"I'm here, aren't I?"
The sheriff frowned and said, "That's mighty fast action. I only sent that telegram to San Antonio a couple of days ago."
Braddock hadn't known that the Brewster County sheriff had contacted the Rangers asking for help, but he wasn't surprised. He said, "I happened to be in Fort Stockton, and a wire caught me there. Figured you could use the assistance as soon as possible, so I came right on."
The sheriff nodded, evidently accepting that explanation, and came around the desk to extend a hand.
"John Dearborn," he introduced himself, and as he spoke Braddock caught a faint whiff of juniper berries. He guessed that the sheriff had been putting a bottle of gin back in the desk when he came in.
Braddock gripped the sheriff's hand and said, "Tell me what we're dealing with here."
Dearborn waved Braddock into a chair in front of the desk. He went back to his own chair, sat down, and took a cheroot from a wooden box on the desk.
"Cigar?" he asked.
Braddock shook his head and said, "I don't smoke."
"Hell, I don't smoke the damn things. I just gnaw on 'em." Dearborn dropped the cigar back in the box, leaned back, and sighed. "You saw the crowd when you rode into town, I suppose."
"Pretty hard to miss," Braddock said.
"Folks have come in from all over the county. Wouldn't surprise me a bit if some of them are even from neighboring counties. This is a pretty sparsely populated part of the state. It takes some doing to put together a real crowd. But everybody within a week's ride wants to be here for the hanging of Henry Pollard."
"That's your prisoner. Your only prisoner, according to the men outside."
"I had some other men in custody, but the charges didn't really amount to that much. Drunk and disorderly, disturbing the peace, petty theft. By and large, Brewster County's pretty peaceful these days. I asked the judge to commute their sentences to time served, and under the circumstances, he agreed. I wanted to devote all the efforts of my office to keeping Henry Pollard alive."
"I thought you said you were going to hang him."
"After he's convicted. We haven't had the trial yet. That's not until day after tomorrow."
"Somebody wants him dead before then?" Braddock asked.
Dearborn snorted and said, "Who doesn't want that son of a bitch dead?"
Braddock cocked his right ankle on his left knee, pushed his hat back a little, and said, "Why don't you tell me the whole story?"
Chapter 3
"If you want the whole thing, it goes back half a year or so," Dearborn said as he laced his fingers together over his belly. "Henry Pollard's brother is Amos Pollard, owns the Triangle P spread. Ever heard of him?"
Braddock shook his head and said, "I've spent most of my time in the brush country, down in South Texas."
"Well, Amos fancies himself the big he-wolf of this part of the country, and I suppose that's not far wrong. He was out here when there was nothing but Apaches and scorpions and rattlesnakes, and he survived and built his ranch by being meaner than all of them. So over the years he's gotten used to riding high, wide, and handsome, and so has his little brother."
"Henry."
"Yep. Henry had a reputation for fighting and boozing and going after any woman who caught his eye, even some who were married. Most folks looked the other way because they didn't want to get on Amos's bad side. As if he weren't tough enough himself, he's got a pretty salty crew riding for him."
"Men like that put a bad taste in my mouth," Braddock said.
"Mine, too," Dearborn said, "but the thing of it is, generally speaking, Amos Pollard's a law-abiding man. He's always kept his cowboys in line for the most part, and whenever they got too rambunctious in town and I had to lock 'em up for a day or two, Amos didn't give me any trouble over it. Even rode in and paid their fines himself. I could live with that."
"But he didn't ride herd on his brother that well," Braddock guessed.
Dearborn sighed and said, "Henry decided he'd taken a fancy to a young woman named June Castle. She lived in a settlement called Santa Angelina, down in the southeastern part of the county. As nice a girl as you'd ever want to meet. Her father owned a store down there. June helped him out and taught school a little, too, whenever there were any kids willing to show up. When Henry Pollard started courting her, she told him she knew his reputation and that he'd have to settle down a whole heap if he wanted anything to do with her. So for a while there, it looked like he was going to do it."
Braddock shook his head and said, "But it didn't last."
