men in the chest, knocking him backward out of his saddle. Will’s second bullet tore into the remaining man’s belly. The outlaw screamed, doubled over, and fell over his horse’s neck, then slid to the ground. He rolled over the edge, down the slope, and tumbled into the river. His body floated face down for a hundred yards, until the current carried it close to shore and it snagged on a downed tree.

  The last two outlaws, thinking the three soaking wet lawmen in the stream still made easy targets, jumped from their saddles and bellied down at the top of the embankment. One pushed himself up slightly to take aim at Will. When he did, Jonas and Spurr fired at the same time. Jonas’s bullet missed, but Spurr’s took him just below the throat, angling upward through his neck and exiting from the base of his skull.

  The last man took careful aim and shot at Will. Luck was with the Ranger, for his foot slid off a rock on the slippery stream bed, dumping him back into the water. The bullet which had been intended for his chest whined harmlessly over him, and ricocheted off a boulder on the opposite bank. Jonas’s return shot at the outlaw hit him just above the bridge of his nose, and buried itself in his brain.

  “You think we got ’em all, Will?” Spurr asked, as silence descended on the canyon.

  “I think so, but be careful, just in case one’s playin’ possum,” Will answered. “Max, check the one that fell off his horse. Jonas, get the one who’s hung up on that log. Get his horse, too.”

  The horse which had tumbled into the river had somehow escaped any injuries but a few cuts and scrapes, and was standing alongside Rebel, still clearly shaken after his ordeal.

  “I’m goin’ back up to get those other three men, and their horses. You two get to the other side of the stream. Take Pete with you. Soon as I’m back, I’ll check your hurts, Max. And you might want to pull your pants back up. It’s plumb embarrassin’ seein’ you like that. Georgia might be right pleased, though.”

  Between the bullet torn suspender, and the weight of his holster pulling on them, Spurr’s soaked tan canvas pants had dropped over his right hip, exposing his underwear.

  Jonas laughed. Spurr pulled his pants back up to his waist.

  “That’s better,” Will said. “Once we’re finished pickin’ up those hombres, we’ll camp here for the night. The sun’ll be down in less’n an hour, so we wouldn’t get far anyway. We’ll stay here, dry out, let the horses rest, and start out at sunup.”

  “You gonna be able to make that climb, Will?” Jonas asked.

  “I’ll make it all right,” Will assured him. “The only question is will I be able to convince those horses to follow me back down. While you’re waitin’ for me, you might want to get a fire started.”

  “Will do.”

  Jonas and Spurr went to retrieve the bodies in the river and in the blackberry bushes. Will had a tough time climbing the steep slope, but, using every handhold he could find, dropping to his belly and dragging himself along by pulling himself from bush to bush when necessary, he reached the top and pulled himself onto level ground about twenty minutes later. He checked the three dead men, then rounded up their horses. He lifted the bodies onto the horses’ backs and lashed them in place, then climbed into the saddle of the one which seemed calmest, a flea-bitten gray gelding. He held tightly to the reins of the other two animals.

  “You ain’t gonna be too happy with me until this is over,” he told the horses, “but there’s plenty of grass waitin’ on the other side, and you won’t be pushed so hard after tonight. Let’s go.”

  He picked up the gray’s reins and clucked to him. When they reached the top of the slope, the gray hesitated, and the other two horses pulled back, snorting. Will spoke soothingly to them, then touched his spurs to the gray’s sides. The horse whinnied nervously, and plunged over the bank, the other two horses pulled along by Will’s firm grip on the rein
s. This descent was every bit as dangerous as the first, with Will having to control three frightened horse and their grisly burdens. Somehow, he made it safely down the slope, then crossed the river.

  “Boy howdy, neither one of us thought you were gonna make it,” Jonas said. “Seems like the Good Lord was watchin’ over you.”

  “Somebody sure was, that’s for certain,” Will said. He dismounted, and Pete trotted up to him to nuzzle his face. Will patted his neck.

  “I’ll take care of you in a few minutes,” he promised. “Soon as I check Max. Jonas, gimme a hand untyin’ these men.”

  “I’ll help with that, too. I ain’t hurt all that bad,” Max said. “The bleedin’s already stopped, at least, just about.”

  “Better let me check you anyway,” Will answered. “There’s no sense in chancin’ blood poisonin’.”

  “All right. Soon as we get these bodies off the horses.”

  “After we’re done with that, I’ll get some more wood for the fire while you’re tendin’ to Max, unless you need my help, Will,” Jonas said.

  “No, you go ahead and do that,” Will answered. “Unless you think you’re gonna pass out, Max.”

  “Me? Not a chance,” Max said.

  After the bodies of the three bank robbers Will had retrieved were taken off their horses and laid alongside their two companions, Will turned his attention to Spurr. He took a small, oilskin wrapped bundle from his saddlebag, unwrapped it, and took out a small leather bag. From that he removed a strip of bandage, small bottle of carbolic solution, and a tin of ointment, while Max removed his shirt and dropped the top half of his red woolen underwear to his waist.

  “See, I told you it ain’t all that much,” he said to Will.

  “It’s not all that bad, but it is deep enough it needs some stitches,” Will answered. “You’ve also got a bullet burn across the top of your shoulder. I’ll just put some salve on that one. Lemme get my needle and thread. I’ll get some whiskey for you, too.”