by J. Lee Butts
Answer surprised me a bit. “What the hell does ‘get more for her’ mean?”
“Hell, I ain’t no gypsy mind reader.” He grabbed at the air several times. Finally found my hand. “Don’t shoot me, please. Swear on my sainted mother’s grave, I ain’t for certain sure. Maybe he plans on sellin’ that gal. Yeah, probably sell her down in Mexico. That’s the ticket.”
Stood me up like he’d slapped me in the face. “Sell her? Where would Coffin sell an American woman?”
Torque must have realized his advantage and brightened up a bit. Seemed a subject he favored. “Aw, you know. Piedras Negras. Nuevo Laredo. Zaragosa. Nate knows lots of shady types down that way. Kind what buy and sell folks. Especially good-lookin’ gringo women. Always a market for one of them kind.”
“What people does he know?”
“You’ve seen the kind I mean. Men who’d pay a handsome price for a white woman what hadn’t seen much in the way of hard use. Kind that didn’t look like she’d been rode hard and put up wet. Kind like ’at ’ere Savage woman. Prime stuff, from what I seen.”
Blood loss must’ve got him. Of a sudden, his head flopped to one side. Knelt down again and shook him so hard his teeth rattled. “Wake up, damn you. Can’t die yet, Joe. We ain’t finished.” Slapped him again. “Don’t leave me. Not now, Joe, come on back.”
Sorry slug’s head lolled from side to side as he finally began to regain consciousness. His splinter-filled eyes swam in bloody circles. Suddenly he latched onto my arm again. Said, “Am I dead? Oh, God, I still cain’t see. Is this Heaven? Are you God?”
Question brought me up short. “No, I’m not God, Joe. But I am the man who’ll send you to Him if you’ve lied to me. Swear it on my father’s grave.”
To my shock, and stunned amazement, the wounded brigand made an odd strangling sound, went rigid under my hand, then collapsed in a limp, bloody heap. Placed a finger against the big vein in his neck. Couldn’t find anything in the way of a pulse.
Matthews jumped to his feet, snatched his hat off, and threw it on the ground. Went to pulling at his hair. “He’s dead, ain’t he. Sweet Jesus. God have mercy. When Nate Coffin finds out what happened here, my wife’s life won’t be worth a bucket of cold horse piss.”
“Shut the hell up,” I snapped.
He flopped down on the log again, and howled like a lost dog. “They’ll kill my poor wife ’fore we can get back to town. Sweet Jesus, told you, Dodge—you coldhearted son of a bitch. Never should’ve come to my town draggin’ that skunk Tiner. Damn you and all those like you.”
Holstered the pistol, and released my grip on the dead outlaw’s shirtfront. Turned and slapped the blathering Matthews on the back of his head hard enough to make the wax pop out of his ears. Grabbed up my shotgun by the barrel and said, “Stop babblin’ like an idiot. Only people who know what happened out here are you and me. Get to your horse. If we can surprise them boys as have your wife, we should be able to save her.”
Once we’d rounded up our animals and got saddled, I shook my finger in his face and said, “Put the spur to your beast. Make sure you stay ahead of me. Kick hard, Marshal. Don’t make me have to go around you. If I have to pass, I’ll leave your corpse in the dirt behind me.”
Must have scared Willow Junction’s gutless lawdog damned near to death. Matthews pushed that poor horse like yellow-eyed demons chased the two of them. As a consequence, we made it back to town in what had to be record time.
In a stroke of uncommonly good fortune for the marshal, the remainder of Coffin’s bunch had already pulled up stakes and headed out of town. The very portly, blubbering Mrs. “Marshal” Matthews appeared no worse for her frightening ordeal.
While the relieved lawman commiserated with his distraught wife, I headed for the hotel. Stomped up to the desk and asked as to the welfare of Mrs. Savage. Red-faced clerk stuttered around a bit, and then said, “Sh-sh-she’s gone. She left, Ranger Dodge.”
“What the hell do you mean she left?”
“Came down the stairs yesterday several hours after your departure. Escorted by two rough-lookin’ men. They left.” He scratched his head. “It’s that simple.”
“What two men?”
“Can’t say with any degree of certainty, sir.”
