Dead Man's Revenge

by Colby Jackson

  “Now you’re armed,” Tolliver said. “You know how to use that, I hope.”

  “I do, but I don’t think . . . .”

  “Good,” Blaylock said. “Don’t think. Just do what we tell you. Now let’s go. We need to get there before they leave.”

  “Don’t worry,” Tolliver said. “It’s not far.”

  #

  Dick Dockett was glad it was going to be over. He should’ve gone after Blaylock hard in the beginning and finished him, but he’d wanted Blaylock to suffer the way he had. Not that it was possible. Blaylock could never know what it was like to have the muddy waters of the Brazos close over him and choke him and fill his nose and mouth until he gave in and sank.

  But he could know what it was like to lose everything he cared about. Dockett strapped on his pistol and got a rifle out of a corner of the room.

  The Bensons sat at a table and watched him. Frank and Jacob watched, too, but nobody else moved.

  “Jacob, you and Frank go out and saddle the horses,” Dockett said.

  The two men left without a word.

  “Well?” Dockett said to the Bensons when he’d buckled his gunbelt. “What are the rest of you waiting for? It’s time to ride.”

  Lane looked at Willie. Willie nodded and stood up.

  “We want to be sure we got it real clear,” Willie said. “You’re the boss, but we get to do it our own way when we get to Blaylock’s place.”

  “Just as long as you kill anybody you can.”

  Willie nodded and said “Come on, Lane.”

  They started for the door as Frank and Jacob came back inside. Jacob was holding a pistol on Frank.

  “Frank’s having second thoughts,” Jacob said. “He wanted to ride off. I talked him out of it.”

  “Come on, Frank,” Jacob said. “Let’s go.”

  Frank looked at Dockett. “It’s not that I’m scared. I’m just not sure I’m bein’ paid enough for this.”

  “Nobody gives a damn what you think,” Dockett said.

  Dockett walked over to Frank and got in his face.

  “You can go with us,” Dockett said, “or we can take care of your sorry ass right now.”

  Frank’s scar reddened, but otherwise he appeared unmoved.

  “I signed on to do a job,” Frank said. “I’m not so sure it was the job you’re askin’ me to do.”

  “I’m the one who decides that,” Dockett said. “Now let’s move.”

  He brushed by Frank and opened the door.

  #

  “That’s Dockett’s place,” Tolliver said.

  The three riders were atop a little hill about a hundred yards from the house, which looked to Blaylock as if a strong wind would topple it. Dockett apparently wasn’t much of one for putting down deep roots.

  Blaylock saw two horses tied to a bush in front of the house. There was a barn in back that looked even more tumble-down than the house. Blaylock figured the other horses were inside.

  “What are we going to do?” McCarthy asked Tolliver. “Just ride up to the door and tell him he’s under arrest?”

  Tolliver laughed. “I get the feeling he wouldn’t take too kindly to that approach.”

  “You’re the marshal. What could he do?”

  “Shoot me,” Tolliver said. “Or have the Bensons do it. They’d probably get a kick out of it.”

  “What do we do, then?”

  “We wait,” Blaylock said. “It’s getting dark now. If you were telling the truth, they’ll be leaving any minute. We’ll take them as they leave.”

  “Just kill them?”

  “We’ll give them a fair chance,” Tolliver said. “I’ll tell them they’re under arrest.”

  “Then they’ll kill us,” McCarthy said.

  “Maybe not,” Tolliver said.

  “The door’s opening,” Blaylock said. “Get ready.”

  “Let them all get outside,” Tolliver said. “We want ‘em where we can see ‘em.”

  But McCarthy didn’t wait. As soon as Dockett was out the door, McCarthy fired his rifle.

  The bullet didn’t come anywhere near Dockett, who looked around and the spotted the men on the hill. Dockett ducked back inside the house.

  McCarthy’s horse shied to the right and took off at a gallop. Soon the editor was out of sight among the trees.

  “You think any part of that was an accident?” Blaylock asked.

  “I think he’ll claim it was. He’ll say his horse ran all the way back to town before he could get it under control.”

