by Ralph Cotton
‘‘All right, dove,’’ said Frisco, throwing the end of her reins to her. ‘‘Take off.’’
But Mary Alice only straightened the reins and backed her horse a step. ‘‘I’m not leaving without Tex,’’ she said with finality.
‘‘Get out of here, Mary Alice!’’ Bob said, the empty bag hanging in his cuffed hands. ‘‘Ride hard and don’t look back. I’m begging you.’’
‘‘Uh-uh,’’ said Mary Alice. ‘‘We both go or we both stay. I’m not leaving.’’
‘‘Suit yourself, dove.’’ Frisco chuckled darkly, giving Price another look. ‘‘You can both sleep in the sand till Judgment Day.’’ He cocked the Colt, ready to fire it.
Past Frisco, Texas Bob saw the ranger stand up on the other side of the rise, thirty feet away.
‘‘Drop the guns, both of you,’’ the ranger called out.
But Bob knew that Frisco was already making his move, turning the Colt toward Mary Alice. In a wild desperate attempt to stop him, Bob leapt forward and swung the empty bag, slapping Frisco’s gun hand away and spraying his face with a flurry of sand.
Price swung his rifle toward the ranger. But Sam’s first rifle shot punched him in the chest and sent him flying from his saddle into the sand. Sam stepped forward with deliberation, levering another round into his rifle. Atop his horse, Frisco recovered quickly from the face full of sand and turned his Colt toward Texas Bob. ‘‘I said drop it,’’ Sam shouted, stepping closer.
‘‘Go to hell, Ranger!’’ Frisco bellowed, swinging his Colt from Bob toward the ranger.
The ranger’s second shot lifted him from his saddle as well and flung him over the edge of the rise. Frisco slid a few feet in the loose sand, then came to a stop on the long hillside, spread-eagle, his chest bloody, his dead eyes staring blankly at the sky.
Walking closer, Sam watched Price reach a bloody hand inside his vest pocket. ‘‘Don’t try it, Price,’’ he warned, levering another round into his rifle.
Price coughed and chuckled grimly, blood trickling from his lips. ‘‘Or what? You going to . . . shoot me?’’ he said haltingly. His hand fell from his vest pocket and dropped the watch fob he’d taken from Thorn’s body. Sam stopped and looked down at the blackened finger of Jeuto Vargas. ‘‘You know where I . . . got that, Ranger?’’
‘‘It belonged to Sheriff Mike Thorn,’’ Sam said, recognizing the grizzly trophy, ‘‘and I know the only way you could have taken it from him.’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ said Price. ‘‘We killed him.’’ A look of regret came to his face. ‘‘We killed him . . . killed poor old Teddy Ware, and Norbert Block too.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘What a no-good sumbitch . . . I turned out to be. All I wanted . . . was to be admired.’’ He managed to raise his eyes and point up at Texas Bob as Bob and Mary Alice stepped forward, Bob’s shadow falling across Price’s face. ‘‘Like . . . this damned . . . do-gooder . . .’’ he murmured, his words trailing off with his final breath.
Slipping over the rise and in between them, the big dog stuck his muzzle down to Price’s face as if to make sure he was dead. ‘‘Get back, Plug,’’ Bob said gently, reaching down and patting his big shaggy head.
Chapter 24
With Texas Bob’s wrists freed from the handcuffs and the bodies of Price and Frisco Phil lying over their saddles, the three stood for a moment, the ranger turning the watch fob back and forth in his hand. ‘‘Some evidence,’’ he said. ‘‘But the court will have no choice but to accept my testimony. Price gave a dying confession. A dying confession to a lawman is not hearsay. Bass will have to give up on the charges.’’ He looked at Texas Bob and said, ‘‘But as bad as this has all gone for you, I couldn’t have blamed you if you’d managed to get away, take the money yourself and cut for Mexico.’’
‘‘Maybe I would have, Ranger,’’ Bob admitted, his arm looped around Mary Alice’s waist. ‘‘But I could never have lived with myself, doing something like that. It’s not my way.’’ He smiled down at Mary Alice, then said to Sam, ‘‘Does that sound foolish, Ranger?’’
‘‘To some it does,’’ Sam replied. ‘‘But not to me. I expect if a man is right, he stays right.’’ He let out a breath and pocketed the watch fob. ‘‘I understand if you want to turn your horses toward Mexico right now and not look back. I can explain all this. You won’t have to be there.’’