“Well, why don’t you try and make an educated guess.”
“To tell the truth, sir, I think they might’ve been members of the Nate Coffin gang.”
For about five seconds, all the air got sucked out of my entire world. An unseen hand jerked the earth from beneath my feet. Limp legs almost dropped me to the floor in a heap. Felt hot all over and a sheet of sickly sweat drenched me from head to foot. A multitude of flame-tinged feelings burned their way through my brain in a raging forest fire of horrific thoughts. I couldn’t imagine what it meant, or would mean in the future.
Of a sudden, my mind lit up with each and every time we’d been together, or touched. Vivid memories of the heat and fire of her as she leaned against me flashed through my heart and set my soul aflame.
Ran a quaking hand over my sweaty brow and said, “Might’ve been? What do you mean by that?”
He ducked his head, swayed back and forth on unsteady feet. Fidgeted with the hotel ledger. Leaned over, cupped his hand, and whispered, “Them fellers said they’d come back and kill everyone in town, Ranger. Start with me, if ’n I said anything amiss. Sorry, but all I know about the lady is that she’s no longer here. She left.”
Slapped the top of his desk in frustration. “Damn,” I snapped.
He stepped back, held a hand up as if in defense. “One thing I did notice. Appeared the lady resisted. She’d been roughed up a mite. Not much. But enough as you could tell it.”
Figured he’d given me all I could expect. Frustrated with what I perceived would most likely prove a total collective memory loss and widespread gutlessness on the citizenry’s part, I headed directly for Willow Junction’s jail. By the time I got there, my anger had doubled, then tripled.
Thundered through the door of Marshal Matthew’s calaboose ready to kill anyone inside. Surprised the hell out of me when I found Boz Tatum seated behind the local lawman’s desk.
My partner unlimbered his lanky frame, leaned onto the office chair’s arms with his elbows, grinned, and said, “Well, I’ll just be surely damned. You know, for the first time since we met, that fateful day back in the White Elephant Saloon when ole Peaches McCabe tried to kill the hell out of me, do believe you actually look surprised, Lucius ‘By God’ Dodge.”
“Mighty good to see you, Boz. You don’t know how good,” I said.
He placed a burning panatela on the edge of a tin plate full of tobacco ashes, and stood as I stomped over to him. “Sweet Jesus, Lucius, wish they was one of them travelin’ photographers ’round this buffalo waller of a town somewheres to record this singular and marvelous event. Would love to have a tintype of it to carry ’round in my pocket.”
11
“. . . AIN’T WORTH A BUCKET OF COLD SNAKE PISS . . .”
THANKS TO BOZ Tatum’s welcome appearance, my flagging spirits soared. He brought something I sorely needed—hope. Held out my hand and said, “God, but it’s damn fine to have you back again, amigo. How long you been in town?”
He dismissively waved at the air with one paw and shook mine with the other. “Well, I hit the trail runnin’ soon as I got your wire. After damned near exhausting virtually all my extensive trackin’ skills to run you down, I arrived just before noon today.”
“Notice anything amiss?”
“Found this here pissant town in one hell of an uproar. God Almighty, but gettin’ information out of folks around these parts is harder’n holdin’ a handful of tadpoles. Finally weaseled it out of a reluctant storekeeper that you were still alive and somewhere nearby. He also intimated as how some of Nate Coffin’s bunch done showed up. Guess them boys musta just about scared the bejabbers out of damned near everyone available.”
“According to the hotel clerk,
the sons of bitches took Mrs. Savage, Boz,” I blurted out.
“The hell you say.” Man looked like I had slapped his jaw hard enough to make his ears ring.
“Just found out for certain sure myself. ’Course I suspected as much, given what I’d already forced out of Marshal Matthews earlier today.”
“That a fact? Where you boys been anyway?”
“Out in the briars and brambles on a wild-goose chase. Appears Coffin’s bunch scared the bejabbers out of Matthews by threatenin’ to kill the man’s wife. They wanted me gone, or dead, so he came up with a cock-and-bull story ’bout needin’ my help. Got me out in the tall and uncut as part of an underhanded effort to kill me. Suffice it to say, his poorly executed back shootin’ didn’t work.”
