Red River Ruse

by James Reasoner

  "That's not unusual," Maxwell said when Cambridge mentioned it, confirming what Cambridge himself had already noticed during his and Nacho's stay at the stage station. "This is the main road runnin' north and south in these parts, and there's several trails headin' east around here, too. Not to mention the smaller ones goin' west, through the breaks, although folks don't use them as much. Drifters ride through all the time."

  Nacho was at the stove, checking on the stew that was simmering for supper. He looked up and asked curiously, "Why are you so interested in a bunch of saddle bums, Billy? We see more than our share of them in Pecos, too."

  "Yes, but I figure that's how Theodore gets his messages to the gang," Cambridge replied. "One of the outlaws rides up, buys something, and then passes a high-sign to Theodore if there's a meeting. It works the same way in reverse. If Theodore has something to say to Graham, he gives a signal to the messenger and then meets Graham later up by the river."

  Maxwell looked doubtful. "You're sayin' that one of them outlaws stops at the tradin' post every day?"

  "No, I don't think that's likely," Cambridge said shaking his head. "They probably have some sort of schedule, though, so that one of the gang—a different one each time, so that people will be less likely to recognize him—comes by every few days. They wouldn't need to be in constant touch with Theodore, but they probably do check in a couple of times a week. He met with Graham last night, which means the gang's messenger was here yesterday to let him know about the rendezvous. That's why I said it would probably be a day or two before our plan will do any good. We've got to keep an eye on Theodore now, though, just in case I'm wrong about some of the particulars."

  "I'm glad you're along to do all this heavy thinking, Billy," Nacho said with a grin. "Me, it makes my head hurt."

  Maxwell paced back to the window where he could see the trading post. "Well, I'll be glad when it's all over," he said bleakly. Both Nacho and Cambridge looked at his sagging shoulders with sympathy, then exchanged a glance. Nacho shrugged, and shook his head. Life took some mighty strange twists sometimes.

  If Theodore passed along a message during the afternoon, the watchers had no way of knowing it. But he stuck close to the trading post, never venturing any farther than the barn. Sandra came outside once, cast a quick look toward the stage station, then looked away just as quickly. Nacho happened to be on lookout duty at the moment, and he felt that he could sense the girl's despair and desperation even at this distance. He wished there had been some way to get her out of there and keep her out without alerting Theodore that something was wrong. Everything had to stay as normal as possible, until they had a chance to trail Graham back to the hide-out.

  They took turns through supper, one man watching while the other two ate. Then Nacho helped Maxwell change the team on a northbound coach that came through during the evening, while Cambridge stayed at the window. Theodore seemed to be going about his business normally, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Full darkness settled down, and the hour wound on toward nine o'clock.

  'The boy'll be closin' up soon," Maxwell commented, his voice showing the strain of this long day. "He sometimes stays open until ten, but not usually. One of us might ought to slip out where we can keep a better eye on his barn. He might be able to sneak out of the tradin' post without us seein' him, now that it's dark, but he couldn't ride off without us hearin' him."

  Cambridge nodded. "That's a good idea. You want the job, Nacho, or would you rather I did it?"

  Nacho was at the window again, pulled back to one side of it so that he could edge an eye past the facing and see the trading post without being too obvious. He said, "I'll go, Billy. I've had more practice being quiet."

  "Not likely," Cambridge snorted. "I was fighting Indians before you were born, my friend, and when you fight Indians, you've got to adopt their tactics if you're going to win. I remember a time when the Ranger company I was in had to slip up on a Comanche village . . ."

  "Wait a minute, Billy," Nacho said sharply as he peered through the window. "I always like to hear your stories, but I think you better come look at this. Riders coming."

  "Coming where?" Cambridge asked as he got up from the table. "Here? Or the trading post?"

  Nacho shook his head. "I don't know, but I don't like the looks of this." A curse ripped out of him in Spanish as he grabbed for the gun on his hip. "It's the bandidos!"

  Cambridge and Maxwell bolted to his side and peered out the window with him. A dozen men on horseback had ridden into the area of light cast by the lanterns burning on the front porch of the trading post. They wore the distinctive dusters and had bandannas tied over their faces. Nacho even recognized some of the horses.

