by J. Lee Butts
“Wish I wuz already dead, by God,” Cutner said, then stared at a bloody hand as though it didn’t belong on the end of his own arm. “What you sons a bitches done to me’s worse’n gettin’ kilt.”
“Keep jerkin’ us around, and you’re gonna be dead and right soon. Can assure that eventuality quicker’n double-geared lightnin’,” Boz snorted. “Send you to Satan myself. Keep on talkin’ and not sayin’ anything useful and I can guarantee it won’t take much for me to grant your wish and put a bullet in your brain pan, then ride on out of here.”
The message of real, impending death must’ve finally bored its way into Cutner’s worthless brain. The man damn near shouted when he said, “Uvalde. Webb said as how he ’uz goin’ back to Uvalde.”
“What in the blue-eyed hell would he wanna go and do that for?” Boz snapped.
Cutner groaned again. Sounded right pitiful when he whined, “Gimme some kinda rag so’s I can wipe away some of this blood, Dodge. Swear I’ll tell you boys whatever you wanna know. Just help me out some, fellers. Please.”
I turned and hooked a thumb at Glo. He nodded, ripped a square of rag off whatever he’d been using on Clem. I strolled to Cutner’s side and dropped it over the man’s oozing crotch.
“Thank God,” the outlaw wheezed. “ ’Pears as how I’ve just ’bout finally stopped bleedin’, but this’ll sure ’nuff help.”
He mopped at his damaged goods for almost a minute before Boz got tired of waiting. “That’s enough. Get to talking, you scurvy dog. We’ve wasted all the time we’re going to on you.”
Cutner rolled his head from side to side. Looked to me like he might puke again. But he surprised me. Suddenly, inexplicably, the man got control of himself. In a stronger voice he said, “Ax went back to his brother’s house. Said he was pretty sure the man had a safe full of money there. Said he musta just missed it the first time he searched the place.”
Boz nodded and mumbled to himself, “Makes sense to me.”
Cutner swatted at flies buzzing around his crotch. “Ole Ax is obsessed,” he said. “Wanted that brother of his dead. Wanted all the man’s money. And by God he’s intent on having both of ’em.”
“Safe fulla money, huh?” Boz said.
“Yeah. Swear that’s all I know, fellers. Swear it.” He cried and whimpered some more before adding, “Don’t know nothin’ else. If you’re gonna kill me, might as well get at it right now. Gonna leave me here to bleed out, best head east and burn leather for Uvalde. Bet everything I ever had, that’s where Ax Webb is right this minute.”
I turned to Boz. “If Axel didn’t find whatever it is he’s looking for the first time he searched the place, it’ll likely take him a spell this time for sure. Bet he’ll still be digging around inside the senator’s house a week from now. Means he’ll likely have to tear the place down to the foundation ’fore he finds anything.”
“Guess there’s no real hurry then, is there,” Boz said.
“Not for you and Glo,” I said.
Boz strolled over so he could stand next to me. He turned his back on Cutner and went to whispering. “What the hell’s that mean, Lucius?”
“I want you and Glo to take the girl back to the ranch. See to it she’s cared for. Figure the ordeal should be a lot easier on her if she’s back there. I’ll deal with her sorrier’n hell uncle.”
Boz twisted his neck back and forth. I could hear the bones grind and pop against each other. “We’ve been through somethin’ of a shit storm with this ’un, Lucius. I figured on seein’ it right up to the gruesome end—whatever that might turn out to be. Cain’t say as how I’m all that happy with your plan.”
I placed a hand on my friend’s shoulder. “You’ve gotta get Clementine out of here and back to the ranch, Boz. Doubt Glo can do the job alone. Might turn out a full-time nursin’ task ’fore she’s able to get up and get around again. Not sure any of us should take on such a chore single-handed. Figured as how you wouldn’t mind goin’ on back with him. Girl’s life might depend on it. ’Tween the two of you, I have no doubt Clem’ll be seen to with all proper diligence.”
“And Ax Webb? What’re you gonna do about him, Lucius?”
“Don’t you worry bout that skunk, ole friend. I’ll take care of Axel Webb myself.”
About then, I heard Glo say, “Mistuh Dodge. Mistuh Dodge. Gots to get over here. Little girl done woke up.”