  “What do you think Dockett will do?”

  “If they stay in the house, we might be able to wait ‘em out.”

  “Let’s keep them in there, then,” Blaylock said.

  He pulled his rifle from the boot and cocked it. Tolliver had only his pistol, having given his rifle to McCarthy. It was probably halfway back to Shooter’s Cross by now.

  Dockett and the others didn’t wait. They burst through the door of the house one at a time, dodging to the left and right. Muzzle flashes lit up the twilight.

  Blaylock took his time. His first shot hit Willie Benson as he was about to mount his horse. His second knocked Lane out of the saddle. As Lane was falling, Tolliver kicked his heels into his horse’s side and started it down the hill. Blaylock shoved the rifle back into the boot and followed.

  They rode around the house without wasting a look at the men lying on the ground. Blaylock heard horses pounding through the trees in back of the barn. He passed Tolliver and went after them.

  It was darker in the trees, and he had to slow down to avoid low-hanging branches. Tolliver caught up with him.

  “This isn’t the way to your house,” he told Blaylock.

  “I don’t care. I’m not letting them get away. If I do, they’ll just keep on after me and my family.”

  Tolliver nodded, and the two rode on. They came to a wide clearing with a big deadfall in the middle, and Blaylock saw the three riders just about to enter the trees on the opposite side. The riders saw them, too, and one of the three pulled his horse’s head to the left and separated himself from the others.

  “You go get that one,” Blaylock said. “The Docketts are the ones I want.”

  “They’re headed for the river bottoms,” Tolliver said. “They know that area better than you do. It can be dangerous at night.”

  Blaylock rode past the deadfall. “Don’t worry about me. They won’t get away.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Tolliver said.

  14

  Blaylock picked his way along with mosquitoes buzzing in his ears. It was impossible to see any tracks in the darkness, but he could easily follow the Docketts because they’d come across an animal trail and followed it down to the river flats.

  When Blaylock rode down the bank and out of the trees onto the flats, his horse’s hooves made sucking noises as they pulled out of the mud, and deep-voiced bullfrogs croaked close by. It was easier to see, and the moonlight reflected off the flat surface of the river. But the Docketts weren’t in sight.

  Blaylock could see signs of their passage, however: broken cattails, smashed lily pads, and deep impressions in the mud.

  Blaylock reined the horse to a stop and dismounted. No need to give the Docketts a good target. He began to walk.

  He hadn’t gone far before he saw something ahead. The Docketts’ horses. Moving closer, he could see no one around the animals. He stood quietly by his own mount, waiting and listening. A snake slithered across a lily pad in the shallow water just to Blaylock’s right. A bass slapped the water out in the river.

  The horses didn’t go anywhere. They stood in place, looking around, occasionally taking a drink from the muddy water at their feet. Blaylock wondered if the Docketts had tried to swim the river and drowned. Or maybe they’d already made it to the other side. He took a couple of steps forward, leaving his own horse behind. Gnats swarmed in front of his face, and he brushed them away.

  Blaylock sloshed through the shallow wate
r to the Dockett’s horses and stopped. Nothing stirred the cattails out across the flats or the river itself. Blaylock shook his head and turned back to look at his own horse. As he did, the water around him erupted and something clamped around his legs.

  Blaylock fell as something else rose from the water and shoved him downward. He had time for a deep breath before the water covered him, and then he was facedown in the muck. The slimy stuff filled his nose, but he didn’t struggle. His only chance was to stay calm and figure out what was happening.

  It didn’t take him long. There was pressure on his back that could come only from someone kneeling on him, two someones, in fact, and he knew he’d been tricked. The Docketts hadn’t gone anywhere. They’d been lying under the muddy water breathing through cattail reeds, or maybe with their faces out of the water and concealed beneath lily pads.

  Knowing that didn’t help Blaylock any. He heard muffled voices. There wasn’t any question about what the Docketts planned for him. They’d drown him and leave him in the river for the fish and the turtles to eat.

