Bleeding Texas

by William W. Johnstone

  “I’m not sure that’s any of your business—”

  “Mister, you might be wise to answer the question,” Bo said quietly.

  Faced with half a dozen angry men, Fuller must have decided he didn’t want to argue anymore. He said, “Fourteen thousand five hundred dollars. I would have gone sixteen thousand if the animals had been in better shape. Someone’s been running them . . .”

  His voice trailed off as a look of comprehension appeared on his face.

  “That’s right,” Bo said. “The rustlers ran them to get here ahead of us. How long ago did you pay them off?”

  “Well, that’s just it. I haven’t actually paid them yet. I was just on my way to deliver the money.”

  Bo’s heart leaped. If Palmer didn’t have the cash yet, that meant there was a chance to save the Star C.

  “Where are you supposed to meet Palmer?”

  “I don’t know if I should—”

  “Just tell him, mister,” Scratch advised. “Hell, come along with us and you can see for yourself that Bo’s tellin’ the truth.”

  “All right, I suppose that makes sense. I was supposed to meet the man I made the agreement with at the hotel down by the waterfront. My cash is in the safe there.”

  The hotel, Bo thought.

  Where he had sent Lauralee and Samantha.

  The hotel was a whitewashed, two-story building with covered porches all around it, sitting in the middle of a green lawn that sloped down slightly to the water. Several small palm trees grew around it. The trees weren’t native to this area, but they had been brought in and appeared to have taken to the climate.

  People on the verandah stared as Lauralee and Samantha rode up and dismounted. There were buggies and carriages parked in front of the hotel, but no saddle horses. And the people who stayed here certainly weren’t accustomed to seeing young women dressed in men’s clothing, riding astride and carrying guns.

  “We seem to be causing a bit of a scandal,” Lauralee said. “You think I should tell ’em I own a saloon, too?”

  “Surely that’s not necessary,” Samantha replied with a weak smile.

  Lauralee chuckled and said, “I was just joshing. We might as well go in and see if we can get rooms for everybody.”

  They climbed the steps to the porch, and as they started toward the entrance, one of the double doors opened and a man stepped out. Like the two young women, his range clothes made him look a little out of place. His hat was tipped back on curly black hair above a brutal, rough-hewn face.

  His eyes met Lauralee’s and for some reason she felt a little shiver go through her.

  Then the man moved past her, to her relief, and she and Samantha went on into the lobby.

  The room had polished wooden floors and potted palms in the corners, along with fancy divans and wing chairs scattered around. It would be nice to dress up and have dinner in a place like this, Lauralee thought. Maybe she could convince Bo of that while they were here. If they stayed here. It was possible the chase after the rustlers could continue. Maybe it would be a better idea to wait for Bo and Scratch to get here before she rented any rooms.

  A slick-haired clerk behind the desk asked, “Could I help you ladies with something?”

  His tone of voice made Lauralee bristle. He seemed to be implying that she and Samantha actually weren’t ladies, and just because they were covered with trail dust didn’t make that true.

  Before she could frame any sort of sharp retort, though, the clerk glanced over her shoulder and his eyes got big with surprise and fear. He exclaimed, “Sir, what—”

  That was as far as he got before an arm looped around Lauralee’s neck and jerked her backward against a man’s hard-muscled frame. She felt something round and hard prod against her side and recognized it as a gun barrel.

  “I knew I’d seen you somewhere before, honey,” a harsh voice said in her ear. “You were with them damn Creels when we took the herd.”

  Lauralee twisted her head enough to see the ugly face of the man who had passed them on the porch. She realized too late that he was one of the rustlers, maybe even their boss.

  Samantha gasped and tried to turn and run, but the man stuck out a booted foot and tripped her. She stumbled and fell to the floor, and the man pinned her there with his foot.

  “Hold still or I’ll hurt you,” he said. To Lauralee, he went on, “Where’s the rest of your bunch?”

  He eased his arm’s pressure on her throat just enough for her to answer, and as he did she heard the swift rataplan of hoofbeats outside. Instinct told her who those new arrivals were.

