Killing Texas Bob

by Ralph Cotton

  ‘‘You rest assured,’’ said Leonard. ‘‘You’ll hear a rope creaking from a pole before you know it. Just think kindly of me when I kill that ranger.’’

  ‘‘I never heard you say that,’’ the judge replied solemnly, looking away from the two and tugging down on his vest. He glanced both ways quickly. ‘‘In fact, I think it best if this entire conversation never happened.’’

  Leonard gave Smith a quick glimpse of the money before tucking it away inside his clothes. He gave an even wider grin this time and said, ‘‘Hell, what conversation, Your Honor?’’

  Chapter 17

  Inside the telegraph office, Sam asked a young clerk about wiring a message to the commission of the territorial court in Bisbee. At the counter, a rough-looking lineman with a thick beard and a strand of telegraph wire plaited and strung around his neck said with a scoff, ‘‘You’d do as well tying a message to a rock and throwing it toward Bisbee.’’

  Sam gave him a scorching look. The young clerk cut in. ‘‘What Lon here means, Ranger, is that the lines are down. We haven’t been able to send anything out of here for the past day and a half. Lon is going out tomorrow morning to search for it.’’

  ‘‘Yep, that’s so,’’ said the burly lineman, Lon Beck. ‘‘But if it’s the ’Pache cutting them, I’d just as soon leave them down a while, let everybody get back into practice writing letters again.’’ He gave a gruff smile, recognizing the ranger. ‘‘No offense intended, Ranger Burrack. Sometimes I talk when I ought to listen. The fact is, I don’t like hanging atop a pole when there’s ’Pache slipping around.’’

  Seeing that the lineman hadn’t meant anything by his remark, the ranger nodded and said, ‘‘No offense taken. I understand your concern. What if you had a rifleman covering you while you tracked down the break and repaired it?’’

  ‘‘If you be that rifleman, Ranger, I expect I could be swayed into doing it.’’ He narrowed his gaze and asked cagily, ‘‘This message ain’t something that’s going to help the law convict Texas Bob for anything, is it? Because if it is, I ain’t going, ’Pache or no ’Pache.’’

  ‘‘No,’’ said Sam. ‘‘I believe Texas Bob is innocent. I’m trying to send a message that will keep him from hanging for a crime he didn’t commit.’’

  ‘‘Then I expect I’ll go along with you,’’ said Lon. ‘‘As much as I enjoy seeing a good hanging, I have nothing but respect and admiration for Texas Bob Krey. I’ve never known him to come up bad on anything.’’

  ‘‘Neither have I,’’ said the ranger. Then he stood quietly while the lineman considered it.

  ‘‘Well,’’ Beck said after a pause, speaking as he rolled down his shirtsleeves and stooped to pick up a wooden toolbox full of repair wire and hand tools. ‘‘To be honest, as long as I’ve been in this trade I’ve never personally known of the ’Pache cutting any wires.’’ Hefting the toolbox he said, ‘‘But that’s just what you call a personal observation.’’

  ‘‘This is one time I’m certain the Apache had nothing to do with it,’’ said Sam. ‘‘Whatever the case, I’ve got to get it repaired quick and get a message to Bisbee.’’

  As the big lineman straightened up, he said, ‘‘I hope you realize that the break can be anywhere between here and the next office—that’s in Kiley, nearly a hundred miles across the hills.’’

  ‘‘I understand it could be, but I’m betting it’s not far from Sibley,’’ said the ranger, opening the door for the big dusty lineman.

  Watching the ranger and the lineman walk out of the telegraph office and head for the restaurant where the judge had entered the door and taken a seat, Frisco Phil said with a dark laugh, ‘‘There goes one awfully upset lawman.’’

  ‘‘You need to take him more seriously, Frisco,’’ Price warned, watching the two walk along the street, Beck carrying his toolbox and looking over toward the jail.

  ‘‘I’ll take him more serious when the time comes,’’ Frisco said coolly. ‘‘There’s not many times in life you find a judge and a lawman going at one another over a couple ole boys like us. We better enjoy it while it lasts, is what I say.’’

  Price just looked at him. He’d made up his mind. At the first sign of something going wrong he was in his saddle and headed out of here, he thought. To hell with Frisco Phil, he told himself, eyeing Frisco up and down. He’d had nothing but trouble since he’d thrown in with this ne’er-do-well. Nodding toward the lineman walking with the ranger, he said, ‘‘They’ll find that broken line in no time. I told you we should have gone farther out.’’