‘‘Obliged, Ranger,’’ said Bob, ‘‘but it doesn’t feel right to me. I think a man ought to speak for himself. Don’t you?’’
‘‘You know I do.’’ Sam gave a thin smile. ‘‘I just thought I’d make the offer.’’ He slipped his rifle down into his saddle boot. ‘‘Bass has tried everything to kill you, Tex. The townspeople of Sibley thought too highly of you to go along with a lynching. A man whose life you saved came all the way back to testify for you. You must be doing something right.’’ He swung up into his saddle. Mary Alice and Texas Bob did the same. The dog stopped licking his paws and fell in behind them as the horses turned toward the trail back to Sibley.
In the afternoon they turned onto a less-used trail that ran through a stretch of rocky hills and past a string of abandoned mines, including the Minion Mining Company. They stopped abruptly when they heard a volley of pistol and rifle shots exploding a short distance ahead of them. ‘‘Andrej!’’ Mary Alice gasped.
Seeing the ranger already boot his horse up into a run, Bob handed Mary Alice the reins to the two dead men’s horses and said, ‘‘Wait here!’’
But no sooner had he said it and ridden away than Mary Alice slapped her reins to her horse and followed, leading the two horses, the dog racing right along behind her.
A half mile ahead, in a maze of rock, sand and cactus, Andrej Goran’s terrified horse had stumbled and fallen on a steep path leading down into a draw. The wiry Croatian slid, rolled and tumbled, and came to his feet, running without looking back. When he got to a place where he saw nothing but high rocks all around him, he looked back, saw the two gunmen riding down on him and ran up into the steep jagged rocks and began climbing.
‘‘We’ve got him now,’’ said Rojo. He slid his horse to a halt and looked at Trigger Leonard, who stopped right beside him. ‘‘You need to go back, climb around and get up there, in case he makes it to the top.’’ He pointed up along the edge above the climbing Croatian.
‘‘Like hell,’’ said Leonard, still suffering his hangover and long since worn-out from the long hard day in the saddle. ‘‘He’s not getting away.’’ He nudged his horse forward, gun in hand. ‘‘I’ll plug him dead center first.’’
Rojo stared at the back of Leonard’s head for a moment, his hand tightening on his rifle stock as Leonard rode forward. ‘‘All right then, Trig,’’ he called out angrily, ‘‘why don’t I just go myself?’’
‘‘Good idea,’’ Trigger Leonard said without looking back.
Rojo stared a second longer, almost raising his rifle as he cursed under his breath. But then he took his thumb from over the rifle barrel, turned his horse and rode hard back along the trail.
Stopping his horse in the center of the sandy draw, Leonard stepped down from his saddle, spread his feet shoulder width apart and raised his big Colt with both hands. He took close aim on the climbing Croatian and started to fire. But at the last moment he realized that if he shot the man right there, he’d have to climb up a good ways himself to drag the body down.
‘‘Damn it,’’ he said, letting his gun hand fall loosely to his side. He rubbed his temples. His head pounded. His ears had been ringing all day from Rojo’s rifle shot so close to his head. ‘‘Hey up there,’’ he called out, cupping his pounding forehead. ‘‘Come on down here! I won’t hurt you.’’
‘‘To hell you go, is what I say to you!’’ Andrej called out without looking back or slowing down.
‘‘To hell I go?’’ Leonard sighed and shook his aching head. ‘‘Damn foreigners.’’ At his feet lay the tin pail that had fallen off the Croatian’s shoulder. He kicked it away. ‘‘Al
l right, then, let’s get it done!’’ He cocked the big Colt and started to raise it again.
‘‘Drop the gun,’’ the ranger shouted, stepping down off the narrow path. Behind him, his horse stood beside the Croatian’s horse, looking it over as the dusty animal stood shaking itself off.
Leonard lowered his gun, but didn’t drop it. Instead he turned, letting his gun hand once again fall to his side. ‘‘Well well now, look who’s here,’’ he said, certain the ranger had not noticed that his Colt was already cocked. ‘‘Ranger, I have been miserable all day and all night, ever since I let you buffalo me in the street.’’
‘‘I said drop it, Heebs.’’ Sam stood with his gun down at his side. Without taking his eyes off of Leonard, he noted the Croatian had stopped climbing and had looked around and down to see what was going on. ‘‘I won’t tell you again.’’
