by J. Lee Butts
Leapt aboard a strange animal and kicked north. Hadn’t even got past the town’s limits when the shooting abruptly stopped. About a minute later, we roared up to what was left of Dianna’s picket fence. The horse was still running when I jumped off, hit the ground like a rabid, slobbering wolf, and broke through her bullet-riddled front door, fully ready to kill anything out of place.
Flew past the shattered entrance and almost stepped on her. Spattered and smeared with splotches of fresh blood from toe to crown, she kneeled on the floor amidst piles of broken glass, splintered shards of wood, and a growing pool of slick gore. Trembling arms encircled the shattered body of young William. Child had all the appearance of a twisted, colorless doll drenched in dark, sticky liquid.
Of a sudden, a sound unlike any I’d ever heard in my entire life rose from somewhere deep inside the distraught mother’s heaving chest and clawed its way past her constricted throat. Something between a screech and an agonized moan, the noise she made caused rippling gooseflesh all over my back, and the hairs rose up on my arms and neck. Closest thing I could compare it to would be the call of the most lonesome mountain lion in west Texas.
“They’ve killed my baby,” she shrieked, and rocked back and forth on bloody knees as she clutched at the dead child. “Oh, my dear God, they’ve killed my baby.” She couldn’t stop saying it. Over and over, the same thing. “They’ve killed my beautiful baby. Sweet forgiving Jesus, they’ve killed my only child. Oh, my God in Heaven.”
Knelt beside the stricken girl and tried to offer some comfort, but in my experience, there is no consolation for such intense agony. She must have wept gallons before Caleb and I finally separated her from the lifeless body of her poor, dead son. As her last fingertip slipped from his cold, limp hand, she moaned piteously and collapsed in a heap at my feet.
We wrapped William’s tiny corpse in a hand-knitted comforter and delivered it into the care of a Mr. Arliss Heavner, who built caskets in Salt Valley and conducted funerals. By then, some of the town ladies had arrived. They swooped in and formed a sweet-smelling knot of weeping sympathy around the devastated Dianna. Shooed all us menfolk outside and away from an agony so pervasive it affected even the hardest of those who appeared on the scene to offer their help and concern.
Caleb and I stood in Dianna’s once-beautiful, now ravaged front yard and rolled ourselves a smoke. He took his first lungful, blew it heavenward, then muttered, “Front of this place looks like twenty men spent an hour firing into it.”
“Couldn’t have been more’n two or three of ’em,” I said, “according to the tracks they left behind. Maybe four. Headed off to the south and west. Arrogant scum didn’t even bother to make an effort to cover their trail. Guess they were in too big a hurry. Bastards did one helluva job. Can’t even imagine how Mrs. Savage survived a fusillade of such deadly intensity and came out of it pretty much unscathed.”
Old marshal lowered his head. “She didn’t come out unscathed. Not by a damn sight.” He took another puff from his smoke. “You know, Lucius, given the trail they left, if we head out now, could probably catch up with ’em ’fore the end of the day. Kill ’em all or, better yet, have ’em swingin’ from a tree limb by this time tomorrow.” He hard-eyed me and waited.
Shook my head and said, “No. While I wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment, probably best we stay here till young William is buried. Mrs. Savage will need as much support as can be provided from everyone she knows.”
“Longer we wait, the more difficult it’ll be to catch ’em. You know that as well as I do.”
“Well, with any luck at all, Boz should have my wire in hand by now. He’ll be on his way back pretty damned quick. Man has the uncanny ability to track a water spider across a muddy puddle. Don’t fret. Boz and I’ll find this pack of killers no matter where they run. They’re nothin’ but dead men ridin’ horses.”
To tell the absolute truth, I firmly believed every word of what I said to Caleb that unfortunate morning. But as often occurs, fate has other directions in mind for us, and bides its time for the right moment to show a man what the future has in store. For me, it happened the following afternoon at a tree-shaded graveyard that no longer exists on the far western edge of Salt Valley, Texas.
