Kill Town

by Cotton Smith

  “Easy does it. He’s one heavy boy.”

  Deed grunted agreement.

  Minutes later, Silka was resting on the travois, still muttering. Tag checked him and Holt picked up the dog and placed him on top of the packhorse for traveling.

  “Holt, we’re going to leave a trail that a child could follow.” Deed pointed at the travois.

  “You’re right, but I don’t know what to do about it.”

  Cocking his head, Deed suggested they should put the two Apache horses in their rear. Any Indians seeing the tracks of unshod horses would assume it was Indians.

  “Interesting idea,” Holt said. “Can’t hurt. If they don’t get rid of all the travois marks, maybe they’ll think it’s Indians with their families.” He patted his horse’s neck. “I’ll ride Silka’s other horse.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Back in town, Wilkon was trying to return to normal, but it was difficult. Men and women were doing the things of everyday life, getting horses shod, buying what they needed in the town’s stores, having saddles and harness repaired. Men were spending time in the saloons talking crops, cattle, weather, horses, Comanche, and Agon Bordner’s men and the bank being robbed, and whether or not the posse would get the money back.

  That was the most important topic, although it wasn’t the one most frequently discussed. The facts were obvious: the posse hadn’t come back yet.

  As soon as the posse rode out, Judge Pence conducted a brief hearing that became a full trial of the just-arrested Bordner outlaws. They were convicted of murder of a peace officer, attempted murder of a county sheriff, and assault against a citizen. The sentence for each was life in prison. Pence wired the authorities immediately and made arrangements for these outlaws to be taken with the others when the Rangers came.

  Underneath the normal activity was tension. Would the Rangers arrive soon enough to take away the arrested Bordner men, or would there be more violence in the street from other members of the old gang? Would the posse be successful? Would Blue Corrigan and his friend, James Hannah, be able to stop any attempts to hurt the town? There was also worry about Comanche and where they might be. Few wanted to express the possibility that the posse might be in danger.

  At least there was no problem with the bank itself, for now. Before his brothers rode out, they had agreed to reopen the bank with whatever money they could put in from the ranch. The Sanchez family had since agreed to do the same and the bank was operating as if nothing had happened.

  Blue Corrigan sipped coffee and read the newspaper as he sat behind the marshal’s desk. He had already made his rounds of the town; only two drunks had spoiled his walk and he decided to tell them to go home, instead of jailing them. James Hannah hadn’t yet appeared at the marshal’s office, but he would soon. Hannah wasn’t an early riser even when he was healthy. Blue shifted the heavy Walch Navy 12-shot revolver at his hip to make him more comfortable. He would much rather have been at his ranch than here, but it was his duty.

  Blue’s mind wandered easily to his wife. Bina was a remarkable woman, he thought. As a full-blooded Mescalero Apache, educated by a Jesuit priest, she was at home in both the white man’s and red man’s worlds. Her insights had showed up in many of his sermons as the town’s part-time minister. The fact their two children were half-breeds didn’t bother Bina or him.

  “Hey, Corrigan, you know there’s more of us coming. Save your life and let us go,” Rhey Selmon yelled from the cell. He had been loyal to one man, Agon Bordner, and one cause, helping Bordner become a cattle baron, and that was over. Only a long prison term waited.

  Blue didn’t respond.

  Ice-cold eyes, slightly crossed, stared at him beneath a narrow-brimmed hat and stringy black hair. Rhey still wore his bearskin coat. But he looked naked without his double-crossed gun belts and their silver-plated revolvers with pearl handles.

  “I said let us go and save your life. You ain’t got much time. Nobody’s going to help you . . . and your brothers are gone,” Rhey repeated, yelling louder. Macy Shields and Sear Georgian joined in.

  Blue looked up as if he were observing a horse acting up, then went back to reading the newspaper. Holt’s telegram lay on the desk. Blue was worried, but didn’t act like it. His brothers, Silka, and the two townsmen were crossing bad country, made worse by the news of Achak and his warriors raiding in the region. He had heard something about Mason Mereford that he didn’t like. A local rancher had told him that he didn’t think Alexander Mereford had a brother.

