Killing Texas Bob

by Ralph Cotton

  Moments later, as the stagecoach rolled into clearer sight out from under the cliff overhang, Price gave a quick glance toward Shenlin and Kane’s position and levered a round into his rifle chamber. He rested his left elbow and gun barrel atop a rock for a close steady aim. But upon seeing the empty seat on the coach he quickly dropped back down out of sight. ‘‘They’ve left the stage! It’s a trick!’’ he gasped aloud to himself, realizing Texas Bob and the ranger could be anywhere.

  Straight across from Price, Shenlin shouted, ‘‘There they are! Kill them!’’

  Firing began, back and forth heavily on the other hillside. Crouched down behind a rock, Price clenched his rifle tightly and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as if hoping it would cause this whole terrible matter to go away. But knowing that it wouldn’t, he opened his eyes, steadied himself and belly-crawled a few yards to where he could take a better look without being seen.

  From between two rocks at ground level, lying flat, with the smell of warm earth only an inch beneath his nose, Price saw the ranger and Texas Bob spring straight up from behind a rock as bullets from Shenlin’s and Kane’s rifles whistled past them. My God, they’re crazy! he thought to himself. He couldn’t fight crazy men!

  So far, Shenlin and Kane had done most of the firing while Texas Bob and the ranger worked their way closer along the rocky hillside. Now, seeing the ranger and Bob side by side, Price watched and heard the single well-aimed shot explode from Bob’s rifle just as Shenlin levered another round and raised his rifle for another wild shot.

  No, Shenlin! Price wanted to shout, and let the gunman know that this was not the way to fight. He needed to settle down, take aim, make his every shot count—

  Whatever advice Price had for the outlaw was of no use now, he thought. Texas Bob’s bullet lifted Shenlin out of his poised crouch, straightened him with a snap and sent him flying backward, a spray of blood seeming to loom in the air. I’ve got to get out of here! Price told himself, scooting back from his hidden position.

  But before he could take his eyes away from the gunfight, he heard Kane scream like some injured wildcat, ‘‘You sonsa—’’

  Kane’s words stopped short as he jumped to his feet and fired repeatedly, only to catch a well-placed bullet in his chest from the ranger’s rifle. ‘‘No! No! No!’’ Price whispered to himself as he crawled frantically down a grown-over path toward his and Frisco’s horses.

  The ranger looked all around the hillside, his rifle smoking. ‘‘That’s two down,’’ he said quietly ‘‘There’s two to go.’’

  Facing the opposite direction, scanning the hillside himself, Texas Bob replied, ‘‘Think Price and the other fellow’s nerve didn’t hold up?’’

  Sam said in a lowered tone, ‘‘Maybe, but let’s not count them out.’’ He continued scanning back and forth, running his eyes down to the stage as the big horses moved along at an undaunted walk on the trail below. No sooner had he spoken than he spotted Frisco Phil crouched and running away from the stage, rifle in hand, toward his and Texas Bob’s horses as the two animals tagged along a few yards behind.

  ‘‘Got one wearing a mask,’’ Sam said, raising his rifle quickly to his shoulder. But on the trail, Frisco glanced back and up in time to see the ranger taking aim, and he swerved away and dove off the trail into a stretch of mesquite brush and a thick bed of cholla cactus before the ranger took his shot. Hearing the masked man scream and seeing the thrashing going on in the mesquite brush, Sam winced and shook his head slowly. ‘‘He’s got plenty to keep him busy for a while,’’ he said, lowering his rifle.

  Looking back along the trail, then forward and out across the opposite hillside, Texas Bob said, ‘‘I don’t see Price anywhere.’’ He looked back along the trail again and took on a concerned look. ‘‘I don’t know if that’s good news or bad, Ranger,’’ he said.

  ‘‘For now it’s good,’’ said Sam, nodding toward the end of the hills and the start of wide-open flatlands toward Sibley. ‘‘Once we get down from here, it’ll be hard for them to slip up on us. Especially now that there’s only the two of them.’’

  Texas Bob lowered his rifle and looked over at the bodies of Kane and Shenlin lying sprawled and bloody on the rocks. Taking a deep breath, Bob said, ‘‘If you’ll cover me, I’ll drag these two down to the stage.’’

  Across the trail, staggering away from the bed of cholla cactus, Frisco whined under his breath and picked long spines from his chest and forearms as he looked back fearfully. He’d lost his rifle and hat in his wild gyrations trying to free himself from the painful thornlike cactus spines, one of which—longer than a lady’s hatpin—had stabbed all the way through his left hand.