Back in those terrible times you had to get the dead into the ground as quickly as possible. No letting the dearly departed sit around for a week at a stretch while the family gathered from the four points of the compass. Grief often had to wait till a more convenient day and hour. Not really much time for mourning your losses. Had to put folks in the ground and get on with your life.
Salt Valley didn’t have access to anything like a sufficient supply of ice. As a consequence, there existed no way to preserve young William’s tiny, pitiful corpse at that juncture. So, Dianna and most of the town’s suffering citizens gathered in the Little Angels section of the Pecan Grove Cemetery for her son’s interment, just before dusk the day after his brutal murder.
My God, but the sunset that sad afternoon can only be described as nothing short of glorious. Streaks of red, orange, and soft purple darted across all of heaven, from a molten sun that appeared to boil the earth as it slid out of view on the far side of the world.
A number of those who attended said, a few minutes before dark in the soft shadows of approaching twilight, it appeared to them as though God had provided that stunning evening as a special dispensation for having taken an unblemishedsoul before its time. Dianna asked that I escort her to the graveside. Her innocent child’s numerous wounds had forced a closed coffin.
Grieving girl leaned heavily on my arm. Wept pitifully as the sad-eyed Mr. Heavner read several short passages from the Bible, then led the assembled group in a prayer. Brief, heartrending service ended with a mournful rendition of the old hymn “Yes, We’ll Gather at the River.” Tears flowed from all but the hardest of hearts.
First shovel of clods had barely thumped against the lid on his diminutive coffin when William’s red-eyed mother pulled me away from the moist smell of fresh-turned earth. We stopped beside her carriage, parked near the cemetery’s wildflower-embellished entrance. She gazed off in the direction of a barely visible fingernail of remaining sunlight. God’s glorious orb had blended into the earth’s distant crest and left little more than a sliver of its silent passing.
“We’ll start out after the men who did this tomorrow morning,” she said, without taking her eyes away from the vanishing light.
“What on earth are you thinking, Dianna? You’re not going anywhere.”
She pulled me around so our faces were only inches apart. Even in the advancing twilight I could detect a new, aggressive, and more hardened look at the corners of her remarkable eyes.
“I mean to begin the hunt at break of day tomorrow, Lucius. Be at my house loaded for bear and ready to ride. I’ll be waiting. We’re going after the men who killed my son, before they get too far away to catch.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying. Whoever they are, we know one thing about them for certain. They’re cold-eyed killers who have absolutely no qualms about the slaughter of women and children. Given that knowledge, even approaching such men could be dangerous in the extreme. No place for a woman.”
A barely perceptible smile cut across her face like a wound created by an ax. “I don’t intend to approach anyone, Lucius. My aim is to kill them before they even realize that death is standing by their worthless sides. And once I’ve done with them, Nate Coffin is next. The man won’t live out the next month, if I have anything to say about it.”
“All that might be a good bit harder to accomplish than you think. We should wait for Boz Tatum’s return. I’ve sent an urgent telegraph to Fort Worth. He should be here within a week’s time.”
“No. We cannot, must not, tarry—even for a single wasted minute. You’ve already witnessed my ability with a pistol. Fought the Comanche with my father, but have little skill as a tracker. You’ll find the men who murdered my son, and, together,
we’ll send all of them to Satan. I expect to see every last one of those skunks dead for what they did to William, and for their manifest other sins I’m certain we know nothing of.” Then, as if an afterthought, she added, “That includes the scurrilous bastard Nate Coffin for sending them.”
“Mighty strong talk.”
“Nothing like strong talk, Lucius. It’s a sworn promise. I swear before the God who watched over this uncalled-for funeral today that, even if you don’t show up, I’ll go after them myself.”
“What about Caleb? He’ll want to come along too.”
She squeezed my arm. “Don’t tell Caleb. He’ll just slow us down.”
Probably would have done what she wanted anyway. But when that sad, beautiful girl pressed her body against mine and kissed me so gently that I barely felt the brush of her full, voluptuous lips, whatever resistance I might have harbored crumbled like heat-withered flowers on her son’s newly dug grave.
