The sheriff nodded. “Yeah, now that I think back on it, I reckon I could see Abner Grant stirrin’ the rest of ’em up.” He sighed. “Seems I ain’t got nothin’ I can actual charge none of you with, so I’d be just as happy if you would just get that train on out of here. If there’s goin’ to be anyone else tryin’ to steal the train, I’d just as soon it be somewhere else. How soon is it before you reckon you can get gone?”
“We’ll prob’ly have to spend the night here,” Cephus said.
“Spend the night here? What for?” the sheriff asked, surprised by the engineer’s response. “I told you, there’s no need in any of you stayin’ here, ’cause there ain’t goin’ to be no charges.”
“I can answer that, Sheriff,” the stationmaster said, speaking for the first time since the sheriff had arrived. “Their staying here has nothing to do with whether or not you’re planning on charging them with anything. They are not part of a regularly scheduled run, you understand, which means they have to have track clearance before they can go anywhere. Since circumstances have brought them here, their initial clearance is no longer valid. They will have to apply for a new clearance. I expect that will take at least another day before it is granted, and they’ll have to wait right here until that time. They dare not go back out on the high iron until everyone knows to look out for them.”
“All right. Go ahead ’n get your clearance, but do it as soon as you can. The sooner you get your train out of my town, the better I’ll feel.”
Chapter Five
The private car was spacious enough and livable enough to provide Duff, Elmer, and Wang with comfortable quarters as they were waiting for Cephus to get track clearance for them to continue on their journey. They put the window up and were playing cards when Elmer began sniffing audibly.
“Damn. Smells like someone is bakin’ bread. That’s about the best-smellin’ thing I’ve ever smelt.”
“There’s a bakery just down the street.” Duff tossed his cards down. “Why don’t I just go get us a couple loaves of bread?”
“Whoa. Why do you want to do that? Another couple hands, ’n there’s no doubt in my mind I’ll wind up ownin’ all of Sky Meadow,” Elmer teased.
“In that case, that’s all the more reason I should go,” Duff replied with a chuckle. “Besides, wouldn’t you like to have some hot bread?”
“Yeah, well, if you’re goin’ to do that, get some butter and jam as well, or it won’t be worth eatin’,” Elmer said.
“That’s all right. I’m sure Wang and I will find your share worth eating.”
“No, now, don’t get me wrong,” Elmer said. “I don’t pure dee have to have butter ’n jam, but you gotta admit yourself that it would make the bread a heap better.”
Duff chuckled again. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Leaving the car, he walked across the tracks, then stepped up onto the depot platform. The four bodies were still laid out where they were before, and he wondered why they hadn’t been moved or at least covered. He thought about stepping into the depot to say something about it, but decided against it. He had no wish to get into any entanglements. His primary purpose was to deliver the cattle to Mr. Bellefontaine at the Slash Bell Ranch. And the best way to do that was to just stay in the private car until they were able to get under way again.
The initial crowd around the bodies had dissipated, so that only one man remained. He was a very large man, at least six feet five or more, and well-proportioned to his size.
Duff wondered why he seemed to be so interested in the gruesome display. Despite his earlier thought that he would not get any further involved, he stepped into the depot to speak with the stationmaster about the bodies.
“You think I like having them lying out there?” the stationmaster replied to Duff’s inquiry. “Sheriff Weldon said that he would have Lonnie Welch . . . never mind, here he is now.”
Lonnie Welch was a rather tall, thin, almost cadaverous man, wearing a cutaway jacket, striped pants, and a top hat.
“It’s about time you got here, Welch. If these bodies lay out there much longer, they’re likely to commence smelling,” the stationmaster said.
“I’m very sorry for the delay, Mr. Lester, but I had a subject that needed my attention. I’ve brought a couple men with me. We can move them now.”
“Yeah, well, you might have to move Big Tom out of the way. He’s been out there, just starin’ down at his brother, for the last fifteen minutes.”
“I have a great deal of experience dealing with the bereaved. I can deal with Big Tom,” Welch replied.
