by J. Lee Butts
Stand of trees bled out on a deep, grass-covered field. Sun-dried, knee-high grass had overtaken what had once been a rail corral. No animals of any kind in evidence as I could detect. Low log-and-plank main house had suffered from considerable neglect, as had a smaller cabinlike structure formerly used by hired hands.
Situated amidst several large boulders, the compound of main house, split-rail corrals, and outbuildings lay at the back of the meadow between a number of massive live oaks and our spot near the creek. Front door stood ajar on the owner’s main residence. Appeared to have been ripped from its leather hinges. Roof of the barn had caved in and, if anyone had asked me at the time, I would have vowed the entire place was totally abandoned. Should have listened to what my whispering sense of right and wrong tried to tell me.
Without any warning, an uncomfortable feeling that something about the entire situation rang false fell on me like a frozen steer dropped from the rafters of Heaven. As Boz might have said, felt like we’d done gone and started chopping on the wrong tree.
Matthews quietly motioned us all into defensive positions. I took a spot to his right, behind what was left of a water trough near the crumbling corral. Atwood stayed attached to his leader like a scared kid. The pair of them hid behind a wagon-sized boulder about sixty feet from the front entrance.
Had barely got myself settled when the marshal yelled, “Herman Wallace, I command you, in the name of the law, to present yourself for immediate arrest in the killing of Simp Richards.”
Nothing. Not one sound. No movement. So he tried again with the same exhortation. That time he added as how we’d blast the bejabbers out of ole Herman if the murderous neighbor killer refused to show himself, and damned quick.
Still got no response. Place was quieter than a snowstorm at midnight. Glanced over to where Matthews and Atwood cowered. Near as I could tell, neither man appeared to have any intention of taking the bull by the tail and really confronting the nasty situation.
Cocked both barrels on my short-barreled blaster, and waited while Matthews yelped out his ultimatum one final time. Nothing. Not a single sound in reply. Appeared as how any action from our side would have to start with me. Got myself bucked up to make a run for the door. Figured I’d go in blasting. Clear the main room out with both barrels of buckshot, throw the big shooter aside, and finish up with my pistols.
Soon as I stood and exposed myself, a hailstorm of bullets, from behind, fell all around me. Partially rotted boards of the trough, where I’d just been hiding, burst into shards of flying splinters.
Whirlwinds of dust squirted up around my feet as I turned and heeled it for the open door of the main house. Red-clawed, yellow-toothed death chased me and peppered my footfalls every step of the way. Hot lead buzzed past my flaming ears like angry hornets.
Terrible thought crossed my heaving mind ’bout then. For the first time in my riotous life as a Texas Ranger, wondered if I would make it to safety alive.
10
“. . . I DONE BEEN SHOT BLIND.”
STILL THINK ON that frightful dash as the longest twenty steps I’ve ever had to run in my entire life. Don’t have the slightest recollection of how I dodged a sizzling curtain of hot lead that zipped past my ears, singed smoking spots in the sleeves of my shirt, knocked the hat off my head, and destroyed the heel on one of my boots. Heavenly intervention’s the only explanation I’ve ever managed to come up with.
Tried to count the shooters as I hoofed it. Figured as how there had to have been at least four men slinging lead my direction—not well, but they sure as the devil poured it on heavy. Hell of it was Matthews and Atwood appeared to be leading the gutless attack. Poor back-shooting, dumb sons of bitches had drawn me into a clumsy and ill-conceived ambush. Felt like a complete fool for having fallen for their ham-fisted ruse.
Crashed through the disintegrating ranch building’s front entrance. Landed hard on the dirt floor littered with tree limbs and trash. Cyclonic storm cloud of blue whistlers chewed the framework around the sagging doorway to bits, kicked up more dirt on all sides of me, and chiseled deep pits into the crumbling cabin’s back wall. Rolled and got to my feet in a heartbeat.
Headed for the back of the tumbled-down building fast as I could leg it. Blasted the partially closed rear entrance to smithereens with both barrels of buckshot. Wood splinters filled the air like a swarm of lightning bugs on a hot summer night. Smashed my way through the pellet-riddled planks in a whirlwind of rotten wood fragments and flying dust. Thanks to a merciful God, my less-than-intelligent ambushers hadn’t thought far enough ahead to cover the rear entrance.
