Blood Bond 3

by William W. Johnstone

  “We are?” Matt questioned.

  “We are,” Lia settled it, and gave Sam a dirty look when he snickered at the expression on his brother’s face. Lisa was spending more and more time with Noah, and that suited Sam just fine.

  The hands would stay at the ranch. Conchita was a Catholic and wouldn’t dream of setting foot in any Baptist church, so Dodge was staying behind too.

  “I hope he’s a good preacher,” Josiah said. “I like one that makes sense, not none of them pulpit-poundin’, fire-and-brimstone spoutin’ fools. They make me want to shoot ’em.”

  “There will be no carryin’ of guns in the house of the Lord,” Jeff said sternly.

  “Then I ain’t a-goin’,” Josiah said.

  “Me neither,” Matt and Sam said together.

  “Well, pooh on you all,” Lia said. “You can just stand outside the church and listen, then.” She flounced off to get gussied up for the buggy ride into town.

  “I’ll stand outside, all right,” Josiah said. “Outside the saloon. That Willowby feller is too pompous a windbag for my tastes.”

  The ride into town was uneventful, except for the heat and the dust. Summer was on the land in full force, and even early in the morning it was hot, just plain hot.

  “Like hell must be,” Lia said, looking at the Rangers. “For those who don’t go to church.”

  “That woman’s got marryin’ on the mind, Matt,” Josiah said. “You best walk light around her or ’fore you know it she’ll have a nose ring on you and be leadin’ you around like a hog.”

  “It would serve him right,” Sam said with a smile.

  The trio escorted the family to church and then adjourned to the saloon for coffee. It was too early in the day for beer to appeal to them. Gene wanted to go with them, but his mother and father and sisters gave him hard looks, and he went on into the church.

  “The path to hellfire and damnation is littered with the souls of those who choose strong drink over the words of the Lord!” Willowby stood in the door and shouted at the Rangers.

  “Go pee up a rope,” Josiah muttered.

  “Have you been saved, brothers?” Willowby thundered.

  “Saved from havin’ to listen to the likes of you,” Josiah said darkly.

  “Heathen!” Willowby roared.

  Sam and Matt grabbed Josiah before the man could turn around and direct a few well-chosen words in the preacher’s direction.

  “That Willowby’s a pest,” Pen Masters said. The men sat at a window table in the saloon, drinking coffee. “He’s about to bore me to death about bein’ saved. But I tell you what: them boys who was at the funeral when the raiders hit say he’s hell with a rifle and they ain’t no back-up in the man.”

  “I’ll give him that much,” Josiah admitted. “The Broken Lance riders ever come into town?”

  “A few at a time,” Bam said. “They haven’t caused no trouble, though. They have a few drinks, buy their tobacco and so forth, and leave.”

  “How’s the prisoner?”

  “Gettin’ fat. I got a letter from a judge said he’d be over this way in a month or so. It’s costin’ the town a lot of money to keep him, and the merchants are complainin’ about it. They tell me either try him, hang him, or cut him loose.”

  “Matt and Sam can write out depositions, and one of your boys can take him on the stage down to Fort Stockton. Let them worry with him for awhile.”

  “There ain’t no stage on Sunday,” Bam said, “but I can load him up tomorrow and be back the next day.”

  “We’ll get pen and ink and write it out,” Matt said.

  “Take your time,” Josiah said. “I got a hunch Willowby is gonna preach for about half the day. One of them ladies will get tired of it and wave a basket of fried chicken under his nose. That’ll shut him up.”

  The brothers wrote out their depositions and Bam took the papers back to the office. At Josiah’s orders, he did not tell Gruen he was to be moved. He did not want the outlaw to tell some midnight visitor—and he’d been having a few—and then have the stagecoach stopped at gunpoint in an escape attempt.

  The Reverend Willowby droned on, his voice carrying all the way to the saloon. Josiah just shook his head. “I don’t see how people go back for that every week. Once a year ought to be plenty.”

  “Riders pulled in at the livery,” Sam said, after returning from the outhouse. “About a dozen of them.”

  “You recognize any of them?” Matt asked.

  “No. But they don’t look like they’re here to attend church.”