Blood welled up in my friend’s neck and spread to his cheeks. “Well, by God,” he snorted, “hope you sent his sorry hide to flamin’ perdition on an outhouse door.”
Shook my head. “Threatened to do exactly that. Had to keep him alive, though. Once the blastin’ ended, decided I would need the craven snake to find out exactly what was goin’ on.”
He snatched his smoke up and took a deep drag, blew a heavy cloud toward the ceiling, picked a sprig of tobacco off his lip, then said, “You cut off anything important belongin’ to the dirty polecat in that effort?”
“No, but after a bit of indirect persuasion, he did come across with the reason for all this.”
“And what might that be?”
“Seems Coffin’s wicked purpose was the same as it’s always been—to get his already blood-soaked hands on Mrs. Savage for killin’ his worthless brother. Wounded outlaw I spoke with expressed the opinion that she’ll most likely be sold to flesh peddlers down Mexico way. Guess Coffin discovered his assassins failed in their Salt Valley mission. Wouldn’t surprise me none if I discovered Marshal Matthews is the man responsible for getting word to him. Threatened to kill the worthless skunk. Guess I should have made good on it but, hell, he ain’t worth the expense of wastin’ good powder and shot on.”
Boz smoothed his drooping moustache with one hand, then took a deep-lunged hit off his cigar. “Sweet Jesus, Lucius. That’s bad news indeed, my friend. Couldn’t have figured on anything like that since my recent arrival. Naturally, came directly to this office after my discussion with the storekeeper. Place was emptier’n an Arizona water gourd in August. Been sittin’ here at the marshal’s desk ever since I got in.”
Got creeping gooseflesh up and down my spine. “You haven’t seen a deputy named Jiles?”
“Nope. Ain’t seen nobody, as a pure matter of fact. Town’s been quieter than snowflakes fallin’ on a feather bed. This feller Jiles supposed to be around here somewheres?”
All at once I felt as though an icy chill hit me right between the shoulder blades. “Have you been back in the cell block, Boz?”
Virtually in unison, we turned toward the slab-thick door. In a somewhat quizzical tone, Boz said, “Had no reason to go back there. No one called out or nothin’. Been nappin’ in this chair almost all afternoon. Knew for certain your trail ended right here in town. Figured you’d show up sooner or later.”
By that point we had both moved to the stout, wooden cell block entrance door and pulled cocked pistols. An iron-barred window in the center of the door revealed little inside. Raised the metal latch, and the heavy door easily swung open unimpeded.
Gingerly eased inside and past the first three cells—empty, all of them. But the last one contained a gruesome surprise Coffin’s lackeys had left behind. Beneath a rough blanket, as though asleep on his side, we found the bullet-riddled corpse of Deputy Pinky Jiles.
“Wonder if this message is for you, Lucius, or the town’s marshal.”
“Most likely for Matthews. Way Coffin’s killers had it figured, I should be dead by now. Be willin’ to place bets this is a warnin’ for the marshal. There’s someone missing from back here as well.”
“Who?”
“Yellow-belly named Smoky Tiner. He was one of the men who shot up Mrs. Savage’s house and killed young William. Coffin’s men must have taken him with ’em.”
Boz scratched his chin and said, “Well, we cain’t do nothin’ ’bout the one that’s gone, or for this poor feller here either, for that matter. You reckon there’s any more like this dead ’un hidden in different spots around town, Lucius?”
“Jesus, that’s a frightenin’ thought. Don’t know. Matthews claimed his wife was threatened with murderous mayhem if he didn’t cooperate. Left him with the lady not more’n fifteen minutes ago. She appeared just fine as frog hair to me.”
Boz took me by the arm and led the way back to the outer office. He gently pushed the cell block door closed before he said, “When do you want to get after them as took Mrs. Savage?”
“Soon as we can get provisioned, loaded, and ready. Much as I feel emotionally compelled to burn leather, there’s no beneficial point I can think of for leaving this late in the day. See to everything we’ll need. Head south at first light. Don’t like givin’ the brigands any more head start than necessary, but it’ll be pitch-dark in less than half an hour. Might as well get a good meal and a comfortable night’s sleep.”