"How'd you know that?"
"A man can't change what he is," Braddock said flatly.
"Well, I don't know about that, but Henry Pollard didn't change, not really. He got tired of putting on an act, I guess, and one night while they were alone at her pa's house, he tried to force her to...you know. June wasn't having any part of it and fought back. In the commotion a mirror broke, and June grabbed a piece of that broken glass and cut Henry with it." Dearborn put the tip of his left index finger just below the ear on that side of his face and traced a line down almost to his chin. "Laid his jaw open real good. That would have been enough to discourage most men."
"But not Pollard."
Dearborn sighed again and said, "He took that broken glass away from her and carved her face up pretty bad with it, a lot worse than he was cut. Then he left her there, covered with blood and screaming."
Braddock felt his own jaw clench tight. He said, "Man like that ought to be put down like a mad dog."
"You won't find many who'll disagree with you, Ranger. Anyway, the marshal down there at Santa Angelina, Pete Whitby, rode out to the Triangle P to see about arresting Henry, but he wasn't there. Amos claimed he'd sent him away. Said Henry had told him about what happened, and it was too raw for even Amos to swallow. He told Henry to get out, that he wasn't gonna protect him anymore. He told Marshal Whitby that Henry lit out, heading east." Dearborn paused, pushed his lips out, and then said, "Most folks believe what really happened is that Amos gave his brother enough money to go hide out somewhere, San Antonio or Austin, maybe, some place big enough that it'd be hard to find him. Myself, I don't really know anything except that Henry Pollard was gone." A bleak look settled over the sheriff's weatherbeaten face. "Then a week ago he came back to Santa Angelina. You probably know what he did there."
"Led a pack of killers into the town. They gunned down everybody they could draw a bead on and burned almost the whole place to the ground."
Dearborn nodded solemnly. He said, "I figure he put that wild bunch together wherever he's been holed up the past six months. A few of them were killed during the fighting. Border trash, from the looks of them. Bandits and gunmen from both sides of the Rio. A hundred and forty-seven people lived in Santa Angelina. Fifty-one of them died that day, and it's a pure miracle there weren't more of them killed than that. By God, Ranger, it was like an act of war!"
Silence hung in the office for a few moments before Braddock asked, "How did you wind up with Pollard behind bars?"
"The deputy marshal down there, a young fella named Tom Nation, wounded and captured him. As soon as Nation saw the scar on his prisoner's jaw, he knew who it was. He shoved a rag in the bullet hole he'd put in Pollard, tied him on a horse, and rode the rest of that day and all night to get him here. There was no place to lock him up in Santa Angelina, you see. The jail had burned down like most of the other buildings. And Marshal Whitby was dead, killed in the raid, so it was up to Nation to deal with Pollard by himself."
"Sounds like a good man," Braddock mused.
"Seems to be. Not much more than a kid, but he's got sand."
"It didn't take long for word to get around about what Pollard and his friends had done."
Braddock had heard about it in the village of Esperanza, just south of the Rio Grande, where he had been recuperating from some wounds for the past few months. As soon as he'd heard about how outlaws had destroyed an entire town and wipe
d out more than a third of its occupants, he had known he would have to cross the border and return to Texas, despite having been warned not to. Somebody had to answer for an outrage like that, and making sure justice was served was a job for the Rangers.
Even for a Ranger who was more outlaw than lawman these days.
Braddock had circled around to come at Alpine from the northeast, as if he were really riding from Fort Stockton. He had taken the bullet-holed badge from his pocket and pinned it to his shirt. As far as anyone in Alpine was concerned, he really was a Ranger, the job he had been born and bred for. The job that had been taken away from him unjustly because of politics. He didn't see why he had to give it up, not when he could still do what needed to be done.
"Nothing like that has happened out here since the Apaches all drifted down into the mountains in Mexico," Dearborn said. "Even in the old days when they were raiding, I'm not sure there was ever a massacre as bad as what happened at Santa Angelina. So, yeah, the word spread far and wide. Folks think of Henry Pollard like he's some sort of monster." The sheriff shook his head. "I don't reckon you can blame them for that, either."