“Yeah, well he”—Lester stopped in mid-sentence, then continued—“doesn’t appear to be there right now.”
Duff watched as Welch directed a couple of his men toward the bodies, then, leaving the depot, he continued on his original mission of buying bread. He was halfway across the street when he sensed a sudden movement behind him. Before he could turn, he felt a blow to the side of his head. He saw stars, but even as he was being hit he was reacting to the movement, and though it didn’t prevent the attack, it did prevent him from being knocked down.
When his attacker swung at him a second time, Duff was able to avoid him. It was also when he saw that it was the same big man he had seen standing over the four bodies. The man the stationmaster had identified as Big Tom.
“Mister,” the big man said with a low growl, “one o’ them men you kilt was my brother, ’n I aim to settle accounts for ’im.”
“You must be Big Tom,” Duff said.
“You’ve heard of me, huh? Well, if you’ve heard about me, you ought to have know’d that I wasn’t goin’ to let you kill my baby brother ’n not do nothin’ about it.”
“I’m sorry about your brother,” Duff said, coming up on his toes and moving about to be ready for Big Tom’s next attempt. “Maybe he should have considered another line of business besides robbery. Which of them was your brother?”
“It was Abner Grant, is who it was,” Big Tom said, then he swung wildly at Duff.
Duff slipped the punch easily, then counterpunched with a quick, left jab to the big man’s face. It was a good, well-hit blow, but Big Tom just flinched once, then laughed a low, evil laugh.
“I’m goin’ to kill you with my bare hands. It’s goin’ to be a fair fight, all right, but you’re goin’ to wind up gettin’ yourself kilt. That way they can’t nobody say it was murder.” He topped off his long dissertation with a rush toward Duff.
Duff stepped aside, avoiding him as gracefully as a matador might sidestep a charging bull. And like a charging bull, Grant slammed into a hitching rail, smashing through it as if it were kindling.
He turned and faced Duff again. “You’re kind of a slippery one, ain’t you? Well, you can dodge all you want. You ain’t gettin’ away from me.”
The fight had drawn several onlookers, and they stood out in the street watching as the two men circled around for a moment, holding their fists doubled in front of them, each trying to test the mettle of the other.
Grant swung another club-like swing, which Duff was again able to avoid. Duff counterpunched and he scored well, but again, Grant shrugged it off.”
“Who’s that feller Big Tom’s afightin’ with?” someone in the crowd asked.
“I don’t know. All I know is, whatever he done to get Big Tom mad wasn’t very smart of him.”
As the fight continued, Duff managed to avoid the wild swings while scoring easily with his coun-terpunches. And though Grant laughed off his early blows, Duff was a big, strong man in his own right, and his punches were starting to have a cumulative effect. Both of Grant’s eyes began to puff up, and there was a nasty cut on his upper lip. Duff landed a hard, well-placed left on the bridge of Grant’s nose, and it began bleeding heavily as the blood streamed in rivulets down his teeth and chin.
Except for the opening blow, he hadn’t managed to connect with any of his wild swings.
“I believe that feller is a-winnin’ this fig
ht,” one of the onlookers said. “Look at Big Tom. Damn. He’s bleedin’ like a stuck pig.”
“Big Tom ain’t give up, though. You know what a strong sumbitch he is. Chances are, he’s only got to hit that feller one time, ’n it’ll be all over,” another answered.
Grant continued to swing, and after four or five such swinging blows, Duff saw an opening that he could use. He timed it, and on Grant’s next swing, Duff threw a solid right, straight at the place where he knew Grant’s sore nose would be. The blow was timed perfectly and Duff had the satisfaction of hearing a bellow of pain from his opponent for the first time.
Grant was obviously growing more tired, and he began charging more and swinging less. Duff got set for one of his charges, then stepped to the side as Grant rushed by with his head down. Like a matador thrusting his sword into the bull in a killing lunge, Duff sent a powerful right jab to Grant’s jaw. Grant went down and out.