Turned toward the corner nearest the abandoned corral in a combination run, stumble, and fall for the God-sent shelter provided by one of those gigantic live oaks. Tree stood about midway of the rotting split-rail horse pen. Breeched my weapon and reloaded as I burned boot leather.
Dropped into a hollowed-out depression behind the tree. Surrounded by twisted, ropelike, ground-level roots, the life-saving dent in the earth’s ancient hide provided decent protection. More importantly, I had a right fine view of the boulder where Willow Junction’s traitor of a marshal and his chief deputy hid their sorry, back-shooting selves. Cowardly scum held their pistols above the rock’s shelter and fired blindly. Fact that either man managed to hit the house left me much amazed.
Took almost a minute to finally pick out three other shooters. Sorry, low-life no-accounts lurked in the trees. Spent a bit thinking on my somewhat precarious situation. Came to the discomforting conclusion that the unknown gunmen must have followed us all the way from town, or fell in behind along the trail.
But that realization came nowhere near to the worst of it. Made me madder than a rained-on rooster to know that my fellow lawmen had led me into a trap, and then betrayed me like a pair of slimy Judases. Even worse, those same men were now locked in a deadly attempt to take my life.
Pulled my cavalry-model Colt from the holster I wore at my back. Seven-and-a-half-inch barrel on the gun provided considerable more distance, and accuracy, than the two sheriff’s models I carried on one hip and as a belly gun.
Near as I could tell, none of the ambushers had as yet spotted me in my new and much safer position. But I knew beyond any doubt, once I fired the first shot, they’d all ferret out my hidey-hole and swing another blistering wall of lead my direction.
While they blasted away at nothing, I picked out the one gunny that appeared the most careless of the group. Nervy feller appeared to believe himself bulletproof. Stepped from behind his sheltering tree and blazed away one time too many. Stupid gomer looked more like a farmer than an assassin. Dropped the hammer on him first instant he gave me a really good target to shoot at.
Big .45 slug caught him dead center. Must have really surprised the dry-gulchin’ skunk. Well-placed shot knocked the back-shooting snake ass over teakettle. He screeched, flopped around, and sprayed blood from the geyser in his chest. Splattered everything within ten feet. That single, surprising turn of events stunned all them ambushers into several moments of head-scratching inactivity.
Tried to nail the man nearest the one I’d just dropped the instant he poked his head out just right. Might not have hit him, but did send a nasty wad of tree bark and splinters into his eyes. Way he hooted and hollered, you’d of thought I could just as well have killed him too. Everything got real quiet for more than a minute after that.
Then, from the safety of his sheltering boulder, I heard Matthews yell, “We cain’t let you live, Dodge. Guess you know that, don’t you?”
Hollered back, “You’re ridin’ down the wrong trail, Matthews. Bad decision on your part all around. This ugly mess is gonna end up costin’ you your life.”
“Cain’t go back to town ’less you’re dead. Some of Coffin’s men arrived last night. Came by the jail.”
“So?”
“They’d done went and took my wife in hand. Holdin’ her prisoner, Dodge. Said they’s gonna kill her if ’n you ain’t rubbed
out. Woman’s a fifty-year-old innocent in all this. She don’t deserve to die over the killin’ of a child in a pissant place like Salt Valley.”
“Most cases, I’d probably agree with that sentiment, Matthews, but this is one hell of a bad way to handle the situation.”
“Ranger, you brought the whole vile mess on us when you stopped in my town and locked Tiner up, you arrogant son of a bitch. I warned you then as how bad things could fall out if Nate Coffin discovered what you’d gone and done. Man’s nefarious. He knows everthang as happens in these parts ’fore they even take place. Good God, but you folks from up north are stupid beyond reasonable belief. Just ain’t got no idea of how deadly bad our collective situation is down this way.”
Had a serious problem believing that faulty reasoning could lead a man like Matthews into blackhearted, back-shooting murder. “You think killin’ a commissioned Ranger is gonna solve your problem, Marshal? Really believe my death will save your wife and the town?”
