Killing Texas Bob

by Ralph Cotton

  Inside the saloon, seeing the ranger staring toward them, Smith whispered sidelong to Leonard, ‘‘All right, he’s accusing us. Here’s your chance! Go get him.’’ He almost nudged Leonard out the doors in his excitement.

  ‘‘Get away from me!’’ Leonard hissed at him. He stepped back. ‘‘I’ll get him when I’m damn good and ready! Don’t ever act like you’re going to push me into something!’’ He turned toward Smith, his hand poised above his gun butt.

  ‘‘I didn’t mean nothing!’’ Smith said, raising his hands in a show of peace. ‘‘I just thought that—’’

  ‘‘Never mind what you thought,’’ said Leonard, his temper still flaring. ‘‘Don’t ever crowd me! I won’t take it!’’

  Outside, Sam heard heated words being exchanged, but not well enough to hear them clearly. He waited for a moment, watching the remaining townsmen go their ways, some of them back inside the saloon. Then he looked above the doors flapping back and forth, not knowing who stood in there, yet almost certain their conversation had been about him. Whoever it was, they would reveal themselves soon enough, he told himself, stepping back to his horse and picking up the reins. Meanwhile, he knew he had plenty to keep him busy.

  Out front of the sheriff’s office, Price and Frisco had been standing, watching the angry crowd come out of the saloon and begin mustering up its courage in the street. Now that the ranger had arrived and taken the situation in hand, Price let out a tense breath and said to Frisco, ‘‘I never thought I’d be glad to see the ranger ride in.’’

  ‘‘Right in time, too,’’ said Frisco, keeping his voice lowered. ‘‘As soon as we get that money, we’re killing Texas Bob. No two ways about it.’’

  ‘‘You’ll get no argument from me,’’ said Price, still gripping the shotgun as the ranger led his horse toward them from out front of the saloon. ‘‘I’d rather kill him than protect him. That’s for damn sure.’’

  When the ranger arrived and had hitched his horse at the rail out front of the sheriff’s office, he stepped up onto the porch and walked to the door without a word to the deputies.

  ‘‘Just so’s you know, Ranger,’’ Frisco said before Sam entered, ‘‘we weren’t going to let that crowd take this prisoner out of here without a fight.’’

  Sam only looked at him curiously, stepped inside the office and closed the door behind himself. Seeing the look on Price’s face, Frisco shrugged. ‘‘I felt like I ought to say something.’’

  At Texas Bob’s cell door, Sam smiled, seeing Bob seated on the side of his bunk, a cup of coffee in his hand. On the bunk beside him sat a food tray with an empty plate and scraps of food on it. ‘‘Well,’’ said Sam, ‘‘it looks like things have taken an upward turn for you since I left town.’’

  Standing, walking over to the cell door, Bob said in a whisper, ‘‘We talked about the money. They can’t do enough for me now.’’

  ‘‘I bet,’’ said Sam.

  Nodding in the direction of the saloon, Texas Bob said, ‘‘I heard some shooting and yelling going on. Did you put it down?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ said Sam. ‘‘It might make you feel good to know you’ve got as many folks for you as you have against you.’’

  ‘‘Yes, it does help to hear that. Obliged, Ranger,’’ Bob said, tipping his coffee cup toward Sam.

  ‘‘I get an idea there wouldn’t be any talk of a lynching if somebody wasn’t in the background pushing for it,’’ Sam said. ‘‘This town is drinking too much for this time of day.’’

  ‘‘Were you able to find the line break?’’ Bob asked quietly, keeping an eye toward the closed door.

  ‘‘The line is fixed, and the message is sent to Bisbee,’’ said Sam, also in a quiet tone. ‘‘But that’s not all I found. Mary Alice is riding into town with the lineman. She’s got Tommy Rojo with her. Your dog just about ate him alive.’’

  Tex looked concerned, gripping the bars. ‘‘Is she all right?’’

  ‘‘She’s just fine,’’ said Sam. ‘‘So is your dog. I don’t know if Rojo will ever look the same again.’’

  ‘‘Plug got him bad, did he?’’ Texas Bob asked.

  ‘‘No worse than he deserved,’’ said Sam. ‘‘Rojo is a back-shooter I warn everybody about. He went snooping around there for you. If your dog hadn’t tipped off Mary Alice . . . I hate to think what Rojo is capable of.’’

  ‘‘As long as she’s all right,’’ Bob said, sounding relieved.