  They’d made a couple of mistakes, however. At least he hoped they were mistakes. They hadn’t taken his pistol, and they hadn’t pinned his arms. He slid the Smith & Wesson from the holster.

  Now he had to make a decision. He thought the pistol would fire because it hadn’t been under water long enough for the powder to be soaked, but he didn’t know what would happen then. Would the revolver explode because of the water in the barrel? Would the bullet even get out of the barrel?

  Blaylock didn’t have time to debate himself. His lungs were burning, and in another few seconds, it wouldn’t matter at all to him whether the pistol would fire or not.

  He twisted his arm to get the barrel pointed in the general direction of one of the knees on his back and pulled the trigger.

  A dull explosion sent shockwaves through the water, and suddenly there was no pressure on Blaylock’s back. He surged up and emerged dripping water and mud and lily pad vines.

  One of the Docketts – Jacob, Blaylock thought – thrashed in the water like a drowning buffalo. Dick was trying to get into the saddle, but he was so muddy and slick that his foot slid from the stirrup.

  Blaylock struck him on the side of the head with the barrel of the Smith & Wesson. Dockett staggered away from the horse and tried to run through the water.

  He didn’t make much progress, but Blaylock couldn’t catch up with him. He was too shaken from his near drowning, and he couldn’t seem to fill his lungs with enough air. He was staggering more than Dockett.

  Jacob still floundered in the water. He was screaming now, but that didn’t bother Blaylock. Apparently it didn’t bother Jacob’s father, either, because he kept right on going.

  Dockett went up a little rise that was high enough to put him out of the water, and he started to make better time. When he went down the other side, he moved even faster, and Blaylock gave up hope of ever catching him. He was too shaky to bother firing the pistol again, even assuming that it would still work.

  He stopped and drew a couple of deep breaths, then looked up just in time to see Dockett disappear.

  There was nowhere for Dockett to have gone. He was there, and then he wasn’t. He must have fallen, so Blaylock headed in the direction where he’d last seen him.

  Mounting the rise, Blaylock bent forward in case Dockett was waiting somewhere to shoot him. When no shots came, Blaylock stood up and looked around. He didn’t see Dockett, but he heard him.

  “Help me, goddammit!” Dockett called.

  Blaylock went down the rise and pushed through a thick stand of cattails, many of them already broken by Dockett’s passage. He saw Dockett in a clearing on the other side of the cattails.

  Dockett looked at him, terror in his glance. “Blaylock, for God’s sake, get me out of here.”

  The big man was up to his waist in quicksand, struggling to pull himself out. His struggles only pulled him deeper into the muddy mixture of sand and water.

  “Looks like you’re in a mess,” Blaylock said.

  “Hell, yes, I am! Help me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ll die here! It’ll suck me down!”

  Blaylock knew a little about quicksand. Besides the fact that you could usually save yourself if you didn’t fight it, it wasn’t always deep enough to be a real worry even if you sank to the bottom.

  “You didn’t seem to give much of a damn about me,” Blaylock said. “Or my family.”

  “I’m sorry about all that.” Dockett flailed his arms. “I’m going down faster! Get me out.”

  “You sent men to kill my family. You were going out tonight to kill them yourself.”

  “You’re not like me! You wouldn’t let me die here.”

  “What about your son?” Blaylock asked. “You ran off and left him to bleed out back there.”

  “He deserves it. It was his idea to drown you. We should’ve just shot you dead.”

  “I’ll be going now,” Blaylock said.

  “Wait! Wait” Dockett pummeled the quicksand. “Don’t leave me here.”

  “I’ll be back,” Blaylock said. “Tomorrow.”

  Dockett screamed something unintelligible as Blaylock walked away. Blaylock paid him no mind. Either he’d sink and die, or he’d get out. It was up to him. Blaylock no longer cared. He’d see what he could do for Jacob, and then he was going home.

  #

  Two days later, Blaylock sat at the supper table with his family. Tucker, Randy, Beatty, and Gabby were there, too. They were having baked ham, mashed potatoes, and green beans and squash from the garden.