  "What the hell!" Cambridge muttered. "Are they planning to hold up the place?"

  There were a couple of horses and a wagon tied up in front of the trading post, all of them belonging to customers. If gunplay broke out now, those customers might come rushing out of the store and into the path of the bullets. Nacho's grip tightened on the butt of his Colt. He wanted to open fire on the riders, but he held down that urge for the time being, until they saw what was going to happen.

  "Why'd they ride up there bold as brass?" Maxwell asked.

  "I don't know, but we'd better blow out that lamp, or they'll notice us looking out at them," Cambridge said. Nacho ran over to the table and blew out the lantern. Now, with no light behind them, they could watch the outlaws without being noticed.

  Nacho picked out the leader of the gang, the tall man with pale hair hanging down the back of his neck. That was the man who had shot him. The vaquero's temper surged up again, and Cambridge must have sensed his tension.

  "Easy, Nacho," the lawyer breathed. "We'll know what they're up to soon enough."

  Indeed, the riders were swinging down from their saddles and handing their reins to one of the members of the gang. The others drew their guns and went up the steps to the porch, then strode into the trading post.

  'They're raidin' the place," Maxwell breathed. "Sandy's in there . . . !"

  He whirled around and dashed across the room, snatching the Winchester that hung on pegs beside the front door. "Jake!" Cambridge cried, but he was too late. The stationkeeper threw the door open and plunged out into the night.

  Nacho ran after him, saying over his shoulder, "It's too late for plans now, Billy. We got to stop them!"

  As he ducked through the door, Nacho heard Cambridge behind him. Maxwell was already halfway across the open space between the stage station and the trading post. So far, the outlaw who had been left with the horses hadn't noticed his approach, but that changed in the next few seconds. The man heard the pounding of running footsteps and spun around. The light from the porch shone on the blued steel barrel of the gun in his hand.

  Maxwell didn't slow down or try to swerve, just ran straight on, a target that was getting better by the second. He wasn't thinking about anything except reaching Sandra. Nacho knew that he was liable to run right into a bullet unless something happened to distract the outlaw.

  Jerking to a stop, Nacho lifted his Colt and triggered it, sending a bullet past Jake Maxwell. The outlaw's pistol boomed a second later, but the bullet screamed off into the night. Nacho's shot hadn't hit anything, but it had distracted the man enough to make him miss.

  The twin explosions jolted some sense back into Maxwell. He went to one knee, lifted the Winchester, socketed the butt against his shoulder, and squeezed off a shot. The crack of the rifle was followed by a yell of pain as the outlaw was thrown backward by the bullet crashing into his shoulder. He let go of both his gun and the reins, and the horses started milling around, made skittish by the gunfire.

  "Spread out!" Cambridge called. Nacho veered to the right while the lawyer went to the left. Maxwell was on his feet again, charging toward the front door of the trading post, the leading point of the attacking triangle.

  Shots broke out inside the store, a fusillade that was mixed with screams and shoute
d curses. Nacho offered up a prayer as he raced toward the right end of the porch. It sounded like Graham and the rest of the gang were slaughtering everyone in there.

  Suddenly, several of the duster-clad outlaws came boiling out the door. They spotted Maxwell and triggered off several shots at him, forcing the stationkeeper to throw himself to the side. Maxwell rolled behind the shelter of the parked wagon.

  Nacho snapped off a shot as he reached the end of the porch. He caught a glimpse of Cambridge as the lawyer made the left end. They would have the outlaws in a crossfire now as they emerged from the door of the trading post. Nacho fired again and saw one of the outlaws stagger, a bright red stain blooming on the shoulder of his duster. Muzzle flashes winked from the other end of the porch as Cambridge opened fire.

  Tucking back around the corner of the building as the bandits flung lead back at him, Nacho crouched, counted three, and then emerged to squeeze off two more shots. That emptied his Colt. He ducked behind cover again and reached for the loops on his shell belt to reload.