  “I reckon you’re about to find out, you son of a bitch,” she said.

  CHAPTER 35

  Lloyd Fuller had a buggy at the cattle pens. He drove hurriedly behind Bo, Scratch, and the other men as they headed at a gallop for the hotel that was the centerpiece of Rockport’s waterfront.

  As Bo reined in at the hitchracks in front of the hotel’s big lawn, he saw a couple of familiar mounts tied there. He recognized the horses Lauralee and Samantha had been riding. So the two young women had made it here.

  They would be all right, he told himself. There was no reason they would have run afoul of Judd Palmer . . .

  He saw how wrong he was when someone kicked open the hotel’s front door and emerged onto the porch. The well-dressed guests who had been sitting there in wicker chairs enjoying the gulf breezes scattered in fear as a tall, ugly man came onto the porch with one arm looped around Lauralee’s neck and his other hand cruelly clasped around Samantha’s arm. He forced the two women along in front of him.

  Bo’s recognized the man instantly, even though they had only traded a glance in the firelight during the fight at the trail camp. His instincts told him he was looking at Judd Palmer.

  Somehow, the boss outlaw had known who Lauralee and Samantha were and realized that the pursuit had caught up to him before he got his hands on the money for the herd.

  “Back off, Creel!” Palmer yelled. “Won’t take but a second to snap this girl’s neck if you try to prod me.”

  “Take it easy, Palmer,” Bo said, keeping his voice steady and level. “You don’t want to do anything that’ll get you in more trouble than you’re already in.”

  A harsh laugh came from Palmer’s mouth. He said, “You really think I’m worried about the law? Hell, there’s already enough paper out on me to get me hanged a dozen times over.” He looked over at the buggy Lloyd Fuller had just brought to a stop next to Bo and the other riders. “Fuller, you get in here. I want that money you owe me. And while you’re at it, you might as well give me whatever else is in the safe, too.”

  “Then you really are a thief, like these men said,” Fuller responded coldly.

  “Now you’re catchin’ on.”

  Fuller shook his head and said, “I won’t give you a damned cent. And I’m sure someone’s gone for the law by now. You might as well surrender.”

  Bo knew that wasn’t going to happen. He had come up against hardened outlaws like Palmer plenty of times before. Men like that always believed they could shoot and fight their way out of anything—and most of the time they were right.

  “My men are in Plummer’s Saloon, right over there,” Palmer said as he nodded toward a nearby building. “All I have to do is yell, and they’ll come out of there shootin’. What’s it gonna be, Creel? Do you play along with me, or do I kill these two gals?”

  Before Bo could answer, Samantha said to Palmer, “Did my brother really hire you?”

  Bo could tell that question took the outlaw by surprise. He turned his head to look at Samantha and asked, “You’re the Fontaine girl?”

  That was enough of an answer for Samantha. She lunged at Palmer and used her free hand to claw at his eyes. He yelled in pain and anger as her fingernails raked bloody furrows down his cheeks. Instinctively, he shoved her away.

  That loosened his grip on Lauralee, who rammed an elbow back into his stomach and twisted free. She tackled Samantha and
took them both off the verandah. As they landed on the green lawn, that left Judd Palmer standing there in the open in front of the hotel’s doors.

  He grabbed for the gun on his hip.

  It hadn’t even cleared leather when six slugs smashed into him. Bo, Scratch, and the others fired so closely together that the shots blended into one gigantic roar. The bullets pounded into Palmer’s body with such force that he was lifted off his feet and thrown back against the doors. Blood spouted from the holes as he hung there for a second, then pitched forward, dead.

  In the silence that filled the air after the gunfire, Riley turned to Lloyd Fuller and said, “I reckon you know now who you need to pay for those cattle, mister.”

  “Worry about that later,” Bo snapped. “We’ve still got trouble!”

  Just as Palmer had predicted, men rushed out of the nearby saloon, and when they saw their boss lying dead on the hotel verandah and the Creels with guns in their hands, they grabbed their own weapons and began blazing away.