With Boz hot on my heels, I hoofed it to a spot beside the filthy bed. I took Clem’s tiny hand in mine. The beaten girl’s eyes were so swollen, I bent as close as I could in the hope she might be able to see me. Near to whispering when I said, “Clem. Can you hear me, Clem? It’s Ranger Dodge. Come on, darlin’, say something for me.”
A single, crystalline tear rolled from the corner of one blackened eye and streamed down the side of her bruised, encrusted cheek like a miniature salty creek. Her voice sounded like a rat-tailed file going through petrified oak when she said, “Ranger Dodge?”
Tell you true, friends, at that unexpected moment, my heart soared. Never figured to get such a response from anyone as badly beaten as she appeared. “Yes, child. It’s Ranger Dodge. I’m right here with Boz and Glo. We came for you, darlin’. Came as fast as we could. You’re gonna be okay. We’ll see to it.”
She twisted atop the sorry pile of raggedy, blood-spattered bedding. “Sorry I ran away. S-should’ve waited. But I was so angry. So angry. Made a terrible, terrible mistake. All my fault. Hope you can forgive me.”
I bent over and placed as tender a kiss as I could manage on her blood-smeared brow—perhaps the only undamaged spot on her entire body. Leaned back and whispered, “Oh, none of this is your fault, darlin’, none of it. Whole of this tragedy falls on the head of a single man, and I’m gonna make it right. Just like I swore to you I would out by Devils River. Gonna make it right.”
Not sure the terribly damaged child heard anything I said after I planted that kiss on her forehead. When I’d wiped away a tear of my own and checked once more, she looked to have lost consciousness again.
I placed her limp hand on the bed. “Glo, I want you to carry Clem outside. Take her up on the hill where we left the horses. Got one more thing I’ve gotta do. Then we can all be on our way.”
Glo nodded. He lifted Clem from the bed as if she didn’t weigh any more than a bag of feathers. Boz and I watched as they disappeared through the door.
I glanced over at Boz. He forced a tight, crooked smile, then said, “Misjudged you, Dodge. Sounds to me like you’ve got somethin’ special in mind for the phantom-like Mr. Webb.”
Came near whispering again when I said, “Yes. Something special. Something very special.” I bumped him on the arm with my fist and added, “Gimme ole Mad Dog’s pistol.”
On my way to the sorry pile of human flesh propped against the back wall, I shucked all the shells from his big Smith & Wesson. I squatted in front of the man and made a show of shoving one bullet back into the empty revolver. Snapped the piece closed, then said, “Should kill you for what you did to her, Cutner.”
Eyes clenched shut, brows pinched in pain over his hawk-like beak of a nose, Eagle “Mad Dog” Cutner slobbered on himself. I thought the man would break down crying when he sniveled, “Prolly. Yeah, you prolly should, Dodge. Wouldn’t blame you if’n you did. Know I’d k-kill you, given half a chance. ’Sides, never fooled myself. Always figured my life would come to some such sorry end.”
I got to my feet and pitched the pistol onto the floor. The heavy weapon made a loud thumping noise when it landed at Cutner’s feet. “One shell in the gun. If’n I was you, I’d use it wisely. But you know, I’m figurin’ you for gutless, Cutner. Yeah, figure you’ll just slink off and vanish into nothing.”
Ole Mad Dog groaned like he might die just any second. He twisted his head to one side, as if he didn’t want to look at me, or hear what I had to say. But his behavior didn’t stop me.
“But should you decide to get off your worthless behind and go on with the rest of
whatever remains of your sorry life, know this. You commit so much as one crime that comes back to my ears—spit on a sidewalk, get drunk and rowdy, kick a wayward dog, say so much as howdy to the wrong woman, whatever—we’ll drop everything we’re doing to come find you. And when we do, I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll hitch your arms and legs to horses, whip ’em up and let ’em pull you apart. String your guts on barbed wire fences all over south Texas.”
And with that, I motioned for Boz to follow me. We hit the door and headed for the hill where Glo had laid Clem out in the dwindling afternoon shade. He’d already started work on a pole drag, so she’d be as comfortable as possible for the trip back to our Devils River lease.
Had just thrown a leg over my mount when I heard the shot—muffled, barely discernable up where we were. I gazed toward heaven and said, “Thank you, Lord. Already spilled enough blood over this business as it is.”