  As he thumbed fresh cartridges into the cylinder, he heard the crack of Maxwell's Winchester again. From the sound of it, the stationkeeper was giving a good account of himself. As Nacho let the loading gate snap shut, Maxwell shouted, "Sandy!"

  Darting out from behind the building, Nacho saw flames through the big window in the front of the store. Bright yellow-red tongues of fire were shooting up all through the place, and smoke began to billow out through the open door. The porch was on fire in a couple of places where stray bullets had shattered the hanging lanterns. The smoke from the fire and the haze of powdersmoke in the air made it hard to see as the outlaws leaped from the porch and tried to catch their horses. Nacho started to shoot again, then eased off on the trigger when he realized he couldn't see what he was shooting at. If the bandits had taken hostages—and he certainly wouldn't put it past them—then his bullets might hit an innocent prisoner. He couldn't take that chance.

  Cambridge's six-shooter had fallen silent, too, and so had Maxwell's Winchester. Somewhere in the smoke-choked darkness, Maxwell shouted Sandra's name again. Nacho heard hoofbeats and knew some of the gang were getting away. A moment later, boots pounded on the planks of the porch and Maxwell cried once more, "Sandy!"

  Nacho jammed his Colt back in the holster and placed a hand on the porch. He vaulted up, ignoring the pain from the wound in his side. He'd hurt it so many times since the hold-up that the twinges of pain were getting to be like old friends to him. Trying to wave some of the smoke away from his stinging eyes and leaping around the small fires, he made his way toward the front door.

  The inside of the store was like a scene from a fire-and-brimstone preacher's version of hell. Flames leaped everywhere and smoke rolled out through the door. A figure loomed up in the opening, heading inside that inferno, and Nacho lunged forward to grab the man. As he did so, Cambridge appeared from the other side and latched on to that arm, and Nacho saw that not surprisingly they had hold of Jake Maxwell.

  "Le' go of me!" Maxwell shouted thickly. "Sandy's in there!"

  "If she is you can't help her!" Cambridge told him, trying to pull Maxwell back away from the hellish heat that was coming from the store. Nacho added his efforts, but Maxwell was out of his head and had more than his normal strength. It took both of the West Texans several long moments to wrestle him away from the door and across the porch to the steps. Nacho slipped and fell when he reached the edge, but he hung on tightly to Maxwell and took both of the others with him when he went down.

  The three of them sprawled in the dirt in front of the store. Nacho pushed himself up on an elbow and looked around. All the outlaws seemed to be gone, even the ones who had been wounded in the battle. The horses that had been tied up at the hitch rack had pulled loose and run off during the fighting, and so had the wagon team. Nacho spotted them standing about fifty yards down the road. There was no sign of anyone or anything else.

  With a crash that sent sparks spiraling high into the night sky, the roof of the trading post collapsed. Most of the smoke went straight up now, instead of coming through the door, so visibility in the yard in front of the store improved rapidly as Nacho and Cambridge climbed painfully to their feet. Maxwell only made it as far as his knees. He stayed in that position, staring in disbelief at the blazing building. Grief and shock were etched on his features.

  There was a bloody streak on Cambridge's face where a bullet or a splinter had grazed him. He looked over at Nacho and asked, "Are you all right?"

  Nacho nodded. "They didn't hit me. What about Jake?"

  Maxwell had a bloodstain on the right leg of his pants, high on the thigh. "Just a crease, I imagine," Cambridge said, looking at the stain that appeared black in the harsh glare of the light from the fire. "We'd better get him back to the station and have a look at it when we get the chance. Right now, though, we've got to make sure that fire doesn't spread."

  "But what about the people inside?"

  Cambridge shook his head. "There's no chance for them. The place went up too fast." He put a hand on Maxwell's shoulder. "You stay with Jake to make sure he doesn't do anything foolish. I'll get the bucket from the well and start wetting down the area around the building."

  Nacho did as Cambridge told him, even though he didn't think Maxwell was likely to go charging back in there. The frenzy that had gripped the man earlier seemed to have passed now, leaving him in a state of shock. From the looks of him, he wasn't even going to be moving any time soon.