  Boots sounded heavily on the boardwalk and the batwings pushed open, the saloon swelling with a dozen riders, dusty and trail-worn and all of them packing two guns. A big man in the lead looked over at the table and smiled.

  “Pen. When’d you start totin’ a star?”

  “Cannon.” Pen acknowledged the greeting and ignored the question. “You’re a long way from Utah.”

  “Man goes where he can find work. I hate to see that badge on your chest.”

  “You’ll like it even less if you break the law,” Pen said shortly. “You know Bam, don’t you?”

  Cannon’s eyes narrowed. “Bam Ford wearin’ a damn badge too. What’s the world comin’ to?”

  Bam ignored the man and looked square at another long-rider. “Riggs. When’d you get out of prison?”

  “That ain’t none of your concern, Bam. I done my time and it’s over.” He walked away from the group and up to the bar, ordering a whiskey.

  Josiah turned his chair and eyeballed the group. One rider tensed at the sight. “Pate,” Josiah said.

  “Finch,” the man said. “Didn’t know the Rangers had a hand in anything around here.”

  Josiah smiled and jerked a thumb. “Meet Matt Bodine and Sam Two Wolves. They joined up with the Rangers.”

  Several of the men exchanged glances. Josiah Finch was bad enough, but Bodine and Two Wolves put a whole new light on the situation.

  “Heard of both of ’em,” another man said. “Two-bit gunnies from up Wyoming way. I ain’t seen none of their graveyards.”

  “I have,” Pen said quietly. “From Montana to Texas. They swing a big loop, Giddings. Don’t get caught up in it.”

  Giddings snorted contemptuously and turned his back to the man, walking to the bar to stand beside Riggs.

  Another of the men studied Matt out of cool eyes. Matt returned the stare. He knew him, but couldn’t put a name to the face. Finally it came to him. “Hallett. Last time I saw you you were on trial for horse stealing up in Wyoming.”

  Hallett flushed, clenching his hands into fists, and managed to keep his temper in check. “You got a big mouth, Bodine. I was acquitted of them charges.”

  “Only after two of the witnesses turned up dead,” Sam pointed out. “Shot in the back. Probably by one of your buddies there.” He looked at the two men standing shoulder to shoulder by the man.

  “You know them two?” Josiah asked.

  “Perry and Striker,” Sam said. “Two-bit rustlers and horse thieves.”

  “I don’t take that kind of talk from no goddamned Injun!” Perry said.

  Sam stood up. “Then by all means, do act upon your words, Perry.”

  Cannon stepped between them. “Not now, not here,” he told the man. “Let it alone.”

  Cannon looked at the five lawmen seated around the table. “We’re here to ride for the Broken Lance. Nothin’ more than an honest day’s work for good pay. That’s all.”

  Pen Masters busted out laughing. When he wound down, he said, “Oh, that’s a good one, Cannon. You never done anything honest in your life. And as far as you bein’ a puncher, I seen you try to rope a steer one time. You dabbed the loop over another puncher and damn near strangled him. The only thing you can do with a cow is steal it.”

  This time it was Cannon who was held back. The man was mad clear through.

  “You better hold on to him, Clint,” Bam said. “The sun ain’t never rose on the day the
likes of him could take Pen Masters.”

  “They’ll be a day of reckonin’, Bam,” another rider said.

  “Not from you, Wheeler. Not unless you shoot me in the back.”

  One man who had yet to be heard from pushed through the batwings and shoved his way through the riders to face the lawmen.

  Josiah looked up at him. “Waco Mason,” he said. “I run you out of Texas once, Waco.”

  “I come back, Finch. You got no warrants on me, and neither does any other law office nowhere. And speakin’ for myself, I ain’t gonna take your crap. That tin badge don’t mean nothin’ to me. I come in here for a drink, and that’s it.”

  “Nice little speech, Waco,” Josiah told him. “I’m impressed.” He smiled at him. “So go have your drink. There ain’t nobody stoppin’ none of you.”

  The other four around the table looked at each other. Josiah wasn’t acting right to cave in this easy. Waco cocked his head to one side and squinted his eyes. All could tell he was confused by Josiah’s easy manner.

  Waco turned around and headed for the bar. Josiah pushed back his chair and stood up, a slight-built man whose eyes had turned as mean as a rattlesnake. “But if you ever talk to me again like that I’ll kill you!”