  It was like him to worry. He couldn’t get the thought out of his mind. What if this Mason was a plant to set up the posse? Why hadn’t he paid more attention? No one seemed to know where Mason had come from. There was no question Blue was the most stable of the three brothers and the least violent. Even so, he couldn’t get Mason out of his mind, and the thought of them being ambushed somewhere out on prairie. He would talk to Judge Pence about it, but had already decided to take a posse out tomorrow. Pence had stayed in town to help quell any sense of instability and, without saying so, felt guilty about making Blue take charge of the town’s law, but he knew the town would be in good hands.

  Bina had been in town for a few days and that had made his heart jump with happiness. She and their children went back to the ranch yesterday. It was quiet on their ranch at this time of the year. Nothing had been done with the Bar 3 yet, but that would wait until Deed and Holt returned. He laid down his coffee cup and patted his coat pocket where the small edition of the Bible was usually carried. He enjoyed serving as a part-time minister along with another local man. But now he was uneasy and wanted comfort.

  Taking the Scriptures from his pocket, he flipped it open and saw a familiar verse: “If God be for us, who can be against us?” (Romans VIII, verse 31) It gave him a comfort he couldn’t explain.

  From the cells, Rhey yelled again, “Hey, Bible thumper! You’d better let us out before our friends hit town. They’ll tear off your other arm and shove it down your throat.” The rest yelled similar threats.

  Blue stood and looked at Rhey, then the others. “You boys are through, you know. Your time of evil is over. No one is coming to help you. No one even cares about you.” He adjusted his heavy gun belt. “You’d be much better off praying for forgiveness.”

  Rhey was silent for a moment, then cursed and declared, “Bullshit! You’d better let us go, Corrigan. I mean it. There are twenty riders just outside of town. They’re going to burn down everything.”

  Blue laughed and walked over to the small stove, which was belching nearly as much smoke as heat. He picked an ironware cup from the shelf above it and poured fresh coffee.

  Rhey and the other continued their verbal barrage, but Blue ignored them as he walked back to the desk and resumed reading his Bible.

  After a quick knock on the door, James Hannah strolled into the marshal’s office. His Victorian black suit coat was draped over his bandaged shoulder. His bowler hat was cocked forward and he pushed his glasses in place as he entered. An ivory-handled revolver was evident in his waistband. A shiny deputy badge was displayed on his vest. His smile was confident and warm.

  “Morning, brother. I see Rangers coming down the street with a prison wagon,” Hannah said. “So we’ll be able to clean out this jail soon.”

  Blue looked up and smiled. “Good. I’ve been getting a lot of threats from the bear boy back there.”

  “Rhey Selmon, eh?” Hannah chuckled. “Rhey, if you were half as good as you think you are, you wouldn’t be behind bars.”

  “Shut up, Hannah!” Rhey pounded his fist against the cell bars.

  “Sure. Sure. Look me up in twenty years . . . when they let you and your buddies out of prison.” Hannah walked over to the small stove and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Or, if Marshal Corrigan would oblige, he can hand you a gun right now and we’ll see if you’re as good as you think.”

  Before Rhey could respond, there were heavy footsteps on the boardwalk outside, followed by a poundin
g on the door.

  “Texas Rangers. We’re here to escort prisoners to the prison,” came the hard call.

  “Come in.”

  Blue recognized Rangers Williams and Rice from earlier. He didn’t know the square-shouldered man with thick eyebrows, a matching mustache, and a slight limp. The man stepped toward the desk and held out his hand.

  “I’m Captain Palerns. This is Ranger Williams and Ranger Rice.”

  “Glad to meet you, Captain,” Blue said, extending his lone right hand. “I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting your two associates.” He turned toward Hannah. “This is my deputy, James Hannah. We’re sitting in for the real sheriff while he’s running down some bank robbers.” His presentation was more confident than he felt.

  Palerns, Williams, and Rice took turns shaking hands with Blue and Hannah.

  “Heard about your brother,” Captain Palerns said, stepping back toward Blue. “Holt Corrigan was given a pardon, I understand.”