  Cambridge hurried to the station well and came back with a bucket of water. He splashed it on several places where the fire was trying to spread away from the building. Luckily, the traffic around the trading post had beaten the grass down until there wasn't much left. It wouldn't be difficult to contain the blaze. However, the trading post was a total loss. As the flames died down, it was an almost unrecognizable heap of rubble.

  Suddenly, Cambridge stopped what he was doing and let the water bucket hang in his left hand while he palmed out his Colt with the right. Several figures came staggering toward him out of the shadows, coughing and hanging on to each other for support. Nacho saw them, too, and he reached down to grab Maxwell's shoulder. "Jake, look!" he said urgently. "It's Sandra!"

  Sandra Maxwell was indeed leading the grimy, bedraggled group. With her were three men and another woman, no doubt the customers who had been in the store when the outlaws' raid began. Somehow, they had all miraculously survived the shooting and the fire.

  But there was no sign of Theodore.

  His glassy eyes finally blinking in amazement, Jake Maxwell realized what he was seeing as he stared at the little group, and he came up onto his feet quickly. Breaking into a run, he called, "Sandy!", and when he reached her, he grabbed her and pulled her into a tight embrace.

  Nacho followed at a slower pace and came up to the group of survivors as Cambridge was asking, "What the devil happened in there? How did all of you get out?"

  "It was the devil's own luck, mister," one of the men replied in a voice roughened by the smoke he had breathed before escaping from the store. "The way them outlaws was shootin', they could've killed us all. And then when that big 'un slung the lamp over and started the place on fire, I thought we was goners for sure."

  "Miz Maxwell did it," the other woman said. "She's the one who led us through the smoke to the back door and got us out. We'd be in there right now with poor Mister Maxwell if she hadn't."

  'Theodore didn't get away?" Cambridge asked sharply.

  "Never had a chance," one of the other men replied. "He was dead 'fore the fire started. The leader of the gang emptied his Colt right into Maxwell's chest. Shot him to ribbons, he did."

  Cambridge glanced over at Nacho and then asked the man, "Did they steal anything?"

  "Didn't have a chance to. Y'all started shootin' outside, and then the fire started. I reckon all those ol' boys wanted to do then was get away."

  Nacho could tell that Cambridge's mind was working rapid
ly from the intense look on the attorney's face. Cambridge holstered his gun and said, "If you feel up to it, why don't you men take over here and make sure that fire doesn't get out? We'll take Jake and Sandra back over to the stage station."

  The survivors—two cowhands and a farmer and his wife—were willing to assume responsibility for the chore of keeping the fire contained. Besides, both Cambridge and Nacho knew that some of the other settlers in the area would probably be arriving in minutes. A fire of this size lit up the night sky for miles around, and folks always hurried to the scene of such tragedies to see if they could help.

  "Come on, Jake," Cambridge said gently. "Let's get Sandra back to the station so that she can sit down."

  Maxwell nodded and steered Sandra over to the station, his arm remaining around her shoulders. She leaned heavily against him, still coughing from time to time. Obviously, she had swallowed a lot of smoke before getting out of the burning building.

  Nacho hurried ahead and lit the lamp again, then poured a cup of coffee for Sandra. He hesitated, then took a jug of corn liquor out of the cabinet where Maxwell kept it and splashed some of the moonshine into the cup, too. Sandra would likely need the fortification.

  Maxwell led her in, got her to sit at the table, and gave her the cup. Sandra managed to swallow some of the strong black brew. Maxwell stayed right beside her, hovering over her. It was obvious now to Nacho that Maxwell was in love with her, whether she was his daughter-in-law or not. She was Maxwell's widowed daughter-in-law now, Nacho realized.

  He went over to the stationkeeper and touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jake," he said quietly, "about the trading post and about . . . Theodore."

  Maxwell just shook his head and didn't say anything except to mutter, "Thanks, Nacho."

  Cambridge tugged on Nacho's sleeve. "Come on. We've got to talk about this."

  Nacho nodded in agreement. Despite his comment earlier about heavy thinking making his head hurt, he had been turning over the events of the evening in his mind, too, and he had reached some conclusions that he could hardly believe. He wanted to see what Cambridge had to say about it.