  ‘‘She is.’’ Looking around, Sam said quietly, ‘‘What about you?’’

  ‘‘If it helps any,’’ said Bob with a faint smile, ‘‘I’ve got these two doing exactly what I want.’’

  Sam didn’t reply. He understood.

  On their way to Sibley, Andrej Goran, Mary Alice and Lon Beck decided it would be best if the Croatian slipped away from the group and camped out near town until they talked to the ranger about him. By the time Mary Alice, the lineman, the dog and Rojo arrived in Sibley, the afternoon sun had sunk low in the western sky. Sam had grained and watered his horse and eaten his evening meal. Tension had eased between him and the two deputies, so much so that when drinkers from the saloon began to gather once again in the dirt street, Price stuck his head through the office door and told Sam.

  ‘‘It looks like they’re back at it, Ranger,’’ he said, unable to identify Mary Alice or Beck in the quickly waning light.

  ‘‘I better see what this is about, Tex,’’ Sam said. Standing up from the desk chair, he picked up his rifle and jacked a round into the chamber. On his way to the front door he said over his shoulder, ‘‘Let’s hope it’s Mary Alice and Beck arriving. They should have been here half an hour ago.’’ He stepped onto the boardwalk between the two deputies and out onto the street.

  Out front of the Bottoms Up, Trigger Leonard and Mitchell Smith stood before a newly gathering group of onlookers. Smith stooped slightly and squinted for a closer look at Tommy Rojo lying wrapped in the dusty bedsheet. ‘‘Is that Rojo?’’ he asked himself aloud, sounding more than just a little drunk. Then he chuckled and said, ‘‘Good Lord, it is that idiot! Look at this, Trigger! Rojo has fell face-first into a barrel of straight razors!’’

  ‘‘Tommy?’’ Trigger Leonard grinned. ‘‘Man! What in the world happened to you?’’

  Laughing, Smith said, ‘‘I told you, he fell face-first into a barrel—’’

  ‘‘Shut up Mitch, damn it,’’ said Leonard, cutting him off, still angry over what had happened earlier. ‘‘He can talk for himself.’’

  Smith quieted down and stood staring at Rojo with a sullen look on his face.

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ Rojo said, giving Smith a look of hatred. ‘‘I’m hurt here. You think this is funny? I was attacked by that dog.’’ He nodded toward Plug, who had sat down in the dirt and busied himself licking a front paw. ‘‘I’m lucky to be alive,’’ he added. ‘‘I’m ruined for life.’’

  ‘‘You was ruined already, Rojo,’’ Smith said solemnly, still stinging from Leonard’s harsh words.

  Atop their horses, Mary Alice and Beck waited until they saw the ranger approaching from the sheriff’s office before stepping down to the street. Seeing the two men standing over Rojo on his travois with the townsmen gathered behind them, Sam stopped beside Beck and looked them over.

  Upon seeing the ranger look him up and down, Smith said, ‘‘What’s the matter now, Ranger? Any law against standing on the street in Sibley?’’

  ‘‘None at all,’’ Sam said evenly, ‘‘so long as you behave yourselves.’’ He let them see plainly that he was sizing them up, running their faces through his mind for the slightest recognition. He decided these two were the ones who’d been watching earlier from inside the saloon. He looked from Smith to Leonard; neither of them looked familiar.

  ‘‘Behave ourselves?’’ Leonard sneered, his thumbs unhooking from his holster belt and his hands dropping to his sides. He said to Smith, ‘‘Hear that, Mr. Smith? The ranger here must be used to correcting sch
oolboys.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, I heard it.’’ Smith stepped to the side, putting a little room between himself and his partner. Sam knew that move. It was the move a man made when he and his pal had worked it all out between themselves. This one had been told to stay out of it, he decided, looking at Mr. Smith. The other one had said he wanted this lawman all to himself. But looking closely at Leonard, Sam could tell he wasn’t quite ready yet. The rifle in Sam’s hand had him unsettled.

  Sam used that to his advantage. Sliding his thumb over the rifle hammer, he calmly cocked it, lifted the rifle one-handed and let the barrel point toward Leonard’s belly. ‘‘Do I know you boys from somewhere?’’

  Something about the ranger’s move with the rifle suddenly rattled Leonard. One minute he’d been standing there ready to call the ranger down—a one-on-one gunfight. The next minute his plan had crumbled. He gave a nervous sidelong glance at Smith, feeling sweat form at his hat brim. He couldn’t answer. How the hell had he let himself get covered by a rifle?