  “Yes, by federal judge Oscar Pence.” Blue emphasized the word “federal” to make it clear the pardon was valid. His manner was casual, but he was primed for the lawman to disapprove of the pardon.

  “I know Judge Pence. Good man.”

  “I agree. He’s around town somewhere. It’s been a rough time.”

  “Heard that, too,” Palerns said. “When you expect your posse to return?”

  “Be a handful of days, I suppose. Got a telegram they had retrieved the bank’s money . . . and the robbers had resisted.” The pinned sleeve of his left arm fluttered as he motioned toward the telegram on the desk.

  “And?”

  “And they weren’t good enough.”

  Captain Palerns looked over at his fellow Rangers and back to Blue. “You know Comanche are raiding down through there. Achak and a bunch of heathens.”

  “Had heard, but it didn’t make any difference to Holt and Deed . . . or our friend Silka.”

  “Heard that about them, too,” Palerns said. “We may want to recruit those boys one of these days.” He cocked his head. “You, too.”

  “Not me. I’m a rancher.”

  Palerns smiled awkwardly and presented papers for Rhey Selmon, Sear Georgian, Willard Hixon, and Macy Shields. “I’ll take these fellas off your hands.” He stared at the cells. “We don’t have papers for the other three, but our orders are to take them, too.”

  “Yeah, they were just tried and convicted. Killed our town’s lawman. Wounded another. They wanted to bust out these other boys.” Blue smiled. “They weren’t good enough, either.”

  “Well, Judge Pence swings a lot of weight, otherwise we wouldn’t be taking them now,” Palerns snorted.

  Blue accepted the papers and got the cell keys from his desk, then looked up. “Say, Captain, could I talk you into staying in town for a couple of days? I’d like to take a posse out to meet my brothers. As you said, that’s nasty country they’re coming through.”

  “Marshal, I wish we could,” Palerns replied, rubbing his hands on his shirt. “But we’re expected at the prison in three days. That doesn’t give us much time.”

  Both Williams and Rice expressed their disappointment at not being about to stay. Blue thanked them and told them he understood. From the wall next to the door, Hannah watched quietly. The prisoners were released from their cells; all were wearing handcuffs and leg irons.

  As they were marched out of the jail, Rhey turned toward Blue. “You know your brothers are dead, don’t you, Blue? Who the hell do you think Mason is?” His laugh bounced around the small room. “Mason is Agon’s brother.”

  Hannah came off the wall, pulling his gun from his waistband. The Rangers warned him not to act.

  “Don’t, James. He isn’t worth it,” Blue said. “Besides, Deed knew who Mason was before they left.”

  Rhey’s face was a mixture of surprise and hatred. “We’ll be back, Corrigan. Count on it.”

  Hannah laughed and Blue ignored the taunt. As the Rangers led the prisoners into the prison wagon, people began to gather and watch. No one noticed a short man in a black tailored broadcloth suit and black hat standing among the townspeople. His right hand rested on the butt of one of his two pearl-handled pistols carried in a green brocade sash. Light green eyes studied the exiting prisoners.

  Rhey Selmon saw him and held up his right fist with two extended fingers for a brief moment before stepping into the wagon. His reaction wasn’t missed by Hannah, who looked into the gathered crowd to see whom Rhey spotted. He glimpsed the black-attired man with the blond hair and green eyes and knew he’d seen him before. But where?

  They watched the Rangers move the prisoners into the prison wagon, lock them in place, and remount.

  Captain Palerns gave a command to the driver and the wagon rumbled into the street. Williams and Rice turned to wave as they rode out. Hannah eased into the crowd, hoping to get a better look at the stranger. But he was gone, moving with the crowd as it returned to normalcy. Hannah stood, studying the street and boardwalks in both directions. Who was that stranger? Where did he know her from?

  Returning to the marshal’s office, he told Blue about the stranger and the likelihood that Rhey Selmon knew him. Blue poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him, then poured another for himself.

  “Saw him.” Holt responded. “I’m guessing he’s a gunfighter. Maybe a friend of Selmon’s.” He swallowed a mouthful of the hot brew. “Doesn’t matter now. The Rangers are taking that bunch to a hard place for a long time.”

  “Do I need to find him?”