  Bo, Scratch, and the others dived from their saddles to take cover. The trunks of the palm trees weren’t thick enough to provide much shelter, but they were better than nothing.

  Lee sprinted across the lawn toward Samantha and Lauralee, firing as he ran.

  “Stay down!” he shouted to the two young women. They crawled behind some shrubs planted along the front of the porch. Lee dropped to one knee beside the bushes and threw lead at the rustlers as they scattered and hunted cover themselves.

  It was a fierce fight for the next few minutes. Davy fell as a bullet ripped through his leg, but he kept shooting as he lay there on his belly. A slug creased Riley’s left arm, but he ignored the pain and kept fighting, too. One by one the rustlers fell, most to the deadly accurate shots of Bo and Scratch.

  Finally, when only a couple of outlaws were left, one of them threw his gun out from behind the wagon where he had taken cover and thrust his hands high over his head.

  “Hold your fire!” he yelled. “Don’t shoot! I’m givin’ up, damn it!”

  “You yellow dog!” the other remaining rustler howled furiously. He swung his gun toward his companion, but in doing so he revealed himself at the corner of the building where he had taken cover.

  That instant’s glimpse was enough for Scratch, who drove a Remington round through the rustler’s head, blowing a big chunk of it away in a grisly mess. As the corpse flopped to the ground, the lone survivor came out into the open, still with his arms up, and pleaded again, “Don’t shoot!”

  “Down on your knees, mister,” Bo ordered. “And don’t try anything funny.”

  The outlaw complied. Scratch kept him covered while Bo looked to the wounds that his brother and nephew had suffered. Riley and Davy would both be all right, Bo saw to his relief. Neither wound was serious.

  Lee came over with Samantha and Lauralee. He had his arm around Samantha, who appeared to be shaken but unhurt.

  So did Lauralee. She threw her arms around Bo, who patted her awkwardly on the back and asked, “Are you all right?”

  “I am now,” she told him.

  Bo looked at Scratch and told him, “Get that hombre up and bring him over here.” When Bo was facing the frightened rustler, he went on, “You’re going to testify that Nick Fontaine hired you to rustle Star C cattle from the ranch and to steal that herd on the way down here.”

  “I sure will, mister, and it’s the God’s honest truth, too,” the man said. “I never killed anybody, I swear, just stole cows. I hadn’t ought to hang for that.”

  “That’ll be up to a court to decide. But it won’t hurt your chances if you help bring to justice the man who’s really responsible for all this trouble.” Bo looked at Samantha, whose face was pale and drawn, and added, “I’m sorry about that, Miss Fontaine.”

  “You don’t have any choice, Mr. Creel,” she said. “I know that. You have to save your father’s ranch. I just . . . don’t know what’s going to happen to my father . . . when he finds out about Nick.”

  Lee led her away, talking softly to her as he tried to comfort her. Lauralee started binding up the wounds that Riley and Davy had suffered, to stop or at least slow down the bleeding until they could get some real medical attention.

  And Lloyd Fuller came over to Bo and said, “I suppose I should pay you for those cattle, Mr. Creel.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Bo said. He was greatly relieved at how things had turned out, despite all the violence it had taken to reach this point.

  But he knew the trouble might not be over yet.

  They started for home the next morning. Riley’s arm was in a sling, and Davy’s leg was heavily bandaged. The doctor had advised them both to rest for a few days before traveling, but those words fell on deaf ears. All the Creels were ready to get back to the Star C.

  They compromised by using some of the money from the sale of the herd to buy a buggy. Davy would be able to handle the team, and he and his uncle wouldn’t have to spend long hours in the saddle.

  Bo had the rest of the money—more than enough to pay off Gilbert Ambrose at the bank—in a money belt fastened around his waist. He didn’t plan to take it off until he was ready to put it on the banker’s desk.

  “This has been quite an adventure,” Lauralee commented as she rode between Bo and Scratch. “From the stories I’ve heard, you two get into scrapes like this all the time.”

  “Stories can be exaggerated,” Bo pointed out.