Boz slapped me on the leg. “Yeah, but you’ve got one more to go. Sure you’ll recognize Axel Webb, Lucius?”
I pulled my bandanna and set to wiping the sweat out of my hat. “Well, we buried his brother. Been my experience that brothers do have a tendency to look a lot alike. So, figure I shouldn’t have any trouble in that particular area.”
He extended his hand and shook mine. “You be careful, Lucius. Webb’s already proven himself an extremely dangerous man. Responsible for more killin’s in a shorter time than anybody we’ve brought to book in years. Be more’n willin’ to bet the ranch, he ain’t gonna like bein’ run to ground for this mess.”
I grinned back and said, “Yeah, think you’ve hit that nail right on the head, Boz. But, hey, he doesn’t know me, either. Or that death’s coming along for the ride.”
And with that, I turned my blue roan, Grizz, in a tight circle, put the spur to his flanks, and kicked for Uvalde.
25
“... DON’T KNOW NOTHIN’, AIN’T SEEN NOTHIN’ . . .”
DAMN NEAR RODE Grizz slap into the ground on that trip. The promise I’d made Clementine Webb, at the foot of her entire family’s pitiful grave, rang in my heart like Sunday morning church bells with every step that animal took.
Got to Uvalde in what had to have been record time. It was already good and dark when I reined up out front of a noisy, busy-looking watering hole that had a barely discernable, rough billboard hanging over the batwing doors. Faded, bloodred letters, painted atop the sign’s rapidly vanishing yellow background, identified the joint as Mi Tio’s Cantina.
Didn’t know all that much about the town, other than the fact that I could find my way around easy enough in the daylight. Had conducted a bit of business there a time or two before, but not enough to be completely comfortable wandering the streets at night.
I remembered as how Clementine had mentioned the exact address of her home, when we’d talked out on the banks of Devils River, but the specifics had pretty much escaped my memory. Figured there was no point fumbling about in the dark in what would likely prove a futile effort to find Senator Webb’s place somewhere on Pecos Boulevard.
So, I tied up to the nearest hitch rack and strolled over to Mi Tio’s entryway. Took the time to peer over the batwings for a spell just to get the lay of the land. Didn’t spot anything wayward. Pushed through a set of café doors that complained like a flock of squawking ducks. Felt as though every head in the place turned to get a good look at the stranger who’d just crossed the bustling joint’s rude threshold.
The cow-country oasis was jammed wall to wall with people—vaqueros, businessmen, gamblers, loose women, railroaders, cowboys, pimps, cardsharps, and cattlemen. They were packed into that roadside establishment elbow to elbow and, in places, damn near nose to nose. I fought a crooked path through the crowd and bulled out a reasonable good spot to stand at the bar. Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat, Mi Tio’s had folks crammed all around me like a fat woman’s tightest pair of stockings.
A muscular bartender, who could’ve easily been mistaken for a carnival worker that made his living driving stakes and erecting tents, cast a decidedly unconcerned glance my direction. He was working as though his life depended on swabbing out the bottom of a shot glass with a damp towel when he said, “You want something to drink, mister, or’d you just come in to stand at the bar and take up space?”
I motioned him closer, leaned over, and said, “Be most grateful if you’d pour me a shot of whatever you got in the way of decent Tennessee sippin’ whiskey, friend.”
The moustachioed bruiser slopped the drink into a freshly cleaned glass, then shoved it my direction. “Ranger, ain’t you? Sure as hell have the look,” he said.
“Yeah. Texas Ranger Lucius Dodge.”
“That right? Well, sorry, but I ain’t ever heard of you. ’Course that don’t mean much ’cause I just got to this part of Texas a few weeks ago. Not sure what you want, but whatever it is, I cain’t help you.”
I twirled the glass around in a circle of the spilled liquid atop the bar. “Well, be that as it may, I could sure enough use a tiny bit of information with my drink. That is if you could bring yourself to help me out.”
I threw the whiskey down ’bout the same time the drink slinger said, “Already told you. Ain’t in the information business, Ranger Dodge. Don’t do nothin’ but sell whatever people want to drink. Other’n herdin’ liquor bottles and cleanin’ glassware, I don’t know nothin’, ain’t seen nothin’, and don’t wanna know nothin’ or see anythin’. Kinda stuff you might want to know could easily get a man kilt deader’n a rotten fence post around these parts.”