  ‘‘Frisco! Over here,’’ Price called out in a raspy whisper, seeing him from behind the cover of a brittle downed scrub piñon tree.

  Frisco jerked his face forward, his right hand snatching his pistol from his holster and waving it back and forth wildly. ‘‘Where are you?’’ he said, having enough control to keep his voice lowered.

  ‘‘Don’t shoot! I’m over here,’’ Price called out in a hushed voice, waving a hand back and forth.

  Recognizing Price, Frisco staggered forward, plucking a long cactus spine from his neck just beneath his ear. Blood trickled. ‘‘I never had anything hurt this bad!’’ he said, keeping himself from sobbing as he climbed over the downed piñon and remained in a stooped position until he picked more barbs from his behind and his back. ‘‘I hope I’m not going to fester.’’

  ‘‘You’re stuck all over!’’ said Price, helping to pluck out the sharp spines along with him. ‘‘Shenlin and Kane are both dead,’’ he offered.

  ‘‘I know. I saw them fall,’’ said Frisco. ‘‘I never seen two men go down that fast in my life. I couldn’t believe it!’’

  ‘‘Well, you can believe it now,’’ said Price, recovering from his panic as he helped pick out more long sharp spines. ‘‘What about the money?’’

  Frisco shook his head. ‘‘It’s not there.’’

  ‘‘It’s not there?’’ Price stopped picking out spines and stared at him.

  ‘‘That’s what I said, didn’t I?’’ Frisco snapped. ‘‘It’s not in the stage. They’ve hidden it somewhere back there.’’

  ‘‘That tears it,’’ said Price. He blew out a frustrated breath. ‘‘I’m cutting out. I’m through with it.’’

  ‘‘Oh?’’ Now Frisco stared at him. ‘‘Mexico, huh?’’

  ‘‘Yeah, Mexico,’’ said Price. ‘‘What about you?’’

  ‘‘I’m going on to Sibley,’’ Frisco said with determination. ‘‘I’ve got a judge on my side. I figure I’m going make out all right on this whichever way it goes.’’ He studied Price’s face for a moment to make sure he was paying attention. ‘‘The only question is whether or not you want me to tell him you’re dead.’’

  Price thought about it, tempted to say, Yes, tell him I’m dead! Yet, considering it, he finally asked, ‘‘Do you really think the judge will go along with anything we tell him?’’

  ‘‘Sure he will. He caused every bit of this,’’ said Frisco. ‘‘If you were Judge Bass, what would you do when you heard all this—Texas Bob robbing the stage, killing the crew? He’s out for Bob’s blood anyway.’’

  After another moment of careful consideration, Price forgot the promise he’d made to himself or whoever it was he’d made it to. ‘‘All right,’’ he said finally. ‘‘We forget the money for now and get on into Sibley. We’ll tell our side to the judge and get a feel for how he’ll handle it. If it starts looking bad, we’ll skin out of there before these two come riding in with the stage.’’ He looked off toward the hillside where Bob and the ranger had started climbing down toward the trail. ‘‘I have to admit, I’d give anything to cut Texas Bob down a notch or two.’’

  ‘‘Now you’re talking,’’ said Frisco, picking nail-sized cactus spines from the back of his bare head.

  Chapter 13

  Tommy Rojo sat per
ched on a spur of rock looming high above the trail leading to Texas Bob’s hideout in the rugged hills. He’d followed the tracks of the bartender’s and the part-time deputy’s horses all the way from the livery barn doors. When the two sets of tracks had turned away, he had gone on, following the tracks of Texas Bob and Mary Alice into the rough rocky hills. He didn’t know, nor did he care, why the deputy and the bartender had turned off the trail.

  The pair had probably gotten afraid now that they’d grown closer to Texas Bob and had to face the prospect of shooting it out with him. Rojo grinned. Not him, though. With his method of fighting, he feared no man, not so long as he could slip up behind him. But he wasn’t about to ride into a gunfight with Texas Bob, not when one good bullet in the back would take care of things.

  After following the tracks as far as he could without Bob’s big dog raising a fuss or without ending up in sight of the secluded cabin, he’d found this spot and decided to wait it out. That had been three days ago. He’d checked all around and decided that whenever Texas Bob did come riding out, he would have to do so on the trail lying below him. Then he’s mine. Rojo grinned to himself. He didn’t care if he had to wait a month. He gripped the rifle in his hand.

