A Bad Day to Die: The Adventures of Lucius “By God” Dodge, Texas Ranger (Lucius Dodge Westerns Book 1)

by J. Lee Butts

All Runyon’s rant did was make Boz laugh that much harder. “Hell’s fire, Tom, you had plenty of chance to fight. Gave up mighty damned fast after Deputy Sheriff Hand put that one in Leo’s brain bucket. Gets me to wonderin’ just where that reputation you’re carrying around came from. Cain’t count on both hands how many tales I’ve heard ’bout your lethal nature. Man of your reputed deadly skill, with pistols and knives, shouldn’t have thrown his hand in with no more fight than you showed.”

  Latigo toed at a bloody spot on the ground and popped off with, “We didn’t know who’n the hell you fellers was. Here we went a-ridin’ along, a-mindin’ our own business, same as deacons on the way to Sunday meeting. All of a sudden we got three men shootin’ at us like we’re criminals, or somethin’. Scared the bejabbers out’n us. Ain’t prayed so much in twenty year.” God Almighty, but he sounded real pitiful. “Soon’s we realized you boys was Rangers, we give it up. Ain’t got nothin’ to hide. Law and order all along the line. That’s what I always tell everyone I done ever knowed.”

  Stunning audacity of the heartless killer just goddamned infuriated me. I said, “You mean you’re gonna deny butchering the Jacksboro stage driver and his express agent? Surely you don’t have cojones that big and brassy.”

  Latigo looked all wretched and ignorant. He held his hands out, palms up. “What the hell are you a-talkin’ about, Ranger? We doan be knowin’ nothin’ ’bout no dead stage driver and shotgun guard. Be totally innocent of any such unfounded charges. Show us who seen us commit that dreadful and bloodcurdling act. Why, the thought of such shocking behavior is enough to curl my toenails. Most awful kind of wickedness I done ever heard tell of. Makes me shiver all over, right here in the sunshine.”

  Boz jumped in Snake River Tom’s face with the notepad in his hand. “One of the Nightshades give you up, Tom. According to her, you tried to blame the murders on her family, and she didn’t like it much. Then we tracked you sons of bitches from the scene of the killings. Found your friend Jesse Dodd, less than two hours behind us. Guess you must have thought he’d already give up the ghost. But he hung on long enough to tell a lethal tale that’s gonna turn you into worm meat, ole son.”

  Runyon’s bluster showed some sizable cracks. “Don’t matter what Jesse mighta said. He’s probably out’n his head. Delirious, I’d bet. Crazed from being shot by renegades just after we crossed the Red.”

  Boz let out a demented cackle. “Bullshit. I’ve got his statement right here in my book. These other two lawmen witnessed poor gut-shot Jesse’s dying declaration. Words on this paper’s gonna ensure you boys swing. We’ll take you back to Sweetwater and, first chance we get, over to Weatherford or Fort Worth. You’ll be tried, found guilty, and hung by the neck till you’re dead, dead, dead. Law’s gonna make you about six inches taller ’fore it’s all over and done, ole hoss.”

  Mighty sobering stuff when you’re confronted with the absolute certain prospect of hanging. Snake River Tom and Latigo Cooley got real quiet. We slapped them in wrist shackles and trussed them up so they couldn’t go far if either man tried to get away afoot. Threw Kershaw over the back of his horse and headed for the spot where they’d left Jesse Dodd. Boz made Tom and Latigo dig the hole for their friends. God, but they hated that piece of work.

  Didn’t have any shovels along on the trip, so them bellyaching crybabies had to scratch out a shallow depression with broken limbs from the tree where parts of poor Jesse still lay. By the time we made it back, some kind of animal had been at the corpse—looked like the work of a coyote, maybe more than one. Grisly business no matter how you whittled on the subject. Took almost an hour to find his head. Eventually, we came across enough of him to throw in the thin hole with his friend, Kershaw. Covered them with any kind of rock we could scrounge up.

  Runyon wanted someone to say words over his dead amigos. Got right put out when none of us stepped up and assumed the responsibility. “Why, you cain’t just ride away and leave a man without offerin’ up somethin’ to smooth his path to glory. Goddammit, it ain’t Christian. Civilized folk don’t do such as this. Mighty sorry thang when you see a man off to his maker and don’t at least send a prayer along to help him navigate that dark path to the Pearly Gates.”