  “Sure. Take a shotgun with you.”

  Hannah frowned at him. “You think I’m not good enough with a handgun?”

  “You know better than that, James,” Holt said, pushing his hat back on his head. “But a Greener will stop a lot of trouble before it starts.”

  Without answering, Hannah went to the gun rack, lifted free a double-barreled shotgun, cracked it open to check the loads, and clicked it shut again. He pulled open the top drawer of the cabinet below the rack, grabbed a handful of shotgun shells, and shoved them into his coat pocket.

  “See you later,” he said, walking toward the door.

  “Sure.”

  At the doorway, Hannah stopped and looked back. “Deed didn’t know who Mason was, did he?”

  “No.”

  “Look, Blue. I can hold down the town for a few days,” Hannah said. “Some of the Sanchez boys are in town for supplies. Saw them earlier. They’d be happy to ride out to meet your brothers. It’ll be all right, I promise.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The trail left by Holt, Deed, Silka, and Malcolm Rose was an obvious one to follow with the double lines of the travois, somewhat blurred by the unshod hooves of the two Comanche horses led by Deed. It was the best they could do. The land was yellow and brown with outcroppings of sandstone and battalions of sand. It was hard to believe great cattle country was a few days’ ride to the north. In the distance, rain was turning the horizon into a sheet of darkness.

  At mid-morning, they stopped to give the horses a breather and canteen water from their hats. Tag was happy to get down and trotted around the area. Rose was weak and had to be helped from his horse and gladly accepted Holt’s canteen. Afterward, Holt rode back to check their back trail while Deed tended to Silka, who had gained consciousness. Each man chewed on a piece of jerky and Holt fed half of his to Tag.

  “We’re about two hours from Turkey Wing,” Holt said.

  “Oh, that’s good to hear.” Rose took another swig and handed back the canteen.

  His flask was in his pocket, refilled from his remaining bottle, and he was tempted to have a drink, but forced himself to think of something else.

  Holt continued, “Up ahead is a cluster of rocks. That’s where they ambushed us and killed Ira . . . and Buck. I’m going over there. Maybe I can bury them.”

  “We’re all going,” Deed said and looked at Rose.

  “Yes. We should all go,” Rose added.

  Ho
lt bit his lower lip and swung into his saddle. It wasn’t long before they saw the remains of the ambush. The bones of those involved were spread about the area. Coyotes and buzzards had long ago cleaned the bodies of flesh.

  Jumping off his horse, Holt took Tag from the top of the packhorse and led his own mount toward the skeleton of his dead buckskin. His saddle was weirdly wrapped around the white rib cage. He took off his hat and muttered to himself. Tag began sniffing at the bones and Holt called him back. The dog dropped his tail and returned to the young sheriff’s side. Meanwhile, Deed found the torn head of Ira McDugal; the rest of his bones were scattered. The bones of the dead outlaw and Mason were spread across the area.

  “Let’s dig a hole and put Ira’s bones in it, the best we can,” Deed said, moving toward the packhorse. “We can do the same with Buck’s remains. All right?”

  Holt nodded and returned his hat to his head.

  Pulling the shovels from their pack, Deed told Rose to stand guard and began shoveling. After ten shovelfuls, Holt took the second shovel and continued.

  “Any signs of dust?” Deed asked Rose.

  “No. Nothing out there that I can see.”

  “Good.”

  The holes they dug weren’t deep, but the sun dictated they should quit. With care, Deed picked up the bones of what he thought belonged to the dead townsman while Holt unstrapped his saddle and carried the bones of his horse to the intended hole. They placed the remains in their respective graves and covered them.

  “See anything for a headstone?” Holt asked. “I should’ve brought something from town.”

  “It won’t last but a few days,” Deed said.

  “I know, but it’ll make me feel better.”

  “Sure,” Deed said and motioned toward the pack. “Look in our supplies. We might have some large sticks that will work.”

  Holt took a deep breath, went to their packhorse, and withdrew two larger sticks and found two more near the rocks. After tying the sticks into a crude cross, they placed them at the foot of the graves. Holt took off his hat, so did Deed. Rose realized what was happening and did the same.