“I’ll be damned! Look at that! I never thought I woulda seen anyone whup Big Tom.”
Duff was a little winded from the exercise, and he could still feel the effects of the opening blow. He held his hand up to his ear, but pulled it away quickly because of the tenderness of the ear.
“What’s your name, mister?” one of the men in the crowd asked.
“MacCallister. Duff MacCallister.”
“Well, Mr. MacCallister, you just done somethin’ there ain’t nobody else ever been able to do. Big Tom Grant has lorded it over ever’one for ’bout as long as I can ’member.”
“This oughta take ’im down a notch or two,” another said.
“Wait a minute. I seen you down at the depot. You’re the one that kilt them four boys for trying to rob the train, ain’t you?”
“Yeah, he is,” another said. “Abner Grant was one of ’em, don’t you know? That’s why Big Tom come after ’im the way he done.”
Big Tom groaned, then sat up. Duff reached down to offer his hand, to help him to his feet, and the offer was accepted.
“Is it over between us?” Duff asked.
The big man held his hand to his jaw. “Yeah. Is it true, what they’re sayin’? Did my brother try to rob the train?”
“Aye, ’tis true.”
“I knew he was goin’ to wind up like this someday. Pa knew it, too. He told me a long time ago that my little brother warn’t no good.”
“I’m sorry I was a part of his demise.”
“His what?”
“I’m sorry I’m the one who had to kill him.”
“Yeah, well, it’s done now, ’n if it hadn’ta been you, it woulda been someone else. At least I won’t have to be worryin’ ’bout him anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” Duff repeated.
Bit Tom nodded. “I reckon I’d best go tell Pa what happened.”
“Big Tom?” said one of the men who had come to watch the fight.”
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t you step into my office and let me take a look at that nose for you? And get you cleaned up. I don’t expect you would like to see your father with blood all over your face.”
Big Tom put his hand to his nose gingerly, then winced. “Yeah. Thanks, Doc. I’d appreciate that.”
Duff watched Big Tom and the doctor walk off, then he continued on his own task, which was to buy a loaf of freshly baked bread.
* * *
“What took you so long?” Elmer asked later as Duff returned with bread, jam, and butter.”
“I had to find a place where I could buy butter,” he said, holding up the container.
Blanco County, Texas
Somewhere in the predawn darkness a calf bawled anxiously and its mother answered. In the distance, a coyote sent up its long, lonesome wail, while out in the pond, frogs thrummed their night song. The moon was a thin sliver of silver, but the night was alive with stars . . . from the very bright, shining lights, all the way down to those stars which weren’t visible as individual bodies but whose glow added to the luminous powder that dusted the distant sky.
Around the milling shapes of shadows that made up the small herd rode three cowboys known as “nighthawks.” Their job was to keep watch over the herd during the night.
Considerably younger than the other two, Billy asked, “Fendall, do you mean to tell me you’ve actually been up in one of them balloons?”
“Yep, I sure did. Back in Dallas, it was,” Cooter answered. “This aeronaut—”
“This what?” Billy interrupted.
“Aeronaut. That’s what they call a feller that flies through the air in one of them balloons. Anyhow, he come to the fair in Dallas ’n he brung his balloon with ’im. If you gived him a dollar, why he’d let you go up in the balloon with ’im. So, I give ’im a dollar, then I clumb into the basket, then me ’n him went up in that balloon. So, I reckon you can say I’m one o’ them aeronauts too.”
“How high did you go?”
“Hell, we went all the up to the end of the rope.”
“The end of the rope?”
“Yeah, the balloon was tied to a rope, you see, ’n when we went up, why, we went to the end of the rope.”
“Then you didn’t really go up in the balloon, did you? I mean, not way up to float free in the sky.”
“Well, that woulda been kinda foolish, wouldn’t it? I mean, how would we a-got back to the fair?”
“Well then, you ain’t really no aeronaut. I mean, not if you was tied down to the ground the whole time. Hell, that ain’t no different from climbin’ up on the roof of a barn ’n havin’ yourself a look aroun’. I thought you had really done it. I mean, gone way up into the sky as high as the clouds.”