  “But we’ve been mixed up in our share of ruckuses,” Scratch added. “It’s been fun, too.”

  “If you call being shot at fun.”

  Scratch laughed and said, “We ain’t never been in any danger of dyin’ from boredom, now, have we?”

  “That’s true enough,” Bo agreed with a chuckle of his own.

  Maybe it was time to start thinking about giving up the wandering life, though, he mused. He was getting on in years. The family could probably use his help around the ranch, too.

  Riley probably wouldn’t like that. He was used to being in charge, and he would take Bo’s continued presence as a threat to that. Bo knew he didn’t really have any right to displace his brother, not after Riley had devoted decades to helping their father make a success out of the Star C.

  Maybe he could stay in Bear Creek without living at the ranch. He could so something in town, maybe help Lauralee run the Southern Belle. She would like that...

  “You’re a million miles away from here, Bo Creel,” she said, breaking into his thoughts.

  “More like a hundred,” he told her with a smile.

  Luckily, he didn’t have to make up his mind yet.

  They still had a ways to go yet before they would be home.

  CHAPTER 36

  Late the next day they crossed the San Antonio River at the same ford where Judd Palmer’s men had tried to ambush them. No one particularly wanted to stay in that place, so they pushed on since there was still a little daylight left. They made camp about halfway between the river and Coleto Creek.

  There was plenty of time to return to Bear Creek and beat Gilbert Ambrose’s deadline on the bank loan, so Bo didn’t push the group too hard. That made the journey easier on the wounded Riley and Davy in the buggy.

  He didn’t want to delay too much, though, just in case something else happened. He certainly couldn’t rule that out.

  Any time a man got to feeling too confident, that was when trouble had a habit of sneaking up behind him and walloping him over the head.

  That night as he sat next to Scratch, each of them sipping coffee, Bo said, “You know, I’ve been thinking—”

  “You might as well stop right there,” Scratch interrupted him. “I know what you’re goin’ to say.”

  Bo smiled and asked, “Oh, you do, do you?”

  “Yep. You’re gonna say we’re gettin’ too old for all this hell-raisin’. That it’s time we stopped larrupin’ around all over creation. That we might even start thinkin’ about settlin’ down. Puttin’ ou
r feet up. Puttin’ our boots under some gal’s bed.”

  “I’m sure Emmaline Ashley wouldn’t mind that,” Bo said.

  Scratch nodded across the campfire toward Lauralee, who was talking to Samantha Fontaine. Lee was there, too, with his arm around Samantha’s shoulders, and the two of them looked like they had been born to be next to each other.

  “I reckon Emmaline, nice as she is, would be drove plumb crazy in a month if I was around all the time,” Scratch said. “But you got maybe the best gal in the whole blamed state of Texas right over there, Bo, and she’s in love with you. Think about that. A gal who looks like that, who can ride and shoot, and who owns a saloon, to boot! Good Lord, man! You couldn’t draw it up on a piece of paper any better’n that.”

  “Only problem with that is she deserves better than some shiftless old codger.”

  “You really ought to let her make up her own mind about that.”

  Bo cradled his coffee cup between his hands and looked down into the black brew. He didn’t see any answers floating there, no matter how hard he searched.

  “Ten, fifteen years from now, I’ll be gone,” he said without looking up. “She’ll still be a relatively young woman. What happens to her then?”

  “I expect she’ll cry her eyes out for a while, then she’ll dry ’em and go on livin’. Don’t you worry about that lady, Bo. She ain’t got no quit in her. Not one damned bit.”

  That was true, Bo thought. He had seen evidence of it many times, including her dogged pursuit of him.

  “It’s just not right,” he said stubbornly. “I’m old enough to be her—”

  “Husband,” Scratch said. “You’re old enough to be her husband. Ain’t nobody can argue with that.”

  Bo looked at his old friend and said, “Who’s going to follow you around and get you out of trouble?”

  Scratch snorted.

  “You ain’t been payin’ attention. It’s been me gettin’ you out of trouble all these years.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It dang sure is.”