She squeezed my hand and said, “You will be there tomorrow, won’t you?” Came out more like a statement than a question.
“I owe you a sacred debt that can never be repaid, Dianna. Not sure what my life is worth. But chasing down William’s killers, and perhaps ridding the world of Nate Coffin, should be a good beginning on the obligation. So, yes, I’ll be there. And promise, by whatever means necessary, to help you kill ’em all.”
She turned for the carriage. I helped her climb aboard, and placed the reins in hands that still trembled. “Be waiting for you at sunup,” she said. And with the snap of her buggy whip, she left me standing in a cloud of swirling Texas dust outside the sadly forlorn Pecan Grove graveyard. Shook my head and wondered if either of us would live through the following week.
Spent the rest of that evening in preparation for the hunt. Bought a mule at the only livery in town. Provisioned it with enough food and ammunition for an extended chase. Figured the killers wouldn’t be foolish enough to spend much time in a town and that we’d spend most of our time living on the ground.
Cleaned, loaded, and checked all my weapons. It’s never a good idea to brace dangerous men with a rifle, pistol, or shotgun you’ve mistakenly forgotten to charge for a fight or to test for possible mechanical failure. Many a man has died as a result of such feebleminded carelessness.
’Course, you can never really know exactly what desperate killers on the run will do. Some want to get away from the scene of their gruesome activities as quickly as possible. Such men won’t stop legging it until they feel safe. Others will hit the first dram shop available, drink themselves into near oblivion over the guilt they feel for their hideous criminality. Still others will drink, raise almighty hell, and brag to anyone who’ll listen about the brutality of their most recent repugnant offense. Worst of all, some murderers gleefully run directly to their next atrocity.
True to her word, Dianna sat on the porch of her devastated house the next morning. She had one of the finest-looking buckskin mares I’ve ever seen saddled, ready, and tied to the hitch rail out by the road. Animal stamped one front foot and snorted when I rode up. Appeared more than anxious to get on the trail. Stepped down from Grizz and started toward the porch. Sharp, oily smell wafted up my nose on a slight, hot breeze.
Guess I hadn’t gone two steps in the grieving woman’s direction when she stood, scratched a lucifer to life, and pitched it into the front door. Dressed like a man in pants, boots, a palm-leaf sombrero, and sporting a fine bone-gripped Colt’s pistol strapped high on her waist, she turned, closed the door, and jumped off the porch. The house exploded in a ferocious ball of scorching fire behind her. Rocked on its foundation. Sparkling shards of shattered glass filled the air on waves of angry flame.
Gal strode past me and never looked back. Bent over, snatched a gallon-sized metal can off the ground, and headed for the mule.
“Amazing what two gallons of coal oil can do,” she said over her shoulder as she tied the can to the mule’s load with our other supplies.
Stood in what was left of her once-well-kept yard and watched as the fast-moving conflagration spread to a wood-shingled roof, consumed the porch, and hungrily licked at the outside walls through blackened, shattered windows.
Couldn’t do anything ’cept shake my head in amazement. Over the years, I’ve come to realize that it does absolutely no good whatever to question why women do the things they do. As men, our best course of action is to simply stand back in amazement, and wait until they get ready to explain their actions. Gave up trying to figure it out and followed her to the horses. By the time I could get myself mounted, she’d already made it across the road and had pointed the buckskin along the wide, clear trail left by her son’s killers.
Before good dark we crossed the San Saba, and almost made it to the Llano. Set up our first camp under an ancient live oak on a rolling hillside. A rock-filled, clear-running creek wandered south toward the river less than five miles away.
Determined pretty quick I might have to try and get Dianna to slow down a bit. Girl’s fired-up determination and single-minded desire for revenge had the potential for playing havoc on our animals. And if we overtook the killers at the wrong time, it could prove fatal for the both of us.
Picketed the horses, then got a fire going. Dianna volunteered to take care of the meals. That suited me right down to the ground. Never professed any real talent at a cook fire. I could produce a fair pot of coffee in a pinch. Boz forced me into permanently taking on that particular chore when we hit the trail together.