I forced a tight smile and tried my level best to keep on looking and sounding friendly, rather than reaching over the crowded countertop and snatching his nose off. “Look, all I need is for someone to point me toward Senator Nathan Webb’s house. Get me goin’ the right direction, figure I can find it on my own.”
Bartender’s face twisted into a mask of obvious displeasure. “Don’t have a single clue. Like I said before, ain’t been in Uvalde that long myself. Couldn’t find Senator Webb’s house for you with a weepin’ willow divinin’ rod and a week to do it.”
Bearded man beside me, who looked like a Mexican version of Father Christmas, turned my direction. He flashed a liquor-fueled, cherry-cheeked grin. He drained a doubled-up glass of tequila, thumped the empty beaker onto the bar, and ran his sleeve-covered arm across wet lips. “I know thees place you speak of, senor.”
“Ah. That a fact? It’s nearby, I hope.”
“Oh, yass, senor. Ees very close.”
“Senator Webb’s hacienda? You’re certain about that?”
“Sí, senor. I know it well. La casa de las muñecas.”
“Muñecas? Muñecas?”
“Sí, senor. How you say it? Ah, house of dolls.”
“House of dolls?”
“Yass. The senator, his casa filled with children ever since he arrive here. They collect many dolls over the years. All kind. Hang them from the walls, trees, bushes. In the courtyard. Very beautiful.”
“Beautiful?”
“Oh, sí. Until they suddenly leave, that is. Now, there are many peoples who say the hacienda she ees haunted. Many peoples think that Senator Webb and hees family all muerto. Dead. They see strange lights there at night. Strange mens come and go.”
I couldn’t believe how, with no hard evidence, the man had hit on the exact way of things. Stared into the quarter of an inch of whiskey left in my glass and said, “Can you take me there right now?”
“Absoluteamente, senor. Ees no problema. Be most happy to guide you there myself, senor. Have to walk right past the senator’s deserted casa on the way to my own home.”
He grabbed me just above the elbow. The man might have looked like a fat gob, but he had an iron-fingered grip. If I put my mind to that particular event, pretty sure I could still feel his fingers wrapped around my arm to this day.
The friendly tippler damn near dragged me through the dense crowd and back onto the street. Once outside, he made a flamboyan
t, one-armed sweeping motion off to our left. “Come. Mount your trusty caballo, amigo,” he said, then let out a belly-shaking laugh. “Jesus de Sangre weel gladly lead the way. Eees but a short distance from thees place of drunkenness and carnal pleasures, I assure you. Eees not far at all.”
I had to hustle over and hop on Grizz’s back quick as I could. My newfound friend might well have been the size of a Concord coach, and obviously close on to being knee-walking drunk, but he proved light on his feet as well. He almost disappeared into the dark before I could get myself mounted.
Jesus de Sangre staggered some as I followed and talked to himself with almost every stumbling, booze-belabored step. Even talked with people who weren’t there, or within shouting distance, near as I could tell.
He led me down a number of smelly, garbage-littered alleyways. Unseeable dogs prowling through the trash yapped and snarled at our passing. In several places we had to pick our way around crude houses, or jacales, made of little more than a series of sticks jammed into the hard ground. Most appeared to be filled with laughing children and busy women. After a spell, I came to feel as though we were doing little more than traveling in a big circle. Then, of a sudden, we hit a spacious, tree-lined boulevard of impressive haciendas, each surrounded by its own ten-to twelve-foot-high stucco-covered adobe wall.
A cold, gray, death’s head moon, that provided little in the way of illumination, hung in the inky, cloud-laced sky off to the east. Lack of good light made it nigh on impossible for me to tell exactly where we were gonna finally end up.
Suppose we’d fumbled along in the dark for close to half an hour. Of a sudden, my escort rocked to a wobbling stop. He slapped his ample belly and laughed, raised a stubby finger and pointed out a barely discernable wooden gate lit by a flickering lamp that gave off little more light than a candle.
The rough entryway hung from iron hinges mounted into a stone wall plastered over with a coat of pink stucco that glowed in the glittering darkness. Eerily, dozens of blank-faced dolls dangled from pieces of twine all around the entrance, or were tacked directly onto the door’s pitted, splinter-laced surface.