  ‘‘Don’t start telling me how to cut lines,’’ said Frisco testily. ‘‘I know how to cut a damn line.’’

  Price just glared at him.

  At the boardwalk out front of the restaurant, Sam told Beck, ‘‘Meet me at the sheriff’s office as soon as you get your horse and mule.’’

  ‘‘Right you are,’’ Beck replied. He cut away to gather his animals from the livery barn while Sam walked inside the restaurant. He walked straight to Bass’ table as an old man wearing a white apron poured the judge a steaming cup of coffee. Seeing the ranger’s demeanor and the look on his face, the old waiter shrank away, coffeepot in hand.

  ‘‘I just came from the telegraph office, Bass,’’ Sam said, noticeably dropping the judge’s title. ‘‘I don’t think it will surprise you to hear that the lines have been cut.’’

  ‘‘Oh? Cut down by some raiding Apache, no doubt,’’ Bass said, giving him a blank stare.

  Sam didn’t reply. Instead he spoke in a calmer tone, looking down at the judge, keeping the conversation between the two of them. ‘‘I’m headed out with the lineman to find the break. I hope for everybody’s sake you keep your two deputies away from Texas Bob.’’

  ‘‘It’s the law Bob Krey must answer to, Ranger, not me,’’ Bass said in a rehearsed and insincere tone.

  Sam took one more try at reaching the judge, showing him the error of his ways. ‘‘There are times when a man finds he’s overstepped himself, and needs to back up and get his actions in check before he ruins his whole life, Bass.’’

  ‘‘Do tell, Ranger,’’ the judge said smugly. ‘‘It’s ironic you should say that to me.’’ He pointed a finger at the ranger. ‘‘You have overstepped yourself in such a manner that it will be hard, if not impossible, for you to ever make recompense. You have sided against my court in favor of a murderer.’’

  ‘‘He’s not a murderer, Bass, and we both know it. I’m not here to argue this case with you. I’m coming to you one last time and telling you to step back and look at what you’re doing. I have never agreed with your decisions, but I’ve always respected your office, until now.’’

  ‘‘He killed my brother!’’ Bass said, pounding the tabletop. ‘‘For that he hangs.’’

  ‘‘Any man who kills has killed somebody’s brother, or father, or son. From your bench you’ve had to tell the family to accept the verdict the law hands them and go on with their life. But now it appears that the law you ask them to live by doesn’t apply to you. You hold yourself above the very law you administer.’’

  ‘‘Yes, indeed I do consider myself an exception, Ranger. If not for me this place would continue to be a barbaric wasteland for the next thousand years.’’ He thumbed himself on the chest. ‘‘I am the exception because I have done what I have done to tame this land!’’

  Sam shook his head slowly. ‘‘Don’t you see, Bass? Every man I ever face down has his reason why the law doesn’t apply to him—some because fate dealt them a bad start, some because whatever they put their hands to didn’t turn out the way they wanted it. Everybody has their excuse. But these excuses are the very reason we have the law. The law is there to rein us all in, make us abide things in spite of how wrong we feel we’ve been done. Don’t let go of those reins because this time it’s you who’s been wronged. Don’t ally yourself with lowlifes. Be what you’re supposed to be. Do what’s right no matter how bad it hurts you to do it.’’

/>   Bass stared squarely at him. ‘‘Are you quite through with your lecture on ethics, Ranger?’’

  Sam stopped and took a breath. ‘‘Yes, I’m through talking, Bass. I figured I owed you that talk for the years you’ve put into serving this territory. But now you’re just one more gone-wrong, in a place overfilled with gone-wrongs. Stay away from my prisoner, and stay out of my gun sights. We’re on opposite sides of the law, you and me.’’ He turned to walk to the door.

  Before he left, Bass said to him, ‘‘You pious fool! Tell me, Ranger, how far will you go to stop me from doing what I know needs to be done? Will stopping me be your excuse for not reining in when the time comes to cross the line of legal restraint? Will it justify you spilling blood to save Texas Bob Krey?’’

  Without answering the judge’s question, Sam said, ‘‘Nothing justifies spilling blood, Bass. But some things make it easier to live with.’’

  Bass sat there tapping his fingers on the tabletop, watching the ranger walk to the door and out onto the boardwalk. For a moment he considered the ranger’s words, but then he shrugged, not taking them to heart. The old waiter appeared with a steaming plate of eggs, gravy and fresh hot biscuits and asked the judge meekly, ‘‘Is everything all right, Your Honor?’’