“Figured this here was as good a ruse as any to get a man of your reputation out away from witnesses. Once we kill you, I’ve been assured this mess can be worked out.”
Hurried to reload all my spent cartridges while he jawed. “Murder me out here, bury the corpse, and no one would ever know the difference. That the plan?”
“Yeah. Somethin’ like that.”
“You are aware, of course, that Mrs. Savage would bring the entirety of Company B down on you. Boz Tatum is on his way to find me, and he will see you in the ground no matter what the outcome here today. You know all that too, don’t you?”
A moment of silence passed. Then he said the one thing that lit a fire under me like nothing else could have. “Ain’t no problem with the woman, Dodge. Coffin’s men back in town shoulda done took care of her—by now.”
At first, my head went to spinning. Thought for a second I might black out. Took about another second for the shock to pass and for a killing rage the likes of which I’d never known to take its place.
Peeked around the tree. Found all three of the remaining shooters in a heartbeat. Poor cowboy with the eyeful of splinters was still howling. That left Matthews, his stupid, potbellied deputy, and one unknown Coffin gunny who could still function. Checked my hip and belly pistols for quickest access, cocked both barrels of the shotgun, and pulled the cavalry Colt. Stepped from the safety of the live oak. Big blaster in one hand, pistol in the other.
“Come on out, boys. Y’all start walkin’ this way and we’ll get this settled right here and now. Ain’t got no time to waste. You wanted a killin’? Well, get up on your hind legs and come get it.”
Must have scared Deputy Atwood slap out of his feeble mind. He started running and hollering like something insane. Flew right past Coffin’s last functioning back shooter, who jumped from behind his tree and fired my direction— just as a shot from my pistol hit Atwood between the shoulder blades.
Outlaw’s bullet got my attention when it scorched a bloody trench through my shirt and along my right side. Ambusher instantly knew he’d missed, and grabbed his pistol with both hands in an effort to steady his next shot. My shotgun blast knocked him out of his boots. Looked right odd flying through the air with sockless, naked feet hanging out of shredded britches legs.
Hoofed my way to the boulder and found Ridley Matthews cowering on the ground like some kind of sniveling, little ole widow woman. He threw his weapon away, and whimpered. Used the muzzle of my big popper under his trembling, puppy-dog chin to urge him up. Tears streamed down the coward’s dirt-streaked face.
He held shaky hands in the air and whined, “God Almighty, don’t kill me, Dodge. Wouldn’t have had no truck with any of this crew, or their despicable plans, if not for my wife. Ain’t no killer. You have to know that, don’t you?”
Pushed the shotgun’s muzzle into his gut and snapped, “No, I don’t. Spotted you for a snake the first time we met. You’ve done nothing with this cowardly action but confirm my suspicions. Now, what in the blue-eyed hell did you mean when you said Coffin’s men should have already taken care of Mrs. Savage?”
“I ain’t for certain.”
“Well, unless you want to die where you stand, you’d damned sure better get somewhere close to certain. If anything wayward has happened to that lady, I’ll personally skin you alive and make tobacco pouches for all my friends from your extensive hide.”
He glanced around like a man so bewildered his mind had ceased to function. “Jesus, Dodge, you done went and kilt Porter. Poor feller wouldn’t a-hurt a fly.”
“If that’s the way you feel, you shouldn’t have brought him into this, Matthews. Any man starts shooting at me from behind had best get ready to meet Jesus, ’cause I’m gonna send him there quicker’n double-geared lightning. Could well consider yourself damned lucky I haven’t killed you— yet.” Thought the stricken man would pass out. Turned white as a freshly washed sheet. Eyes rolled back up in his head and he went to shaking as though in the throes of a severe case of the ague.
Finally got control of himself again and said, “Honest to God, Dodge, I ain’t sure about the woman. Coffin’s bunch wanted to know where she was. Said I didn’t have to worry none about her. Said Coffin wanted her soon as they could get her back to him. That’s all I know. I swear it.”
“Come with me.” Grabbed the worthless scum by the neck and pushed him toward the blinded gunman.
Sad case, that one. My shot, which should have taken the sneaky ambusher’s head off, made one hell of a mess. Clumps of bloody wood splinters protruded from both his cheeks and eyeballs. Bullet had traveled on and put a crease in his skull along a path over a notched right ear. All apparent evidence indicated you could make a pretty safe bet he would never see again from at least one of those badly damaged orbs.