That bloody day turned into one of the most restless nights of my life. Couldn’t find the path to peaceful slumber, no matter how diligently I searched. My chaotic mind raced with terrible images of a captured Dianna Savage, and burned with unquenchable, fiery thoughts of how I’d failed her.
Never should have left the woman alone, I told myself. Should have known, or at least suspected, the risks and consequences. Flogged my tortured sense of right and wrong with the possibility that her captors had already abused her in unspeakable ways in spite of what Joe Torque had told me. Made silent promises to God that if I could retrieve her unharmed, I’d make amends for my past transgressions.
When all that failed to satisfy my rebellious conscience, pledged retribution of Biblical proportions on those I would soon determine guilty of any mistreatment of Dianna— whether real or imagined. By the time the sun finally came up again, I was bed-weary and damned near exhausted.
Boz took note of my unsettled state of mind. As the sun gradually brought orange-tinted light to our efforts at preparation, he pulled at the cinch strap on his saddle and said, “Let not your soul be troubled, my good friend. We’ll have the lady back, as God is my witness, I swear it.” It was perhaps the most heartfelt and serious statement I’d ever heard from him up till then.
Climbed on Grizz and said, “Not too worried about getting her back, Boz. But must admit I am some concerned as to what kind of physical and mental condition she’ll be in when we do.”
We headed south and west for Uvalde at near breakneck speed. Boz ran ahead and searched for the brigands’ trail. I fell back and led the mule. Caught up with my friend at varying intervals all during the day.
Rolling, rugged hills, and rocky streams of south Texas slowed our progress. Through a combination of single-minded determination and unspoken resolve, we covered more ground in one day than I could have imagined possible.
My diligent, eagle-eyed partner found the track a few hours into the run, and held to it like an angry badger until the light gave out again. My admiration for Boz and his unsurpassed skill grew with every passing minute. We camped on the banks of a shallow creek off the Rio Hondo that night. Inviting stream inspired me to take a quick bath. Stifling heat of the day gave way to a wonderfully cool evening.
Didn’t matter much. Once again, sleep came to me in fits and starts. Every time I closed my tired eyes, Dianna’s face appeared on the back of the lids. In some of those visions, she leaned close and whispered, “Changed my mind. Decided I couldn’t wait.” In others, she called my name and begged me to rescue her from the clutches of men birthed by animals and raised on blood.
At one point, I snapped awake and found myself sitting upright with a pistol in each hand. Boz called out, “You okay over there, Lucius?”
“Sorry. W
asn’t my intention to wake you as well.”
“You’ve been talking in your sleep, ole son.”
“What’d I say?”
“Well, last thing I heard was, ‘Oh, let up on me some. Nothin’ I can do right now. Swear I’ll take care of it.’Or somethin’ to that effect.”
“You must’ve been awake for a spell then.”
“Worried ’bout you, ole son. Done said you should try not to let this thing bother you so much. Meant it. We’ll arrive in Uvalde by late tomorrow afternoon. Should be able to find out something definite then.”
Rolled back into my bedroll. “Certainly hope so. You can’t imagine how bad I feel about this whole affair, Boz.”
“Given the way you’ve been actin’, think I might have some idea. Trust me, if I can lay hands on anyone who took part in Mrs. Savage’s abduction, he’ll tell us everything he ever knew—from the day of his birth to a minute before we found him. Way these kinds of bastards run off at the mouth, all we’ve got to do is hit a few saloons in town, and I’d be willing to bet things start poppin’ mighty fast.”
True to his word, Boz led us to the outskirts of Uvalde, at a little after three o’clock the following afternoon. We reined up in a stand of live oaks. Leafy, overarching shelter provided respite from an unrelenting sun.
“One of my favorite places in Tejas. Town’s widely known for its trees,” Boz said as he wiped his neck with a damp bandanna.
Poured water from my canteen over my wrists, took a sip, and ran some down the back of my neck. “They are amazing. Quite beautiful.”
“I’ve heard some even call Uvalde the City of Trees. Feller named Black laid the place out right after the Big Fight. Built a series of plazas all through town. Started out being a right peaceful place to settle. Unfortunately for the clod kickers, these days more’n a few cattle rustlers, horse thieves, pistol fighters, and murderous desperadoes call the town home.”
“Coffin must be the worst of ’em.”