  Bass breathed deep, shook out a white cloth napkin, stuffed it down behind his collar and spread it on his chest. ‘‘Yes, just fine, thank you,’’ he said curtly. ‘‘I hope these eggs are fresh.’’

  ‘‘Oh yes, Your Honor,’’ said the old waiter. ‘‘For you, nothing but the best.’’

  Before riding out of Sibley, Sam walked back to the sheriff’s office and through the door without a word to the deputies standing out front. At the cell he said to Texas Bob, ‘‘I tried wiring Bisbee to tell the commission what’s going on here. But the lines have been cut.’’

  ‘‘I’m not surprised,’’ said Bob, holding the bars with both hands. ‘‘Now what?’’

  ‘‘I’m riding out with a lineman to find the break and repair it while there’s still time,’’ said Sam. ‘‘I’m counting on you being all right here until I return.’’

  ‘‘These two are going to want to find out about the money. I can play them off for as long as I need to,’’ said Bob, glancing past the ranger toward the door. ‘‘But I don’t know about a lynch mob.’’

  Sam gave a grim smile. ‘‘You’ve got two armed deputies who have every reason not to want you lynched.’’

  ‘‘I know,’’ said Bob.

  ‘‘Look at it this way,’’ Sam added. ‘‘Bass wouldn’t have been baiting the crowd for a lynching if he was sure of himself. He at least has enough respect left for the law to keep up a pretense.’’

  ‘‘I suppose that helps—some,’’ Bob said, calm but with a look of uncertainty.

  ‘‘I’ll get back to town as quick as I can, Tex,’’ said Sam. ‘‘You have my word on that.’’

  ‘‘Obliged, Ranger,’’ Texas Bob said as he watched the ranger turn and walk out the door.

  At the hitch rail out front, Lon Beck sat atop his horse, a lead rope to his mule in his free hand. The mule carried his toolbox, along with a canvas-covered load of other tools and supplies necessary to the lineman’s trade. When Sam stepped out the door he saw the two deputies standing close to the edge of the boardwalk, talking to Beck.

  ‘‘I’d be careful who I sided with, Lineman, if I was you,’’ Sam heard Frisco Phil say to him.

  ‘‘I’ve never been careful who I side with,’’ the burly lineman said. ‘‘But I’ve never had to. I always side right to begin with.’’

  ‘‘Not this time, you didn’t,’’ Frisco said, his hand tightening on the shotgun stock. ‘‘This time you’ve started rubbing the wrong cat the wrong way.’’

  The lineman slipped a hand down to the large bowie knife sheathed at his hip. ‘‘I didn’t think much of you as a bartender, Page. I think less of you as a deputy. You once asked how fast I could put a knife through the air. Still wondering?’’ He glared at Frisco.

  Coming up behind Frisco, and seeing that Price wasn’t wanting any part of this, the ranger said, ‘‘Pull that trigger, Frisco, and cut my trouble in half.’’

  Phil stiffened, but he lowered his shotgun. ‘‘We’ll meet up some other time, Lineman,’’ he said to Beck, still trying to intimidate him.

  ‘‘Yeah, I hope so,’’ said Beck in a low, menacing tone. ‘‘You can sling me a beer and light my cigar.’’ He kept his hand on the big bowie’s handle until Frisco lowered the shotgun the rest of the way and he and Price stepped back to the front door of the sheriff’s office. Sam called out to Price, ‘‘Keep in mind Texas Bob is my prisoner. He better be treated fairly, fed and looked after.’’

  Price started to reply, but Frisco cut in, saying sharply, ‘‘He’s your prisoner, you feed and water him when you get back.’’

  Sam didn’t respond, knowing it would only make matters worse.

  ‘‘I never could tolerate a mouthy bartender,’’ Beck said as Sam swung up onto his horse. The two watched Frisco closely until they backed their horses into the dirt street and turned and rode away.

  On the boardwalk, Frisco Phil said to Price, ‘‘I don’t feel like you had my back covered, Deputy. I had the strangest thought that you was going to leave me hanging all alone out there.’’

  ‘‘Think what you will,’’ said Price. ‘‘I’m only looking out for myself and my interest from here on.’’ He leaned back against the front of the building with his shotgun under his arm and watched the ranger and the lineman ride away.