  Rojo realized that there were all sorts of men out hunting for Texas Bob by now. But he was the only one who had used his head, kept his mouth shut and followed the hoofprints. It was only fitting that he be the one to reap the reward. Nodding to himself, he stared intently at the trail below and imagined how it would be when he delivered Texas Bob’s cold stiff body to the judge in Sibley. He was certain the judge would see how good he was at man-hunting and insist that he do all the bounty work for the territorial court from now on.

  Ten yards behind Rojo, two men, Trigger Leonard Heebs and Mitchell Smith, slipped up quietly and stopped beside a gnarled bare-limbed piñon. They stood staring for a moment, watching the ambusher nod his head as if carrying on a conversation with some unseen entity.

  ‘‘I always said he’s a stone-cold idiot,’’ Mitchell Smith whispered sidelong to Trigger Heebs.

  ‘‘I never argued the point with you,’’ Heebs whispered in reply. He motioned them both forward, silently.

  The thing is, Judge . . . , Rojo said, a conversation having started inside his head between Bass and himself. He used his free hand in a gesturing manner as his eyes stayed fixed on the trail below. He’d begun to imagine himself and Judge Bass discussing his next assignment, the amount of money he would receive. But the imaginary conversation was cut short as he felt a heavy boot clamp down on the small of his back.

  ‘‘Whoa! Lookee here, Trig!’’ said Smith, keeping his boot clamped firmly. ‘‘I believe I’ve gone and stepped on a sidewinder!’’

  Trigger Leonard wrenched Rojo’s rifle from his hand and snatched his Colt from his holster just before Rojo’s hand reached for it. ‘‘Yep, you sure have, Mitch,’’ said Leonard. ‘‘Expect we ought to smash its head?’’

  ‘‘That would be my thinking,’’ Smith replied. Both men’s voices sounded serious.

  Rojo submitted, letting out a breath. ‘‘Dang, Trigger, you could get yourself killed sneaking up on a fellow like that.’’

  ‘‘Oh?’’ Trigger Leonard looked at Rojo lying unarmed beneath Smith’s boot. Grinning at Smith, he said, ‘‘Obliged, Tommy. I’ll try to remember that.’’

  ‘‘All right, you got me cold.’’ Rojo looked humiliated. ‘‘I’m just saying in some cases you would.’’

  ‘‘I see,’’ said Leonard. ‘‘In some cases.’’

  Smith moved his boot away, reached down and pulled Rojo up by the back of his coat. Rojo stumbled to his feet and brushed dirt from himself. Not wanting to be seen from the trail below, he guided them away from the edge until he was certain they were out of sight. ‘‘Where have you two been anyways? Me and Dade gave up on yas.’’

  ‘‘So we noticed,’’ said Leonard, handing Rojo his pistol butt first, then his rifle. ‘‘We passed through a dry mining town, saw where somebody got their brains spilled.’’ He stared at Rojo. ‘‘Want to tell us about it?’’

  Rojo knew better than to try and stall these two. He winced and said, ‘‘It was terrible, what happened back there, to old Dade. A ranger blew his head half off! I was just lucky he didn’t do the same to me!’’

  The two looked unmoved and unbelieving. ‘‘Tell us more,’’ said Trigger Leonard, his hand resting loosely on the butt of the walnut-handled Colt holstered low on his hip.

  ‘‘It’s that same ranger who killed Junior Lake, his pa and his whole gang,’’ said Rojo. Thinking of anything he could say to get the story going in the right direction, he added, ‘‘And he said he’s looking for you, Trigger. That’s the main message I wanted to be sure to get to you.’’

  ‘‘So, you’ve been looking real hard for me?’’ said Trigger Leonard. ‘‘I mean, wanting to make sure I know the ranger has my name on his list?’’

  ‘‘Well, yeah.’’ Rojo shrugged. ‘‘Us being pards and all.’’

  ‘‘We’re not pards, Rojo,’’ Smith cut in. ‘‘We let you ride with us on Dade’s say-so. Now that he’s dead I don’t know where that puts you.’’ He looked at Leonard. ‘‘What do you say?’’

  ‘‘I say it looked like whoever took that bullet in the head got it put to him at close range,’’ said Leonard, eyeing Rojo with suspicion. ‘‘How’d the ranger get that close? Did you not have Dade’s back covered, the way a saddle pard should?’’