  Well, that just about ripped the rag off the bush for me. I said, “Shut your sorry mouth, Runyon. Likes of you’ve got a lot of nerve lecturing anyone on how Christian folk are supposed to act. You murdered two unarmed men you’d put on their knees in a ditch for an express box full of air. Bet both of ’em were praying when you pushed a pistol muzzle to their skulls and blew their brains into the mud. So don’t get all pious and concerned about the spiritual well-being of the poor devils that followed you. Hadn’t been for your leadership, they’d probably still be alive.”

  Suppose Snake River Tom had some residual bit of conscience. His head dropped, and he looked shocked by my spit-slinging outburst. But I wasn’t about to let him off that easy. Didn’t matter to me whether the two-tailed rattler regretted his actions or not.

  Pushed him even further down with, “Besides, I just cannot bring myself to believe there’s a coon dog’s chance in hell for any of you miserable skunks to spend more’n a few seconds in front of the Pearly Gates. Bet everything I own you’re gonna get turned around real quick, and sent the other direction. Fact is, when I hit my knees tonight, that’s exactly what I’ll be praying for.”

  Took considerable wind out of their sails with that speech. Don’t think either man said more than a dozen words all the way back to Sweetwater. Caused quite a stir when we rode into town. Everything seemed as peaceful as Granny’s flowerbed in the sunshine, at first. But as soon as we rode across the bridge over Walnut Creek, all the saloons emptied out. Street filled up with rowdy drunks, cowboys, and town folk so fast I couldn’t believe my eyes. Heard several men mumbling in the background about “getting a rope and taking care of the murderin’ scum right here and now.”

  By the time we drew up in front of the jail, the continually growing swarm had surrounded us and worked itself into a chest-thumping rage. Surprising thing was that most of those good people wouldn’t have been caught dead making such a commotion in the company of a bunch of red-eyed, drunken rowdies. Faces, I noticed, belonged to some of Sweetwater’s leading citizens. God-fearing, righteous, churchgoing individuals you wouldn’t have believed could act so obviously angry in public.

  Crow Foot must have heard the noise. He jumped through the door to the sheriff’s office and onto the boardwalk carrying a shotgun. Surprised the hell out of me when he pulled the hammers back and fired two ear-shattering blasts over the crowd’s heads. He reloaded like greased lightning. Flipped the empties over his shoulder, cocked the hammers again, and yelled, “Go home. Ain’t nothin’ here for you today. Law’s gonna take care of these men.”

  Good many of the raucous throng hit the street running for the safety of hearth and home. Some ducked behind the nearest tree, horse, or corner. But a surprising number didn’t even budge. We hauled our captives down, and pointed them toward the jail. Once afoot, people ganged up around us, and went to yelling, shoving, and swinging at Runyon and Cooley. Jostling got pretty rough, then some in the back of the crowd, who couldn’t get a lick in, went to throwing all manner of loose objects. I didn’t mind the dirt clods and rocks, but some son of a bitch hit me in the back with a big, wet cow flop the size of a Mexican sombrero. Caught me in a kind of ricochet, and sprayed half-a-dozen other people too.

  Good God, but I swear you’d find it hard to believe churchgoing people could curse like that. My tender young ears had never heard such language from men and women I’d grown to respect. Sounded worse than a bunkhouse during a fistfight. A blind, seething anger came pouring off that crowd, and for the first time since we’d met, I saw genuine concern on Boz Tatum’s face. Became glaringly obvious to me that my friends and I might be in just as much danger as our prisoners.

  Crow Foot snapped off another blast and waded through a knot of those who’d managed to
get between our party and the jailhouse entrance. We bunched up tight as we could and pushed our way inside. Boz brought up the rear, slammed the heavy door soon as he could, and threw the bar. Runyon and Cooley dropped to their knees and went to praying. Every one of us was wound tighter than fiddle strings at a barn dance, and sucking air like we’d just run a footrace.

  Slumped against the door, Boz said, “Hell, Crow Foot, the whole town might have been slightly pissed when we left, but I don’t remember ’em being this mad. Something happen while we were gone?”

  Crow Foot grabbed Snake River Tom under the arm, hoisted him to his feet, and pushed him into the cell. Moses ran Cooley in and banged the door closed. My old friend from Lampasas dropped his shotgun on top of the desk and flopped into his chair. “Well, Boz, you could say that. I do believe you can truthfully say something happened while you were away.”

