And Stance was the most vindictive son of a bitch Abbot had ever seen. Killing Abbott wouldn’t have been good enough for Stance. He’s have made sure Abbott’s wife and two daughters paid a heavy price as well. If they were lucky, they’d be killed outright. But they were very attractive, all three of them. Abbott suspected that if he was no longer around to protect them, Stance would have other plans for the women he loved. Plans that would be far worse than a quick and easy death.
Abbot was sure that others in the ranks hated Stance as much as he did. And that by banding together and joining forces they could rise against their cruel leader. They could stand up to him and kill him and be rid of his heavy-handed ways.
The problem was, Abbott didn’t know which of Stance’s subjects were loyal to him. All of them pretended to be, including Abbott himself. But to ask around, to try to find out which men might join him in a mutiny, was a fool’s errand. And a quick trip to hell. If Abbott asked the wrong person… if he asked someone who really was loyal to Stance, then Abbott would have signed his own death warrant.
It was the way fierce dictators and tyrants maintained control over their subjects. From Hitler and Mussolini to Jim Jones and Saddam Hussein, all had employed similar tactics. Although many saw the tyrants for what they actually were, no one had the guts to rise up against them. No one had the determination needed to ask around, to find others who were like-minded. Instead they kept their mouths shut. Went along to get along, and pretended to be loyal.
It was just safer that way.
So while Abbott harbored no animosity toward the mysterious red-headed woman and her hidden accomplice who everyone presumed was a man, he would carry out his orders. The man who’d opened fire on Stance and his men from the darkened barn would pay with his life. The red-headed woman would too. But only after Stance tortured her and abused her a dozen different ways.
Abbott could see no signs that the ranch house was occupied. But there was one way to find out for sure.
Just before midnight, as Red and Jacob were in the creek and slowly making their way north, Abbott doused the west side of the house with gasoline from a can he found inside the equipment barn. Then he used an orange disposable lighter to set it ablaze.
“Take cover wherever you can,” he’d told his men beforehand. “Shoot any man who comes running out. But don’t shoot the woman. You shoot the woman and I’ll have your ass first. Then Stance will have whatever’s left over.”
Within twenty minutes the house was fully engulfed. It was obvious that no one was coming out. Either the house was empty, or whoever was inside knew they were doomed and took the easy way out.
But Abbott never heard any gunshots from within the house. His logical assumption was that the pair they were after were long gone.
He looked at the position of the stars and reckoned it was several hours before sunup.
“Okay, we’ll camp here for the night. Can’t track them in the dark. You men get some rest and we’ll head out after them at first light.”
By the time the first rays of the sun peeked over the horizon, the house fire had pretty much burned itself out. Those men who’d spread themselves close enough to the fire to feel its warmth woke up cold and shivering.
The smarter of the bunch had bedded down farther away and covered themselves with light blankets. The problem with sleeping next to a campfire, they knew, was that at some point it was bound to burn out.
It stood to reason a house fire would as well.
Abbott poked through the outer edges of the ash pile, but couldn’t draw too close. There were several hot spots which still generated intense heat.
He wasn’t looking for any signs of burned bodies. By this time he was convinced the house had been empty. No, now he was expressing regret that they hadn’t searched the house before they burned it for valuables.
But it was too late now. He didn’t see anything worth keeping. Very little had survived the fire’s rage.
Abbott turned as one of his men yelled fifty yards away. He’d found tracks.
He turned and walked away from the smoking pile of embers and ash.
The area between the ranch house and equipment barn was caliche, a ground white rock incapable of holding tracks. But farther away from the common area of the ranch, where the ground turned once again to soft dirt, fresh tracks were clearly visible.
“They went that way, toward Chalms Creek.”
“Mount up, boys. You can eat breakfast later. Right now we have a job to do.”
Chapter 39
At the creek, as Red had suspected, Abbott and his men were in a quandary.
Abbott knew he wasn’t dealing with a couple of greenhorns. The tracks didn’t cross the creek and keep going in the same direction. Rather, they entered the creek and stayed there in an effort to lose their pursuers.
And if they were smart enough to use the creek to hide their tracks, then they knew they were being followed.
That was problematic to Abbott, for it opened up a lot of options.
If the red-headed woman tried to outsmart him once, she might well try to do it again. By heading north in the creek instead of south.
And since she knew she was being followed, she might just decide to turn the tables on them.
“Okay, Brady. You and Martinez head north. Stay out of the water. It’ll only slow you down. Ride in the dirt, one on each side of the creek. Watch for tracks to see where they got out and follow those tracks until you find them. Take her alive back to Stance. Kill whoever is with her. And be careful. They know we’re coming. They might lay in wait behind some cover and ambush you as you approach.”
“What if we don’t find ‘em?”
“The water will have slowed them down. You’ll cover ground a lot faster than they did. Chances are you’ll catch up to them pretty quickly. If you don’t find tracks on one side or the other by nightfall, then camp overnight and hightail it south. You should catch us in two, three days tops.”
“Yes, sir.”