  Waco turned, facing the Ranger. The guns of both men were loose in leather. “You made sport of me like baitin’ a bear back then, Finch. I swore I’d kill you, remember?”

  “I remember. You had a gun then, Waco. Why didn’t you use it?”

  Waco stared hatred at the smaller man.

  “Big brave boy like you,” the Ranger taunted the man. “You boys know why I run him out of Texas when he got out of jail, don’t you?” Josiah asked the crowd of gunnies.

  They waited.

  “He pistol-whipped the woman he was robbin’. Wasn’t any need for it; he had her purse. He just wanted to hurt someone. Messed her face up real bad. I just go no use for a man who’d do somethin’ that low.”

  “Maybe she asked for it,” Hallett said, the words telling all what he was made of.

  “She was eighty years old,” Josiah said softly, but with contempt dripping from his words. “What could she have done to ask for it?”

  Cannon grunted and looked with distain at Waco. He was a gunfighter, a horse thief, and a cattle rustler, but like so many Western men, would not harm a woman—unless he was paid to do it. “I don’t think I want you ridin’ with me no more, Waco.”

  “Oh, hell, Cannon,” Josiah said. “Don’t you boys know who you’re workin’ for? Me and Bodine and Two Wolves tracked the men John Lee hired to kill a rancher’s wife. Yeah, that’s right. So if you go to work for John Lee, there ain’t none of you any better than this skunk here.” He looked at Waco Mason.

  Waco jerked iron. It was no contest. Josiah shot him before the hired gun could clear leather, the .45 slug taking him in the belly and knocking him back. Waco finally pulled his six-shooter out of leather and cocked it. Josiah shot him again, then a third time before the man went down to his knees. Waco’s gun went off, the slug blowing a hole in the floor.

  “Dammit!” Al swore at the damage from behind the bar.

  Waco fell forward on his face, dead on the floor.

  Before the first shot was fired, Matt, Sam, Pen, and Bam had risen as one, their hands by their guns.

  “It’s over,” Cannon said. “He drew on you, Ranger. We’re out of it.”

  “Tote him off and bury him,” Josiah said. He returned to the table and sat down. Up the street, Willowby was still verbally hammering at his flock. “And if he ever shuts up,” Josiah said, jerking his thumb toward the church, “I’m told he does a right nice funeral service. When he ain’t interrupted by hired guns, that is,” he added.

  Chapter 17

  John Lee waited exactly twenty-four hours after his new gunmen hit town to strike back at what he considered to be his mortal enemies. He had convinced himself, during his laudanum-induced haze while having his and his son’s broken teeth extracted by a dentist he had brought in from El Paso, that everybody was his mortal enemy; that everybody was against him; that everybody was out to get him.

  When he struck, he struck hard and mean and vicious. A small rancher who had moved back into the area and who was running about two hundred and fifty head of cattle experienced the full fury of John Lee’s nightriders.

  Matt and Sam and Josiah could sense death long before they reached the burned-out and still smoking ruins of what had been a house.

  The nightriders had fired several hundred rounds, killing not only the rancher and his wife and two children, but also killing about a hundred head of cattle. They lay stinking and bloating under the sun, while overhead the buzzards slowly circled, waiting for a meal.

  “The man’s stepped over the line,” Matt said, as he and the others tied bandanas around their faces to block out at least some of the horrible odor.

  “They scattered the rest of the herd,” Sam said, “then got in with them, hiding their tracks.”

  “Pushin’ the herd west,” Josiah noted. “Towards that little crick about five miles away. That’s where they’ll get in the water and try to lose us.”

  Matt pointed to a piece of sacking on the ground. “When they leave the creek, they’ll tie sacking on the horses’ hooves to leave less of a trail. They’re getting smarter and more vicious.”

  Jeff Sparks and some of his hands rode up. The men, grim faced, sat their saddles for a moment.

  “Gilley,” Matt said, “you and Parnell ride into town and get the minister. We’ll dig some holes and then drag these cattle off aways. It’s not going to be fun, but we got it to do. So let’s do it.”