  “I still say you shoulda left ‘em both there,” Gabby said. “That Jacob Dockett’s just as sorry as his daddy ever was. One o’ these days you’ll be sorry you took him to the doctor and got him fixed up.”

  “He’s paid for what he did,” Blaylock said. “He’ll never walk right again.”

  Blaylock doubted that Jacob would ever spend any time in jail, and neither would the one Tolliver had been after. He’d gotten clean away. Tolliver had been apologetic, but Blaylock didn’t care. As long as the man was far from Shooter’s Cross, it didn’t matter.

  “That bad knee’ll just make him meaner,” Gabby said. “Pass the beans, Elijah.”

  Elijah passed the beans. Gabby helped himself and said, “You reckon Dick Dockett’s moulderin’ away down there under that quicksand?”

  Blaylock didn’t know and didn’t care. When he’d gone back the next day, Dockett had disappeared. If he’d escaped, he’d had to walk out of the river bottoms because Blaylock had taken the horses with him.

  “What you worried about, Gabby?” Tucker said. “You afraid Dockett’s ghost is gonna come back and haunt you?”

  Gabby had been about to take a bite of ham. He put his fork back on his plate and said, “You can make sport o’ me if you want to, you young whippersnapper, but I know what I know.”

  “You’re just lucky those haints didn’t run you into quicksand the other night,” Beatty said, “instead of into the stream.”

  “You weren’t there. You didn’t see ‘ em.” Gabby shook his head. “I know what I know. It was sure enough a dead man that was back for revenge on Sam and his family. If that ain’t a ghost, I don’t know what is. You reckon he’ll be back again, Sam?”

  Blaylock grinned. “If he does, I hope he comes after you, Gabby.”

  “Dadburn it, why does ever’body pick on me?”

  “Don’t worry, Gabby,” Miriam said. “Titus and Elijah and I will take care of you.”

  “What do you kids know about ghosts?” Gabby said.

  “Enough to believe in them,” Miriam said.

  Gabby looked at her. She sat primly in her place, with no trace of a smile. Elijah and Titus were poker-faced beside her.

  After a second Gabby said, “Well, that’s more like it then. I’m glad to see somebody around here knows what’s what. Pass me some more o’ that squash, Titus, and let’s get to eati
n’.”

  Sam grinned. It was good to be there with his family and his friends and to know that Rancho Diablo was safe from alarms and haints and revengers in the night.

  At least for now.

  See where the legend begins in SHOOTER’S CROSS, the first book in the thrilling RANCHO DIABLO series.

  Army Scout Sam Blaylock rode into the small Texas town of Shooter’s Cross looking for deserters, not trouble.

  While up in the mountains, he discovered a wilderness plagued by nature and haunted by superstition, but one that he thought he could tame with his experience and strong back.

  He didn’t know he was going to have to kill to keep the home he planned for his family, but he didn’t let that stop him. Sam had been looking for a home for his family for years. That search had been interrupted by the Civil War.

  Now Sam is putting down roots, and not even the Devil himself can stand in the way.

  1

  With the brimstone smell of Hell burning in his nostrils, Sam Blaylock eased the Henry rifle from the scabbard across his shoulders and listened for the men hunting him. Quietly, he levered a .44 cartridge into the chamber, then eased a fresh cartridge from his gunbelt and into the tubular loading gate to fill the sixteen-round magazine to capacity. Although he’d never had it happen to him, the Henry was known to fire when dropped or the hammer got hit by accident. He always kept the chamber under the hammer empty unless he was about to use the rifle.

  He took in a deep breath, nearly gagged on the strong stench of sulfur, and figured the place around him had been rightly named. Rancho Diablo smelled like the devil’s armpit.

  Pulled up close to a spreading elm tree, he hugged the bark and gazed around the forest. The trees stood tall and thick. With all the superstition surrounding the place, no one had climbed York’s Peak in a long time to take timber.

  Sam liked the verdant forest. There would be plenty of wood to build a proper house for Jenny and the children. He’d been imagining how that house would look and where he would build it when the men picked up his trail. Now that forest provided plenty of protection from his enemies.