Pushed Matthews onto a log seat, pointed at him, and said, “You make a move my direction, you son of a bitch, and I swear ’fore Jesus, it’ll be your last.”
Propped the shotgun against the wounded ambusher’s covering tree, and pulled one of my pistols. Grabbed Coffin’s blinded gunfighter by his shirt. Kneeled down and got right in his bloody, splinter-riddled face and growled, “Where’d them others back in Willow Junction take the woman?” In the back of my mind, I figured if I rushed into the problem, without some idea of the lay of the land, Dianna could very surely get killed graveyard dead. Needed as much information as the sightless lowlife could provide.
Like a child frightened of invisible, unknowable creatures in the dark, he held hands that trembled in front of his punctured face and eyes and sobbed. “Oh, Sweet God, mister. Think I done been shot blind. Are you the man what done the deed?”
“Sure enough, I’m the one.”
Through quaking fingers he had grit enough to say, “Well, goddamn you, sir. Be a cold day in Satan’s fiery pit ’fore I’ll tell you one damned thing.”
“Mighty nervy for a man who can’t see.” Shot him in the foot, just to get his undivided attention. Not sure who screamed the loudest, the one I blasted, or Willow Junction’s panicked marshal.
Matthews must have thought I intended to plug him next. He dropped onto his fat stomach and screeched, “Jesus Christ on a crutch, Dodge. Dear Sweet Lord, you’ve already taken the man’s eyes. Why don’t you just go ahead and kill ’im?”
Blind, foot-shot gunman passed out cold as a log-splitting wedge in February. Got down and slapped his cheeks good and proper till he came around. Drew right up in the gunny’s pain-contorted face and said, “Come on back to us, now. Wake up. Snap out of it. What’s your name, mister?”
“Aw-w-w-w, Jesus save me,” he moaned, and almost fainted a second time.
“Don’t go out on me again now. Stay awake. Need some information.” Slapped him some more.
“Torque, Torque, Ranger. Name’s Joe Torque. Please stop hittin’ on me. Moves these damned splinters ’round. Hurts like seven kinds of hell.”
“Manners. I like that. Well, Joe Torque, you’re messed up pretty good. Blee
din’ somethin’ fierce from the foot shot. Big .45 hole’s pumpin’ your life out on the ground to beat the band. All the wounds to the face and eyes are right scary-lookin’. Way I’ve got it figured, you’ll never see again if we can’t get you back to the doc soon—maybe not even then. Pretty sure you’re gonna be walkin’ on a cane for the rest of your life ’cause of that damaged foot.”
Torque completely lost it. Went to screeching, “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.”
“Stop howlin’ and pay attention.” Slapped the back of his head. “Need you to think on what I’m about to say.” Jerked his shirtfront again. “You listenin’ to me, Joe?”
“Uh, Sweet Merciful Jesus, yeah, yeah, I hear you.”
“Now, would you like to try for an amputated arm as the result of being shot in the elbow?” Pressed the pistol muzzle against the knobby joint. Man damn near passed out again. “One-eyed, limpin’ cripple, maybe one-armed. Hell, you’re gonna be a mess, if you don’t do some mighty fast talkin’, Joe.”
“Oh, God, I’m beggin’. Don’t shoot me again. Just gimme a chance to think. Tell you anything you want to know. All you gotta do is ask. Ain’t gonna get disrespectful again. I swear it, Ranger. I swear it.”
“Now that’s better, much better. Question hasn’t changed. You don’t even have to think about it, but I’ll ask again real slow, being as how you done went and got yourself hurt and all. Where-did-your-friends-take-the-woman?”
Never hesitated the second time around. “Uvalde, so far as I know. Maybe from there on to Coffin’s ranch, but I cain’t say for absolute sure.”
“You have any idea as to Coffin’s intent with the woman?”
Wavered a bit on that one. Swung his bloody head back and forth for a few seconds as though puzzled. “He said we shouldn’t hurt her any more’n necessary. Said he wanted her undamaged. Said he could get more for her that way.”