“Well, I’m a lot more of a aeronaut than you or anyone else I know. Are you a-tellin’ me you wouldn’ta done it if you’d been there?”
Billy smiled. “Yeah. I would rather go all the way up to the clouds, but I woulda done that, if that was all I could do.”
The calf’s call for his mother came again, with more insistence. The mother’s answer had a degree of anxiousness to it.
“Sounds like one of ’em’s wandered off,” Billy said. “I’ll go find it.”
“Hell, why bother? It’ll find its own way back.”
“I don’t mind.” Billy slapped his legs against the side of his horse and rode off, disappearing in the darkness.
“Cooter, did you really go up in that there balloon or was you just a-funnin’ the boy?” the other rider asked.
“I done it all right, but I wouldn’ta done it if it hadn’t been tied down by that rope.”
Suddenly, from the darkness came a loud, bloodcurdling scream, filled with such terror that both cowboys shivered all the way down to their boots.
“What the hell was that?”
Billy’s horse came running by then, its saddle empty.
“Sumbitch! That was Billy!”
Though both were wearing guns, neither man was actually a gunman. Nevertheless, their friend was in trouble, and feeling the unfamiliar weight of pistols in their hand, they rode to his aid.
A moment later, gunshots erupted in the night, their muzzle flashes lighting up the herd.
“Jesus! What’s happening? Who is it? They’re all around us!” one of the cowboys shouted in terror, firing his gun wildly in the dark.
The two men tried to fight back, but they were young, inexperienced, scared, and outnumbered. In less than a minute, both had been shot from their saddles and then the night grew still, save for the restless shuffle of the herd of cattle.
At some distance away, a man with dark hair, dark eyes, and a purple scar slashed down his left cheek sat his saddle. Dirk Kendrick had brought men there specifically to steal cattle, but he had not been personally involved.
One of his men, with the smell of death still in his nostrils, rode up to him. Like Kendrick, the rider had a blue kerchief tied around his neck. “That’s it. We kilt all three of them cowboys and took a look all around the herd. There ain’t no one else ridin’ nighthawk.”
Chapter Six
San Saba County Courthouse, San Saba,Texas
“Here ye, hear ye, hear ye! This here trial is about to commence, the Honorable Anthony Craig presidin’,” the bailiff shouted. “Everybody stand respectful.”
Judge Craig came out of a back room. After taking his seat at the bench, he adjusted the glasses on the end of his nose, then cleared his throat. “Would the bailiff please bring the accused before the bench?”
The bailiff, who was leaning against the side wall, spit a quid of tobacco into the brass spittoon, then walked over to the table where the defendant, Roy Kelly, sat next to his court-appointed lawyer, Robert Gilmore. “Get up, you,” the bailiff growled. “Present yourself before the judge.”
Roy was handcuffed and had shackles on his ankles. He shuffled up to stand in front of the judge. Gilmore went with him.
“Roy Kelly, you stand accused of the crime of ridin’ for that butcherin’, thievin’, rapin’ Bloody Bill Anderson,” the judge said. “How do you plead?”
“Judge, what the hell are you talkin’ about? The war’s over! Hell, it’s been over for twenty years now!” Kelly replied.
“There is no statute of limitations on murder.”
“It ain’t murder when you are in a war,” Kelly said.
“How do you plead?” the judge asked again.
“Your Honor, if it please the court,” Gilmore said.
“You got somethin’ to say to this court, Mr. Gilmore?” Judge Craig asked.
“Yes, Your Honor. Bloody Bill Anderson did most of his murderin’ and thievin’ up in Kansas and Missouri,” the lawyer said.
“What’s your point, Mr. Gilmore?”
“Well, Your Honor, I don’t know why we’re trying Mr. Kelly in Texas for any murdering and thieving he may have done while he was up in Kansas. I move that this case be dismissed for lack of proper jurisdiction.”
Ten Guns from Texas Page 4