"You and the judge moved fast to put him on trial."
"Damned right we did. The sooner he's convicted and strung up, the better. But it's got to happen legally. I've been hearing talk for days that a mob's going to take him out of here and lynch him. I'm not going to let that happen, not if I can stop him."
"And that's why I'm here," Braddock said, "to help you protect a mass murderer."
Dearborn stiffened, frowned, and said, "It's the law."
"Yes, it is," Braddock agreed. "I'll do everything in my power to see to it that Pollard gets a fair trial and that any sentence is carried out properly."
Dearborn appeared to relax a little. He nodded and said, "I'm glad to hear it, Ranger Braddock. Folks respect the Rangers. Even the way they are now, the Rangers carry a lot of weight."
Braddock's face didn't betray any of the emotions he felt. These days, the Rangers were a mere shadow of the organization they had been until recently. A court decision motivated by political enemies had stripped the Rangers of most of their manpower. Four small companies remained of the legendary Frontier Battalion, each commanded by a captain with six men working under him. Less than thirty men to police the vast Lone Star State. That was a crime in itself, and Braddock intended to do everything he could to help make up for it.
He said, "I think maybe there's something you're not telling me, Sheriff."
Dearborn glared and said, "I don't know what you mean."
"What about Amos Pollard? After all those years of looking out for his little brother, you mean to tell me he's just going to stand by and let you hang Henry?"
"If he's convicted in a court of law—"
"You said Amos came out here when there wasn't any law west of San Antonio. A man like that usually believes, deep down, that he's a law unto himself and can do whatever he wants. He protected Henry when he mutilated the Castle girl, or at least urged him to run away. That went against the law."
"That was one girl, and she didn't even die." Dearborn grimaced. "I know that sounds callous, but it's the facts. This time fifty-one people died. Men, women, and children. There's no way in hell even Amos Pollard would try to protect his brother from the consequences of that atrocity."
Braddock leaned forward a little and asked, "Are you absolutely sure about that, Sheriff?"
Dearborn stared at him for a long moment and then licked his lips like he wanted to pull that gin bottle out of the desk drawer and take a big swallow from it. Finally he shook his head and whispered, "No. No, I'm not sure."
Chapter 4
Braddock put his right boot back on the floor and said, "I'd like to see the prisoner."
"Sure," Dearborn said with a nod. "Sure, we can do that."
He ushered Braddock out of the office and then led him along the hall to a staircase.
"The cell block is on the second floor," Dearborn said. "Makes it harder to jump out a window if a prisoner gets the bars loose somehow. We've got Pollard in our special cell, though. No windows."
Another shotgun-toting deputy stood at the bottom of the stairs. He nodded to the sheriff.
"This is Ranger Braddock, Clyde," Dearborn said.
The man nodded and said, "Ranger."
That scene was repeated at the top of the stairs with the two guards posted there. About twenty feet along the hall was a iron gate with another guard. At Dearborn's order, the man produced a ring of keys, unlocked the gate, and shoved it back. On the other side was an anteroom with a small desk and a heavy wooden door. The guard posted there unlocked the door and let the sheriff and Braddock into the cell block.
"Looks like it wouldn't be easy to get out of here," Braddock commented. "Or in."
"That's the idea." Dearborn pointed along a corridor that was lined with empty cells on both sides. "That door down there is Pollard's cell."
The regular cells had doors made of iron bars, like Braddock had seen in dozens of jails. The special cell where Henry Pollard was being held had a steel door with a small, barred window set into it.
"Must be pretty hot in there with no windows," Braddock said as he and Dearborn walked along the corridor. Their footsteps echoed hollowly from the jail's thick outer walls.
Dearborn grunted and said, "I don't reckon anybody's going to lose any sleep worrying over how comfortable Pollard is. But there's a ventilation shaft that goes up to the roof. It's too small for a man to get through, and the top is barred, too." They came to a stop in front of the door. The sheriff called through the little window, "Pollard. Somebody to see you."