  A second or so of silence followed. Boz dragged a cane-bottomed instrument of torture over from the stove and twirled it around so he could lean on the back when seated. “Well, Sheriff Stickles, you gonna tell us or what?”

  Crow Foot pushed his hat to the back of his head and massaged his temples. “You ready to hear about another killing, Ranger Tatum? Worst one so far?”

  16

  “WHO WOULD COMMIT SUCH A MONSTROUS ACT?”

  I’M CONVINCED THE tiny world of the Sweetwater, Texas, sheriff’s office could not have got any quieter, unless Death himself had walked in, pulled up his own chair, propped a cloven hoof on the stove, and said, “Howdy, boys.”

  Boz looked like someone had slapped his face. He popped upright in his seat, ran a shaking hand from wrinkled forehead to stubble-covered chin, and flicked sweat from his fingers to the floor. Shook his head from side to side, then slapped his knees with open palms.

  Sounded distant, as if he spoke from the bottom of an empty rain barrel, when he finally said, “Who? Who done went and got kilt now?”

  Crow Foot snatched his hat off. Threw it on the desk atop the still-warm-barreled shotgun. Gave the mop of hair on his head a vigorous scratching. Glanced around at all of us, then stopped on Boz. He said, “Ezra McKee.”

  Honest to God, I felt like something sucked the breath of life right out of my lungs. All around me the room closed in tight. Got all flusyfied, and beads of surprise popped out on my forehead. Had to bend over and grab my knees to keep from falling. Odors of tired, fearful men overwhelmed my senses, and sent my mind to spinning like a kid’s top.

  Barely heard him speak when Boz said, “Who would commit such a monstrous act?”

  Crow Foot let out a raspy snort. “Who the hell do you think did the killing, Boz? We’ve played the same hand before. Think Nightshade, and you’ll be real close to an answer.”

  Regained enough of my composure to look into my friend’s eyes and say, “Which one? Jack or Nance?”

  Crow Foot wallowed himself deeper into his chair cushion and rolled a smoke. “Good boy, Lucius. You done went and hit that bull in the butt with the first shot.”

  Moses Hand leaned against the cell door and looked bewildered. “You mean both of ’em kilt Mr. McKee?”

  “Naw, naw, naw. Don’t mean to say exactly that. Jack done it, but Nance was with him when it happened.”

  Ranger Randall Bozworth Tatum slumped all over. The lines in his face deepened, and dark moon-shaped patches appeared under his eyes. He rested a bristled chin on crossed arms, and his shoulders sagged as if someone had walked up behind and loaded him down with a burden too heavy to carry. Great sadness in his voice when he said, “You gonna tell us what happened, Crow Foot, or do we have to sit here and guess at the thing till we get somewheres close?”

  Stickles fired his hand-rolled cigarette. The flame died in a shaken hand. He puffed twice, and flicked the still-smoldering wooden stem onto the floor. Clouds of blue-gray smoke swirled into his nostrils and around his face. A piece of errant tobacco was pinched from a chapped lip and thumped to a spot near the doused match.

  He said, “Two days after you sent me back to town, took my chair outside and set up for the morning shake-and-howdy session with them folks as happened by. Ezra and that oldest gal of his come to town. They nodded, howdied, and headed on over to Hickerson’s. Didn’t think anything special ’bout our ‘How’re you doin?’ ritual at the time. Pulled my hat down over my eyes and proceeded to take myself a before noon siesta—same as you’n Lucius been doing ever since y’all got here.”

  Must have sounded a bit on the panicked side when I blurted, “Martye? Martye came in with Ezra?”

  “Yep. Knew the McKee girl ’cause she rode that paint horse I seen her on before. Anyhow, while I snoozed, guess they went into the store for some staples, or whatever. Barely got into my nap, when I heard more animals comin’ across the bridge. Sound from all them hooves growled its way up the street and covered the town in a blanket of yellow-toothed, slobberin’ fear faster’n anything I ever seen or heard tell of. Street emptied like oily water runnin’ off a pane of glass. Everyone backed up against the wall of his choice, and watched as Jack and Nance Nightshade, and another joker I’d never seen afore, come riding in and pulled up in front of Shorty Small’s place. Kilt my need for a snooze and sharpened me up so sudden I vibrated like ringing steel. Didn’t take my eyes off’n them from the time they hit Main Street.”

  Boz said, “They appear to be looking for trouble?”