Abbott watched the pair as they rode off. One of Abbot’s friends, Gaines, asked him, “Think they’ll screw it up?”
“Probably. Neither one of them has the sense of an armadillo. But at least we’re covering all the bases. And we’ve still got our best men with us. I’m pretty sure they headed south, I just got a feelin’. And when we catch them, I want our best guys with us. Not a couple of dumbasses.”
He turned to the four men alongside them.
“Okay, you heard what I told dumb and dumber. They know we’re following them, or they wouldn’t have ridden the creek. They’ll move slower in the creek than we will on dry land, so that’ll help us gain ground on them. There’s a chance we’ll ride into an ambush at some point, so be ready to dismount and take cover quickly. Especially around buildings where they can take cover. Any questions?”
There were none.
“Okay, Donnally, Simpson, Reyes… you take the other side of the creek, we’ll take this side. Look for tracks leaving the creek. And pay attention. If you miss them we’ll be following this damn creek on a wild goose chase for days, and Stance will have all our asses when we come back empty handed. Got it?”
“Got it, boss.”
“Let’s get movin’.”
As the gap between the two groups of men widened, Brady and Martinez wondered aloud to one another whether they were wasting their time.
“The woman and her partner were headed south along the highway before they stopped at the ranch,” Martinez said. “So why in the hell are we going north?”
Brady laughed out loud.
“Hey, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. We may be wasting our time, but at least we’re heading in a safe direction. If those two are going to ambush somebody, I’d much rather it be Abbott and his bunch than us.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. You’re right. Much better to go on a wild goose chase than to be shot at. And Stance can’t get mad at us for missing the shootout. We were just following
orders, after all. Abbott will back us up on that.”
“If Abbott survives, that is. Stance’s lieutenants have been dropping like flies lately, in case you haven’t heard. I for one am gonna buck for a promotion when I get back. But I have to stay alive to do it.”
“So what do we do?”
“Exactly what Abbott said to do. We follow the creek for a day and find no tracks. Then we head back the other way. But we make sure we don’t catch them until all the shooting is over.”
Chapter 40
Four miles due east of the creek the redhead and the man-child happened upon an arroyo – a wash, which during periods of heavy rains carried massive amounts of water from the plains into playa lakes dotting the area. The arroyo meandered through the flatland, changing course a dozen times a mile. At some of the turns, where the fast moving water hit a wall before having to change direction, the ground was hollowed out up to twelve feet deep.
And Red was right. Except for a period of about two hours when the sun was more or less directly overhead, one side or the other of the arroyo was shaded. The dirt was soft and pliable. The only thing it was lacking was a gentle breeze, but still it was relatively cool in the shade.
Red showed Jacob how to hobble their horses to prevent them from running off, and talked fondly of her horse Bonnie.
“She’s more to me than just a horse. She’s closer to me than almost every friend I’ve ever known, and one of the few creatures on this earth who’s never let me down. When I take her out into the woods on one of our escapes, she free-grazes. When I’m ready to leave I whistle and she comes running, day or night.”
“Like Trigger used to do for Roy Rogers?”
The question caught her off guard.
“You’ve heard of Roy Rogers?”
“Of course. He was my father’s favorite cowboy star. I preferred John Wayne’s toughness myself, but John Wayne couldn’t sing. Dad liked the combination of the singing cowboy, strumming his guitar way across the west while at the same time watching out for the oppressed.
“Of course, my mom confided to me once that Dad had a crush on Dale Evans when he was a boy. And that was the real reason he watched every Roy Rogers movie at least a hundred times.
“And it was a good argument. I saw photos of Mom when she was young, and she looked an awful lot like Dale Evans.”
Red allowed herself to do something she seldom did. She waxed nostalgic to an outsider.
“My dad loved all westerns. He liked Roy Rogers, but preferred John Wayne. He told me once that when he was a boy he wanted to grow up to be a cowboy, because the cowboy always got the girl. But that he wanted to be like John Wayne, because the Duke dressed the way real cowboys dressed. He said Roy dressed in rhinestones and flash. Still, when we met Roy and Dale he talked to them for half an hour and said they were the nicest people.”
“You met Roy and Dale? Really?”
“Yes. I was just a little bitty girl. I really don’t even remember the day, but Mom and dad took photos of Roy holding me, in his rhinestone outfit. We were driving through Victorville, California on vacation. Dad saw signs for the Roy Rogers and Dale Evans museum and decided to stop.”
“And they were there at the museum?”
“Yes. Dad didn’t know it, but they lived just a short distance away at their ranch. Sometimes to pass the time they drove over to the museum to mingle with the visitors. And the day we went they just happened to be there.”
“Wow.”
“Dad used to tell a funny story about when we walked up to the museum’s huge wooden doors. A man opened the door for us and Dad looked at him and said, ‘Wow. You look just like Roy Rogers, only a lot older.’
“The man answered, ‘Well, I am Roy Rogers and I am a lot older than I used to be.’ Dad left there that day saying he was impressed by how down-home and charming Roy and Dale were. I used to sit next to him on the couch when he watched their old movies and eat popcorn with him.