‘‘You know it’s me, huh?’’ said Leonard, without dropping the gun. ‘‘Then you ought to know I’m not going to drop this gun. Now that it’s just you and me, I think we ought to finish this little contest fair and square. We’ll both just holster these shooting irons—’’ As he spoke, he prepared himself to make a move. As soon as the ranger holstered his gun, Leonard would fire. That would do it. He had the ranger cold—
But before he’d finished his thought, his whole body stiffened and flew backward. The sky streaked madly past his wide eyes as the ranger’s bullet punched through his heart and sent him sprawling onto the sandy ground. ‘‘What contest?’’ Sam murmured under his breath.
From atop the high rock wall above the draw, Rojo belly-crawled to the edge and looked down at the ranger standing over Trigger Leonard’s body. A few yards back, he saw Texas Bob and Mary Alice walking their horses down into the draw. He looked at the bodies slung over their saddles, a grim reminder of where he and men like him stood with the ranger.
‘‘Uh-oh,’’ Rojo said, seeing the ranger look up toward him. From his position he couldn’t that see Andrej Goran had turned and started climbing back down. He did see Mary Alice bend down and pick up the tin pail by its rawhide strip. Beside her he saw the dog poke its nose into the pail, sniffing the contents. He had a clear shot from here, Rojo told himself, at the dog, at Texas Bob, at the ranger himself if he wanted to take it.
He raised the rifle to his shoulder and looked down the barrel, looking from face to face of each of the people he could kill, and at the dog. It was time to make a decision. He closed his finger over the trigger. Then he stopped. No, wait . . . This wasn’t the time to start a gunfight. No matter who he shot down there, the others would start shooting back. This was the time to make a getaway.
Judge Bass had no idea what had happened the night before in Sibley. The jail stood empty when he’d arrived there this morning, yet it didn’t appear there had been a jailbreak. The key hung in the lock of Texas Bob’s cell. There was no sign of a struggle. Both deputies were gone. A window had been broken out of the ranger’s room at the Markwell Hotel. What had gone on here? He’d spent the day wondering about it, certain that everything was connected somehow—the window, the jail, the missing deputies.
Earlier he’d seen the telegraph clerk and learned that the ranger had a telegraph from Bisbee waiting to be picked up. The telegraph had him more than a little concerned. He’d tried to get the clerk to reveal what it said, but the fellow wouldn’t budge. He’d even offered a bribe. Nothing doing. Whatever was going on here, it was time for him to clear things up and get on across the territory.
Since nobody had enough guts to lynch Texas Bob, he supposed he’d have to do it. Legally, he chuckled to himself. Once Rojo killed the Croatian there would be no witnesses other than the deputies, if they ever returned. They would say anything he told them to say. That was one good thing about having surrounded himself with lowlifes. They would do anything for a dollar. He knew he could never trust them, but then, he’d never intended to.
In the late afternoon he took a toothpick from his lapel pocket and stuck it between his teeth on his way from the restaurant back to the sheriff’s office. He needed to check every once in a while until they returned. He wasn’t about to mention Texas Bob’s being gone until he knew more about it. For all he knew, the deputies could have ridden him out somewhere and put a bullet in his head. He smiled to himself. That wouldn’t be too bad, he thought.
When he’d stepped up onto the boardwalk and to the door of the sheriff’s office, an old townsman had started at the far end of the street, lighting streetlamps against the encroaching darkness. ‘‘Another day in Hell’s Paradise,’’ he grumbled to himself, opening the door and stepping inside. He closed the door and stepped over to the battered oak desk. Taking a long match from a tin match holder, he raised the globe on an oil lamp and started to light it.
‘‘Don’t strike that match, please, Judge,’’ Tommy Rojo whispered, hunkered down against the front of the cell, his rifle standing between his knees.
‘‘Rojo!’’ The judge turned, startled, the unstruck match still in hand. ‘‘What on earth are you doing here, hiding in the dark like some crazy man?’’
‘‘The ranger is after me,’’ said Rojo. ‘‘He killed poor Trigger Leonard, and he’ll be coming right here after me any minute.’’
‘‘What are you talking about, you fool?’’ Bass said.
‘‘What do you mean he killed Trigger Leonard? Who in blazes is Trigger Leonard?’’
‘‘You know, Leonard and Smith, the men you hired to stir up a lynching?’’