"My brother?" came the reply from inside.
"No. I still haven't seen hide nor hair of Amos. I don't think he wants anything to do with you anymore."
A face appeared at the bars in the window. The light up here wasn't that good, but Braddock could make out the man's angular, lantern-jawed features, topped by a shock of fair hair. He was fairly handsome, although the thin scar running along the line of his jaw on the left side of his face made him less so.
"You're wrong, Sheriff," Henry Pollard said as his lips twisted into a sneer. "There ain't no way Amos is gonna let me rot in here, and he sure as hell won't let you bastards hang me."
"We'll see," Dearborn said.
"Who's this?"
"Ranger G.W. Braddock. He's here to see to it that everything's done proper and legal-like."
Pollard directed his sneering scrutiny at Braddock. He said, "One Ranger?"
"That's generally enough," Braddock said.
Pollard just smirked and laughed.
Braddock moved a little closer to the window and asked quietly, "Doesn't it bother you, knowing you're responsible for the deaths of so many people and destroying a town?"
"They had it comin'," Pollard snapped. "They ran me off, all because some high-toned bitch got what she deserved. Nobody cuts me and gets away with it. But those bastards in Santa Angelina didn't see it like that. They would've put me in jail for doin' what I did. Bunch of worthless little piss-ants. I had to leave my home, but I swore I'd get even with 'em. With that Castle bitch and all the rest of 'em. They'll never forget Henry Pollard."
Braddock let Pollard spew his venom until he ran out of breath. Then Braddock nodded slowly and said to Dearborn, "I've seen what I need to see, Sheriff."
"You mean you're ready to get out of here?"
"More than ready," Braddock said.
Pollard gripped the bars in the window and shouted obscenities after them as they went back along the corridor. Once they were going down the stairs, Dearborn said, "He's crazier than a shithouse rat."
Braddock smiled faintly and said, "I found myself thinking the simplest thing to do would be to put a bullet in his head. Like that mad dog I was talking about earlier. But that wouldn't be according to the law, would it?"
"No, and I reckon we both swore an oath." They paused outside the door to Dearborn
's office, and the sheriff asked, "What are you gonna do now?"
"Find a livery stable for my horse and get a hotel room. Even in a situation like this, a mob would have to be liquored up before they'd attack the jail, and I figure that means there's no real danger of an attempted lynching until tonight. I'll be here all night, right out front."
"I appreciate that, Braddock. Just the sight of a Ranger ought to make some of those fools think twice if they decide to storm the place. As for the livery, Gardner's is the best place in town. And the Brewster House is the best hotel. They'll take care of you."
Dearborn told him how to find both places, and then Braddock said, "One more thing, Sheriff. June Castle."
"What about her?"
"Was she killed in the raid on Santa Angelina?"
"As a matter of fact, she wasn't. Pollard probably wanted her dead more than anybody else, but she survived." Dearborn paused. "And she's here in Alpine. I reckon she's looking forward to seeing him swing."
* * *
Braddock turned the buckskin over to the friendly proprietor of Gardner's Livery. The man didn't have an empty stall, but he promised to find room for Braddock's horse and take good care of the animal because he was happy to have a Texas Ranger in town.
"I don't mind the crowds, you understand," Ben Gardner said. "Lots of extra business for me. It's just that with this many angry folks in town, the air feels like it does before a summer storm, you know? Like all hell's fixin' to bust loose any time."
Braddock nodded and said, "I know the feeling."
It was much the same at the Brewster House, where the hotel clerk signed Braddock in and said, "We're full up, but I can move some folks around and make room for you, Ranger."
"I don't want to put anybody out. Reckon I could share..."
"Oh, no, that won't be necessary. I'll see to it, don't worry." The clerk nodded toward the Winchester and the set of saddlebags Braddock carried. "In the meantime, you can leave your gear with me. I'll have it taken up to your room when it's ready. I'll make sure it stays safe. Until then you can wait in the dining room if you'd like, and I'll bring your key to you as soon as I can."
Hangman's Knot (Outlaw Ranger Book 2) Page 2