“Sometime later he told me there were two distinct types of families. One preferred John Wayne and the other preferred Roy Rogers. But very few were fond of both.
“Of course, that was just his theory. He had the same theory about families who preferred the Three Stooges, versus families who preferred the Marx Brothers. Or families who preferred Miracle Whip versus families who preferred mayonnaise.”
Jacob laughed.
“It sounds like your dad was an instigator, just trying to turn families against each other.”
“Yeah, maybe. But he was a wonderful man. The finest man I’ve ever known. I miss him a lot.”
“Yeah. I feel exactly the same way about my dad.”
She could tell she was getting punchy, because she tended to ramble on and on when she was exhausted.
He could tell it too.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. I’m having my second wind. How about I crawl out of here and keep watch until while you get some sleep.”
“You’re going to need some yourself.”
“I know. Once I’m sleepy enough to crash I’ll come back down. But I’m wide awake now and won’t be able to sleep for awhile. Might as well be doing something useful.”
“Okay. If you’re up around sundown wake me up, will you? I want to move out just after dark so we can put some more miles under our feet.”
Several miles to their west John Brady and Jesse Martinez laughed and joked as they passed by a particularly rocky part of the creek. A part of the creek where, hours before, Red and Jacob left the water and headed toward Highway 281. A part of the creek where hard rock prevented their horses from leaving behind any indication they’d been there.
Brady and Martinez continued on, searching for tracks they’d now have no prayer of finding. And it was okay by them.
As Red slept, Jacob watched to the west and wondered what the future held in store for him. And whether he’d ever get the chance to romance the bossy but charming young woman he’d partnered with.
Chapter 41
In the tiny town of Blanco, Texas John Savage was conducting, of all things, a job interview.
“Sit down, boys. Make yourselves comfortable.”
The two men who sat themselves down in the dimly lit office were what cowboys once called trail trash. Men who hadn’t bathed in weeks, who spit tobacco wherever they pleased, who cursed in every other sentence.
Men who made no pretense at civility and didn’t much care whether they offended genteel folk or not.
These men were wanderers. They moved from town to town, living off the food and booze they took from abandoned trucks along the way. In each new town they sought out men like John Savage who had vendettas to carry out or jobs to be done.
They were the kinds of jobs few men would do. Beating up little old ladies. Tying up whole families, then searching their homes for gold and silver that was alleged to be there.
These particular men were especially brutal. But at least they were honest. Honest in that they told their victims exactly what would happen to them if they found nothing of value.
Or if the gold and silver they found wasn’t enough to suit them.
That they’d be left behind, still bound and gagged, in a seemingly empty house. Left behind to die the slow and miserable death of someone whose body runs dry from lack of water.
Dying of thirst was a truly miserable way to go.
“If we don’t find your stash, we’ll leave you here just as you are. Tied up with binds so tight your hands and feet will turn purple. Gagged so tight the top half of your face will as well. And there, just out of your reach, we’ll put a couple of bottles of water. Just so’s you can look at it as you slowly die. Look at it but not have it. And that’s what you’ll get for not telling us where you hid your gold.”
Most of their victims, when faced with a slow and miserable death, told the men what they wanted to know.
And for many of the victims of these particular men, telling secrets won them no favor. They were rewarded for thei
r efforts with a bullet to the head, or a crushed skull via baseball bat. They were murdered anyway.
Most men wouldn’t even have met with them. They were the worst of the worst. Worse than Sloan, worse than Luna. Volatile beyond compare.
But then again, John Savage wasn’t like most people. He’d been consumed by greed for so many years his judgement was severely clouded. He quite literally didn’t see the risks associated with dealing with such a bunch.
The men had ridden into town a few days before, as they’d done many others in the months since the blackout.
They’d asked for the town sheriff or police chief, hoping they’d be told there wasn’t one. And to assess the lawman’s abilities if there was.
They’d been directed to Savage, who’d coerced the city council to appoint him police chief just two months before.
Had Savage been a smarter man he’d have sensed danger in the men’s demeanor. Had he applied logic, he’d have reasoned that the men could roll over him at will and take everything he possessed. Without fear of prosecution. For the best way for a man to keep the police from coming after him is to take out the police force.
And in the tiny town of Blanco, the police force consisted of only one man.
Savage didn’t see that inviting these men into his office late at night might be a dangerous thing to do. He didn’t see the possibility they might turn on him, kill him, then ransack his office.
It never occurred to him that they could tell him to open his vault. To threaten to kill him if he didn’t.
And if they had done so, they almost certainly would have gotten away with it.
For with the police chief gone, there was no one else in town to stand up to them.
Not that Savage would have anyway.
No, Savage didn’t see the folly in his decision to greet these men warmly. They’d come to town and asked where to find him. They were directed to his office under a ruse. They told him that someone had stolen a horse from them outside of town. And they wanted to know if the law could help them recover their property.
A Lesson Learned: Red: Book 3 Page 12