  ‘‘No, you don’t know us, Ranger,’’ Smith said stiffly, seeing Leonard wasn’t going to answer. ‘‘We’re—we’re not from around here.’’ He’d raised his hands chest high in a show of peace as soon as he’d heard the rifle cock. He couldn’t believe Leonard had let the ranger get the drop on them. He gave Leonard a confused look.

  Leonard’s mouth had suddenly gone dry, his hand feeling less steady than it had only a moment ago. He backed up a step, his legs feeling weak. The townsmen behind him parted and gave him room to retreat.

  As the two backed away, then turned and walked woodenly back into the saloon, Beck asked the ranger, ‘‘What was that all about?’’

  ‘‘I’m betting those two are behind the lynch mob that was just about to make a move on Texas Bob when I got back to town,’’ Sam said, watching the men until they were out of sight. The townsmen had also started drifting back to the saloon.

  ‘‘Is Bob all right, Ranger?’’ Mary Alice asked anxiously.

  ‘‘He’s holding up real well,’’ Sam said. ‘‘I expect he’ll be glad to see you.’’

  She started to walk away toward the sheriff’s office, but before leaving, she said in a hushed tone to Sam, ‘‘I heard one call the other Trigger.’’ She gave Sam a knowing look.

  ‘‘Obliged, Mary Alice,’’ Sam said. He looked down at Rojo. ‘‘I suppose you were going to tell me that, right, Tommy?’’

  Rojo just looked away and mumbled hoarsely under his breath.

  ‘‘We’ve got a witness to the shooting at the Sky High, Ranger Burrack,’’ Mary Alice said barely above a whisper, calling his attention away from Rojo and back to her.

  ‘‘Oh?’’ Sam looked first at her, then at Beck.

  ‘‘Andrej, the Croatian,’’ Mary Alice said. ‘‘It turns out he does speak English. He was just afraid to. We’ve got him hiding out at the old Minion Mine shack until we come for him.’’

  ‘‘Good,’’ said the ranger. ‘‘Now get on to the sheriff’s office and see Texas Bob. It’ll do him some good.’’

  As soon as Mary Alice had walked out of sight, Sam asked Beck, ‘‘Is she fooling herself, or does the Croatian speak English well enough to help us out?’’

  Beck thought about it for a second, then grinned and said, ‘‘Both. He spoke English well enough when he showed up and told us his story. Since then both his English and his story have improved, if you know what I mean.’’

  Sam shook his head. The way things were shaping up, he doubted the case would ever make it to trial anyway.

  On the ground, Rojo looked up and said, ‘‘Will somebody cut me loose and hold that dog back while I get out of here?’’

  Sam reached down, pulled a long knife from his boot well and sliced the bedsheet from Rojo’s chin to his crotch while Rojo held his breath. ‘‘You take it from there,’’ Sam said. He slipped a hand down onto Plug’s head as if to steady him into sitting still.

  ‘‘You bet I will,’’ said Rojo, ripping and pulling at the sheet until he staggered to his feet and threw the remnants of it to the ground. The dog only growled and watched as he stamped off toward the Markwell Hotel, where Judge Bass’ silhouette filled a window on the second floor.

  Chapter 21

  When Bass realized that Tommy Rojo was walking straight to the hotel, he cursed under his breath, ‘‘Damn you, Rojo. This is all I need.’’ Watching him walk closer, in the dim light of the oil lamps lining the street, the judge felt a sudden uneasiness come upon him. Hurriedly he stepped over to his leather travel bag, rummaged inside it and came out with a small-framed ivory-handled Remington pistol. ‘‘There now, that’s better,’’ he murmured, checking the pistol, making sure it was loaded. He turned the shiny gun back and forth in his hand as he hurried over and made sure the door was locked. Then he sat down in a chair facing the door, crossed his thick legs and waited, the Remington cocked in his hand.

  Moments later he heard a commotion down at the front desk as the night clerk tried to stop Rojo from climbing the stairs. Then, predictably, he sighed, listening to Rojo’s footsteps move upward and stop at his door. Taking a breath, Bass said, ‘‘Yes, who is it?’’ when he heard the knock.

  ‘‘It’s me, Tommy Rojo—the bounty hunter,’’ Rojo called out though the thick oak door.

  ‘‘Go away. I’m not seeing anyone this evening,’’ Bass replied. ‘‘I’m much too busy.’’

  ‘‘I’m hurt, Judge. We need to talk,’’ Rojo said pitifully.