  For the next hour, Sam and Lon Beck rode their horses along at a brisk walk, searching the telegraph line running alongside the trail. Before they’d gone twelve miles, Beck stopped suddenly and pointed at a down line alongside the trail ahead of them.

  ‘‘Looks like you was right, Ranger,’’ he said. ‘‘Who- ever did this was too lazy to stray very far from town.’’ He looked warily out and back and forth across the rough terrain. ‘‘No ’Pache did this. It’s too close to town. They would have cut the lines fifty miles out just to aggravate a fellow.’’

  Riding closer to where the line lay on the ground, Sam said as he drew his rifle from its saddle boot, ‘‘I’ve got you covered. Let’s get it up and get on back to town before Texas Bob’s luck runs out. I don’t trust the judge or the deputies as far as I can spit.’’

  ‘‘You can ride on back now, Ranger, if it makes you feel any better,’’ said Beck. ‘‘Had I known it was this close to town I would’ve rode out alone, hours ago.’’

  ‘‘I’m here now,’’ said Sam. ‘‘I’ll wait for you.’’ As he spoke he scanned out across the land and spotted a single rider coming toward them slowly across the rise of a hillside.

  ‘‘What have we got coming here, Ranger?’’ Beck asked as he stepped down and walked to the mule for his tools.

  ‘‘I don’t know,’’ said Sam. Looking closer through the wind and sand, he recognized the lone rider to be a woman, pulling a travois behind her horse, a big dog trailing alongside her. ‘‘While you work I’ll ride out a ways and find out, unless you need my help.’’

  ‘‘Naw, go ahead,’’ said Beck. ‘‘I’ll likely have this wire spliced and strung before you get back.’’

  Sam turned his horse, rifle in hand, and set the big animal into a trot across the rolling hillside. As he drew closer to the woman, she stopped the horse and sat with her hand on the stock of the shotgun lying in her lap.

  ‘‘Easy, Plug,’’ Mary Alice said sidelong to the dog, who stood with his head lowered, a deep growl rumbling inside his chest.

  ‘‘Wha-what’s going on up there?’’ Rojo asked, half delirious from fever and pain. ‘‘Is it Indians? Is it? You best cut me loose now, you hear? Please don’t leave me trussed up this way.’’

  Mary Alice did not answer until the ranger drew close enough for her to recognize him. Then she said over her shoulder to the babbling Rojo, ‘‘Shut up back there. It’s not Ind
ians. It’s Ranger Sam Burrack.’’

  ‘‘Oh no.’’ Rojo groaned in humiliation. ‘‘Please, go ahead and shoot me!’’

  Chapter 18

  When the ranger slowed to a halt fifteen feet away and looked down at the big dog, Mary Alice called out, ‘‘Ranger Burrack, he won’t bother you.’’ Then to the low-growling dog she said, ‘‘Hush up, Plug, settle down.’’ Upon Mary Alice’s urging, the dog circled slowly and quieted, sensing no danger from the oncoming horseman.

  ‘‘Ranger,’’ Mary Alice called out anxiously, ‘‘have you seen Tex? He was headed to find Sheriff Thorn and straighten everything out with him!’’

  ‘‘Slow down, Mary Alice,’’ Sam called out, nudging his horse forward now that the dog had stopped growling and stood watching him closely. ‘‘Texas Bob is in Sibley, in jail.’’

  ‘‘In jail?’’ Mary Alice looked worried. ‘‘He can’t stay in jail in Sibley! Price will kill him! He’s already tried it once.’’

  ‘‘I know all about it, Mary Alice,’’ Sam said. ‘‘I’m only leaving him alone long enough to get the telegraph lines repaired. He’s in my custody. I arrested him to keep him from getting shot down in the street.’’

  ‘‘He’s innocent, Ranger,’’ she said, breathing a little easier. ‘‘Lady Lucky will tell you that.’’

  ‘‘If I didn’t think he was innocent, I wouldn’t be out here with the lineman, fixing this line so we can wire Bisbee and tell them what’s happening.’’ He let her relax for a second, then said, ‘‘But here’s some bad news. Lady Lucky is dead. She can’t do a thing to help clear him.’’

  ‘‘Oh, no, not Lady,’’ Mary Alice said, her eyes welling for a moment until she told herself there was nothing she could do for Lady Lucky. Texas Bob’s situation demanded her full attention. ‘‘What will happen now?’’

  ‘‘First thing, I’m trying to get us another judge, one who has no dog in this fight.’’

  ‘‘Huh?’’ Mary Alice looked confused.