Couldn’t tell exactly how he accomplished it, but my Ranger compadre did something to coffee grounds that defied imagination or understanding. Never tasted such uncommon bilge in my entire life. Fascinating part of the whole deal was that Boz loved the foul-tasting stuff. He derisively referred to my brew as “weak-assed belly wash,” and said it didn’t have any more taste than mildly muddy water—but he never turned down a single cup.
With the scent of wild bluebonnets drifting on an evening breeze that barely stirred the air, we finished our meal and stowed the gear. Stretched my tired, aching body out on my blanket. Dianna dropped into her bed like a felled tree. Thought she went right to sleep.
Surprised me some when, as if talking to the sky, she said, “Do you think we can catch up with them before they make it back to Uvalde?”
“Well, don’t appear as though they’re in any hurry. Probably figure so much lead got poured into your house, it killed everyone they wanted dead. Way we’ve been ridin’, like early don’t last long enough, just might catch up to ’em any time. Specially if they stop, or get careless.”
“Maybe I’ll pray for careless tonight.”
“Gotta be more cautious ourselves from now on, Dianna. Save our mounts. Might have to run ’em hard if these boys spot us.”
She rolled onto her side and faced me across our dying fire. “Whatever may come tomorrow, or whenever we catch up with them, I want at least one of those murdering skunks alive.”
“Thought you wanted to kill ’em all.”
She closed tired eyes and snuggled deeper into her blanket. “Oh, he won’t live long after I’ve had a chance to talk to him. Bet he’ll even beg me to end it all before I’ve finished.”
“Sounds like you think you’re up to torture if necessary.”
Barely heard it, but pretty sure she said, “You’d be surprised what I’m up to, or capable of, Ranger Dodge. Completely and totally amazed.”
God Almighty, but Dianna’s bald-faced threat sounded powerful ominous. Never would have figured such venom from the woman, but given what had been brutally taken from her, couldn’t blame the angry gal one little bit. Thought on the whole doo-dah for some time that night. Eventually came to the inescapable conclusion that had I found myself in the beautiful widow Savage’s position, eating bees and biting the horns off the Devil in his own parlor would have only been the beginning of my bloody retribution. ’Fore I fell asleep, said a silent prayer that Boz would catch up right quick. Always best to have
another gun on such a raid. Good God, but I didn’t want to make a mistake and get me and Dianna killed.
6
“YOU BEEN SEEIN’ SPIRITS, MRS. SAVAGE?”
MID-MORNING OF THE following day, we topped a rock-strewn, scrubby, mesquite-covered hill that overlooked Indian Creek. Some miles farther to the south, the free-flowing stream emptied into the Llano. Three hundred yards below our vantage point, an unfinished cabin constructed of logs and rough-cut planks almost glowed in the warmth of a rising sun.
Rail corral attached to the west end of the incomplete house showed empty. Lean-to shed on the east side was near hidden under the sheltering shade of a sixty-foot-tall cottonwood shaped like a gigantic umbrella. A flock of skinny chickens wandered about in the grassless yard.
The massive tree dropped puffy white balls in such quantities, the entire silent place appeared as though covered by a layer of summertime snow. Hot, gently wafting breezes carried the tree’s droppings of the cottony stuff in drifts that piled hand-sized wads against every upright surface available. An unnatural hush, occasionally punctuated by the raspy call of locusts, presented the entire area in an eerie, otherworldly, grayish-white shroud.
Strained to get an informative look through my long glass. “Appears the front door’s open, but I can’t see anyone movin’ about,” I said. “Not even any animals, other than the chickens, in evidence. Trail leads right to the front door, though. If the men we’re after aren’t here, you can wager the family fortune they’ve been here. Lord help anyone down there who got in their way.”
Dianna snatched the glass from my grasp. “Let me see,” she said.
After several seconds of scanning the scene for herself, she handed the scope back, removed her dusty hat, and slapped it against an equally encrusted leg. “Be willing to take that bet. Appears the skunks we’re chasing have been here and gone already, Lucius. God only knows what the murderous scum left behind.”