  ‘‘I don’t know why,’’ Bass said callously.

  ‘‘We had a deal going, Judge,’’ Rojo said evenly. ‘‘I nearly got myself killed trying to help you. Now let me in.’’ He jiggled the brass doorknob and knocked again, harder this time.

  ‘‘Our only deal was for you to deliver Texas Bob,’’ Mr. Rojo,’’ said Bass officiously. ‘‘But did you do that? No. Bob came in with the ranger. Perhaps I should offer the ranger your reward.’’

  ‘‘I brought the woman to you,’’ Rojo said through the thick door, staring into a swirl of hand-polished oak grain.

  ‘‘Indeed,’’ Bass said sarcastically, his hand growing restless on the Remington. ‘‘I saw just how you brought her in! You forced her and the lineman to wrap you up like a raving asylum lunatic and drag you behind her horse, eh? What a clever idea, Rojo!’’

  Rojo gritted his teeth, feeling the pain intensify in his jaw, his forehead. ‘‘What’s the difference? I brought her, Judge,’’ he said, trying to keep from flying into a rage.

  ‘‘Well, yes, that’s true,’’ said Bass. ‘‘I have to admit, you did arrive here with her.’’

  ‘‘There. You see?’’ Rojo nodded, settling some.

  The judge continued. ‘‘The problem is, I didn’t want her! I only wanted Texas Bob Krey! There was no reward for Mary Alice!’’

  ‘‘You said bring them back, Judge! I heard you say it. Them means them—either one or both!’’ Rojo said, starting to rant out of control.

  ‘‘Are you sure you’re a bounty hunter, Rojo?’’ Bass said indifferently. ‘‘I get the feeling you’re nothing but a complete fool.’’

  ‘‘Open this door, Judge, or I’m breaking it down,’’ Rojo threatened, his face throbbing in pain. He’d had all he could stand of people for a while. It was time he made things go his way.

  Bass smiled thinly to himself. It’s about time . . . He raised the gun and held it firmly pointed at the door, at about chest level to Rojo, he estimated, prepared to fire.

  But Rojo took a deep breath, knowing how sore and stiff he felt now, and how much more sore and painful he would be after flattening a big oak door. ‘‘All right, Judge. Listen to me,’’ he said, keeping control of himself. He could feel the blood rush to his stitches and throb with each thump of his pulse.

  Bass let out an impatient breath, wondering if the Remington’s bullet would go through the door and still be capable of killing Rojo. But as he wondered, Rojo continued, saying, ‘‘Mary Alice and the li
neman brought the Croatian back with them. He’s going to be a witness for Texas Bob.’’

  ‘‘No, he isn’t,’’ said the judge. ‘‘He doesn’t speak English. That’s the law of the territory.’’

  ‘‘He speaks it, Your Honor,’’ said Rojo. ‘‘I heard him speak it. And I heard his account of what happened. He says your brother started the whole damn thing. He says it plain as day, and in English as good as any I’ve heard lately.’’

  ‘‘Where is he?’’ Bass asked, his voice sounding more interested.

  ‘‘They’ve got him hidden,’’ said Rojo. ‘‘They thought I was asleep, but I was faking. I heard where they sent him to. He’s waiting for the ranger to come get him.’’

  ‘‘Blast you, Rojo, tell me where he is!’’ the judge demanded.

  Now it was Rojo’s turn to grin to himself, as much as his stitches would allow. ‘‘Not through this big ole door, Your Honor,’’ he said. ‘‘We need to talk face-to-face. The way I see it, we need one another.’’

  Rojo stood in silence, listening beyond the door to what he thought could be a gun hammer being lowered. Then he heard footsteps come to the door; the latch clicked open, the footsteps walked away. Finally, the judge said in disgust, ‘‘All right, Rojo, come in. But don’t you dare touch anything.’’

  Don’t touch anything? Rojo had to wait a few seconds longer to let the judge’s insult roll off his back. Then he swallowed his anger and pain, opened the big door and stepped inside.

  ‘‘Rojo, I have to tell you that I am greatly disappointed in you,’’ the judge said right away, almost before Rojo had closed the door behind himself. ‘‘I sent you to perform a job for me, and look at you—’’ He gestured a hand up and down Rojo. ‘‘You pathetic wretch! You look like something that has been mistaken for carrion and ravaged by vultures! What can we possibly have to do with one another? Tell me where this Croatian is, so I can have him protected until it’s time to bring him into court.’’