  Dr. Winters rode out with Willowby and looked at the bodies. “This child has been shot at least a dozen times,” he said, standing up from the swollen body of a girl about ten or eleven years old. “I have never seen such a brutal and totally vicious, senseless thing in my life.” He walked away and vomited.

  “Was she raped?” Josiah called.

  The doctor shook his head. “No. I don’t believe so.”

  Chookie said, “It appears they rode this young boy down and trampled him to death. Then filled him full of holes. Fightin’ growed-up men is one thing, but anybody who would do this to a child don’t deserve nothin’ better than a rope—and a slow hangin’ at that.”

  Lia and Lisa rode up, with Dodge and Noah accompanying them. The girls took one look at the still-uncovered bodies and got a little green around the mouth.

  “Stop this,” Dodge said to Josiah. “And do it now. If you don’t, we will.”

  “Now, Vonny,” the Ranger said.

  “I’m tellin’ you flat out, Josiah,” the old gunfighter told him, “John Lee ain’t the only one who can nightride.”

  “I’ll forget you said that, Vonny.”

  “I don’t give a damn what you remember or forget. You either put a stop to this legal like, or we ride against the Broken Lance full force. I know some boys I can call in, and you know the type of men I’m talkin’ about.”

  Josiah knew. Old buffalo hunters, ex-scouts for the Army, Indian fighters, and the like. Men now living quiet in their advanced age, but men who owed Vonny Dodge much—in many cases, their lives. Men who would come at a run if he called.

  The tall old gunfighter and the Texas Ranger faced each other amid the stink of violent and senseless death. And to tell the truth—even though Josiah didn’t think it would ever come to gunplay between them—Josiah wasn’t at all sure he was faster than Vonny. Damn few men were.

  “Give us time, Vonny.” Matt defused the situation quietly. “Give us time to track and trail and try to build a case. Give us that much, at least.”

  The old gunfighter stared at the much younger man for a moment, then slowly nodded his head. “I’ll give you a few days, Matt. I understand you boys need time. But be forewarned about this: I’ve talked it over with the hands. They’re drawin’ fightin’ wages, and they’re ready to fight. We got to bring peace to this
country. And if we have to bushwhack John Lee and his no-count son to do it, then so be it. The end will justify the means.”

  “An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth!” Willowby hollered. “Thine eye shall not pity, but life shall go for life.”

  “Yeah, I know, Willowby,” Josiah said. “Deuteronomy. See to the dead. Me and the boys will ride over to Broken Lance spread and talk to John Lee. Let’s go.”

  Leaving the stench of death behind them, Sam said, “John Lee and his bunch just might shoot us on sight.”

  “Doubtful,” Josiah replied. “Don’t none of them boys want the Rangers in here full force. And that’s what would happen if one of us was shot.”

  The three of them were shocked at John Lee’s appearance. The man’s eyes were wild and his person unkempt. The swelling had gone from his mouth, but he whistled when he talked, due to the gap in his teeth. And he didn’t talk as much as he ranted and raved.

  “Shut up,” Josiah finally told him. “Just shut up your mouth and listen to me.”

  John Lee stood on the front porch of his grand house and glared at the Rangers. His son stood by his side, his hands by the butts of his guns. He appeared to be at least as crazy as his father.

  “You’re just a few days away from a full-scale war, John Lee,” Josiah told him. “Maybe only hours away. We’re tryin’ to keep the lid on the pot, but I don’t know how long we can do it. Now you started this senseless crap, and you can stop it. Fire all these damn gunhands you got hangin’ around you. Go on back to ranchin’ and leave other folks alone. They got as much right to be here and to live in peace as you have. You got more than enough for one man. You got plenty. Pull in your horns and do it right now, John Lee.”

  With much whistling and spitting and slurring of words, John Lee told Josiah where to go, what route to take getting there, and what he could do with his tin badge once he got there.

  “And that goes for me, too,” Nick whistled.

  “And you can’t prove that I done a damn thing wrong, neither,” John Lee added. “If you had any proof, you’d be arresting me, not running your mouth.”

  “And that goes for me, too,” Nick said.

  “All right, John Lee,” Josiah told him. “I tried. God knows I tried. And that’s all a mule can do, is try. One more raid on your part, and you’re gonna open the gates to hell, and I mean it. I don’t know why you can’t see that.”