  “Not as you’d notice, not right off anyways.” Crow Foot paused and glanced at each of us in turn. “But when I think back on the thing, comes to me that all of them was armed to the teeth. Musta been wearin’, or carryin’, every piece of equalizin’ iron they owned. Should have known. Hell, if I’d paid better attention, probably could have heard the Devil chuckle. Swear to Jesus, boys, was like the entire town sucked in a single lung of air and held its collective breath to the verge of explosion. So quiet you could hear flies breathin’. Everyone told us ’bout these visits. But this ’un was the first I’d witnessed.”

  Moses said, “They get drunk and start somethin’ like they usually does? Go out lookin’ for some poor soul to kick the bejabbers out of, just for the fun of it?”

  “Never even got inside Shorty’s place. One of ’em musta spotted McKee and his daughter comin’ out of Hickerson’s. Someone in the Nightshade bunch pointed fingers that direction. ’Fore I knew what fer, Jack, Nance, and that other gunny headed Ezra’s direction fast as they could leg it. Caught him tying a bag of victuals behind the saddle on his mule.”

  “Couldn’t you have stopped them, Crow Foot?” For some reason the entire ugly scene played out on the backs of my eyes like a vision in a gypsy fortune-teller’s crystal ball. I instinctively knew how the story worked, before he could tell us all the brutal details. “Nothing you could have done, old friend?”

  His chin dropped to a spot on his chest. “Knew you were right tender toward the girl, Lucius. So, I hopped up and hustled over that way myself. Arrived on the scene of all the jawin’ and commotion in time to hear most everything said. Suppose me and about six or seven others, from inside Hickerson’s, seen the whole dance, up close. Nightshade gang lined up behind McKee and went to raggin’ on him right off. Jack said, ‘Owe me for a pig, you clod-kicking bastard. Figure that sow you had the Rangers steal right out of my hungry family’s mouth was worth at least ten dollars. I want my money. Gold coin will work just fine.’ Jack’s new friend laughed. Startled farmer turned to confront his tormentor. ’Bout then all of ’em realized they’d miscalculated ole Ezra’s willingness to put up with any more abuse. See, McKee was a-holdin’ a shotgun when he faced ’em. Don’t know how he came up with it the way he did, but he had both barrels cocked and ready.”

  “What about Nance?” I asked.

  “Funny thing, you know. She kinda laid out of all the struttin’ and smart mouth. Can’t say for certain sure as how I ever even heard her say a word. Didn’t back away or anything. Stood behind her brother, and that other’n, and let them do all the blusteratin
’ and mouthin’. Anyhow, Ezra made it real plain as how Jack and his friends might be on the way to lightin’ a shuck for Heaven’s front door. Seem to remember something about shit-eating dogs from Hell. Have to give the gutsy farmer credit, no flinch in the man when the chips went down.”

  “You try, at any point, to put a stop to the dance?” Boz sounded a bit impatient, like he expected Sheriff Crow Foot Stickles to have stepped up and asserted his freshly appointed authority.

  Crow Foot snapped a challenging glance at Boz before he replied. “’Bout the time I’d decided to wade in on the discussion, felt the cold steel of a pistol muzzle against the back of my neck, Ranger Tatum. Another friend of the Nightshades had managed to sneak up from behind. Hell, boys, they had it all planned. Had to. Lifted my weapons and put me on my knees right there in the middle of the street. Said not to move, or I’d be shakin’ hands with Jesus in a heartbeat, and he wasn’t by God kiddin’.”

  Storytelling stopped for a few seconds. Gave Boz, Moses, and me time to visualize the ugly tableau in front of Hickerson’s store. Crow Foot took the last hit from the smoke he’d let burn down to his fingers, dropped the butt on the floor, and ground it out with his heel.

  “Didn’t know who that ole boy wuz at the time, but I gotta tell you fellers, thought my travels in this world had come to an end. Remember at one point, I looked at the dust on the knees of my pants, a horse fritter a few feet away, and thought sure I’d be covered with the same dirt and manure faster’n God could get there to save me.”

  “Get on with it. What happened then?” You could tell from his voice, Boz had hit the end of his tether.

  “More jawin’ back and forth. McKee girl pulled at her father’s sleeve and tried to get him to head for home. He wasn’t havin’ none. Said he’d leave soon’s the Nightshades got out of the street and made way. That’s when Jack said McKee might oughta get on back home to his ugly whore of a wife ’fore he got shamed in public.”