  ‘‘I ain’t gonna lie, Trigger,’’ said Rojo, making it up as he went. ‘‘The ranger got past me. Had I been more alert, poor Dade would be alive right now. It was my fault. There. I’ve said it. I let the man down.’’ He gave a remorseful look. ‘‘I hope wherever he’s at he’ll forgive me.’’

  ‘‘I expect he’s in hell.’’ Trigger Leonard grinned. ‘‘If he’s not, it ain’t because he didn’t try.’’ He looked away, along the trail below, then back to Rojo. ‘‘What are you up to here, laying in wait like you’re ready to ambush some sorry sucker?’’

  Rojo felt the mood lighten and he went with it. Grinning himself, he said, ‘‘Just that, Trig—laying in wait for some sorry sucker. You called it about right.’’ He reached out for his rifle and Smith handed it over. ‘‘Now that you two have showed up I’m ready to ride on with yas, wherever you want to go.’’ He had no idea what he would say if they agreed to him riding on with them. Luckily Mitchell Smith settled the matter quickly.

  ‘‘We don’t want you riding with us, Rojo. Now that Dade’s dead, it’s time you go off somewhere on your own, maybe steal chickens for a living.’’ He gave an overbearing smile. ‘‘I always said you looked like a honest-to-goodness chicken thief to me.’’

  ‘‘That’s real funny, Mitch.’’ Rojo kept his temper in check, but he reminded himself what he would do if he ever caught Smith with his back turned. He looked at Trigger Leonard. ‘‘What do you say about it, Trig? Can I ride with yas?’’

  ‘‘You heard Mitchell, Rojo. Dade is dead and you are on your own.’’ He gestured a gloved hand toward the trail below. ‘‘Go on back to ambushing some unlucky bastard.’’ He backed away and turned toward the path they’d walked up.

  ‘‘But what about that ranger?’’ Rojo called out, acting as if it mattered whether or not they wanted him riding with them. ‘‘Three guns are better than two.’’

  ‘‘That ranger has never seen me,’’ said Trigger Leonard. ‘‘All he’s looking for is my name. There’s been no photo or sketch ever made of me that I know of. I could pass him on a street and say howdy and he wouldn’t know.’’

  ‘‘I sure hope you’re right,’’ Rojo called out, seeing them disappear into the brush where their horses stood waiting. Under his breath, he whispered, ‘‘You sonsabitches.’’

  At their horses, Mitchell Smith looked back along the path and said, ‘‘Do you think anything that idiot said is true?’’

  ‘‘I doubt if much of it was worth listening to,’’ sai
d Leonard, swinging up into his saddle.

  ‘‘Do you figure he killed Dade?’’ Smith asked, also swinging up.

  ‘‘Ain’t a doubt in my mind on that matter,’’ said Leonard.

  ‘‘What about that ranger?’’ Smith asked, nudging his horse along behind Trigger Leonard’s.

  ‘‘There’s probably some truth in that,’’ Leonard said over his shoulder. ‘‘I already heard he has my name on his list. But I’m not worried about it. He wouldn’t be the first lawman I sent to hell.’’ He grinned, staring straight ahead. ‘‘They don’t call me Trigger for nothing.’’

  ‘‘Where we headed?’’ Smith asked. ‘‘Now that we’ve lost Dade and got shed of Rojo, we’re a man short as far as pulling any serious robberies.’’

  ‘‘We’ll replace Dade easy enough,’’ said Trigger Leonard. ‘‘As far as Rojo, we’re lucky to get rid of him. I never trusted him.’’

  ‘‘Neither did I,’’ said Smith, looking back warily over his shoulder. ‘‘It might have been a mistake, not killing him while we had a chance. My skin always crawled when he stood behind me.’’

  ‘‘Somebody will kill Rojo soon enough,’’ said Trigger Leonard. ‘‘I’m more interested in riding into Sibley, see if I can get a look at that ranger. I might just want to shoot some holes in him and lay the matter to rest.’’

  Smith grinned. ‘‘Sounds fair to me. I’m your backup man.’’

  ‘‘What makes you think I need a backup man?’’ Leonard asked.

  ‘‘It’s not so much that I think you need one,’’ said Smith. ‘‘I’m only saying just in case.’’

  ‘‘That’s better,’’ said Trigger Leonard, staring ahead, his gloved hand resting on the handle of his holstered pistol.