‘‘Oh, those two,’’ said the judge with a sour expression. ‘‘Don’t mention those miserable wretches. They found Smith dead in the public urinal ditch this morning. Poor bugger had been lying there all night with his brains blown out, drunks relieving themselves on him.’’
‘‘Yeah, that’s terrible.’’ Rojo kept himself from smiling. ‘‘So, now Leonard is dead too. He rode with me to kill the Croatian. The ranger attacked us, killed him deader than hell.’’
‘‘Wait a minute,’’ said the judge. ‘‘Do you mean to tell me you didn’t kill the Croatian?’’
Rojo lied. ‘‘No, I killed him! He’s dead, just like you wanted him. That’s why I came here to find you, to get paid, so I can get out from under this ranger dogging me. I’m telling you he’s right behind me. Him and Texas Bob and the whore from the Bottoms Up.’’
‘‘What?’’ The judge stiffened. ‘‘The ranger has Texas Bob with him?’’ He looked all around the office as if the deputies might appear out of thin air. ‘‘What the devil is going on? Where’s Price and Frisco Phil?’’
Recalling two bodies lying facedown over their saddles, Rojo said, ‘‘I don’t like bringing bad news to you, Your Honor. But I’ve got a pretty good idea they’re both dead.’’
Bass only stared at him, stunned speechless for a moment. Finally he managed to say, ‘‘Dead? Both of the deputies?’’
‘‘The ranger has two bodies over their saddles,’’ said Rojo. ‘‘If it’s not the deputies, I’ll be awfully surprised.’’ He hesitated, then said, ‘‘I’ll be needing my money now, Your Honor. I don’t want to be here when he arrives. I hate to say it, but I don’t believe he likes me much.’’
‘‘My goodness,’’ said Bass, not even hearing Rojo. He stood staring off into space, letting things sink in. ‘‘He has freed Texas Bob and killed two officers of the law.’’ He seemed to be wondering what sort of charges he might bring against the ranger. ‘‘He is simply running loose, doing as he pleases, isn’t he?’’
‘‘Well, yes, I suppose you might say that,’’ Rojo said as if giving it consideration. ‘‘But that is none of my business. I want my money, so I can put some miles between him and me.’’
‘‘Your money. Yes, of course,’’ said Bass, as if snapping out of a mild stupor. He reached inside his coat, took out a roll of bills and began counting off the blood money he’d promised Rojo. ‘‘You did your job. I suppose you have this coming.’’
‘‘Obliged, Your
Honor, and it’s been a pleasure doing business with you,’’ Rojo grinned, his dirty hand stuck out for his pay.
From outside, the ranger’s voice called out, ‘‘Judge Bass . . . Tommy Rojo. This is Arizona Territory ranger Sam Burrack. Both of you come out of there with your hands held high.’’
‘‘Oh no!’’ Bass said. He stopped counting and glanced at the window, money in both hands.
‘‘Tell him I’m not here,’’ Rojo whispered nervously.
Bass glanced out at the tired horse standing at the hitch rail. ‘‘They know you’re here,’’ he said sarcastically.
‘‘How?’’ Rojo whispered, looking bewildered.
‘‘Is that not your horse out there, ridden half to death?’’ Bass asked, already knowing what the answer would be.
‘‘Dang it!’’ Rojo cursed through clenched teeth.
‘‘Allow me to handle this,’’ Bass said. Without stepping away from the desk, he called out through the open window, ‘‘Ranger, what on earth are you trying to pull here? Where are the deputies, Price and Frisco Phil Page?’’
‘‘They’re right here, Bass,’’ Sam replied. ‘‘Both of them dead across their horses. So is Trigger Leonard Heebs, one of the men you sent after Andrej Goran. Luckily we got to Andrej first.’’
‘‘What?’’ Bass said, giving Rojo a cold stare. ‘‘You said you killed the Croatian! You lying idiot. I should never have trusted a fool like you!’’
‘‘Andrej will be a witness for Texas Bob,’’ the ranger continued. ‘‘He saw your brother start the gunfight that night at the Sky High Saloon. Your game’s over, Bass. Come on out. For your own good send Rojo ahead of you.’’
‘‘Give me that money, Judge!’’ said Rojo. ‘‘I’m cutting out the back door and getting out of here!’’
Bass stood staring at him across the battered desk, money in hand. ‘‘We’ll beat this if you do exactly as I tell you.’’