Outrage at Blanco

by Bill Crider

  That idea didn’t appeal to Shag at all.

  He had to do something, though, whether it was dangerous or not, so he went around to the side of the building where his horse was tied and got in the saddle. He’d just ride out to see who was coming in. There shouldn’t be any harm or danger in that. He hoped.

  By the time he got to the edge of town, the riders were close enough to identify. It was old Jonathan Crossland and Ellie Taine, and they had a man with them, a rough-looking man that Shag didn’t recognize. The man was riding his horse, but Jonathan Crossland was holding the reins, leading the animal along.

  Shag couldn’t quite figure out what Miz Taine was doing with Jonathan, but if he was to believe the note that had been pinned to Rawls Dawson’s vest, the man with them must be one of the robbers who’d killed the marshal.

  The man sure didn’t look much like a dangerous outlaw now, slumped in the saddle the way he was, and Shag wondered if there was some way he could take advantage of the situation, maybe get some of the credit. That was the kind of thing that would make him look good in town.

  He hailed the riders. “Howdy, Mr. Crossland, Miz Taine. Who’s that y’all got with you?”

  “This here’s one of the killers that robbed our bank,” Jonathan said. “We’re bringin’ him in.”

  Shag heard the “we.” “You mean Miz Taine—”

  “Yep,” Jonathan said. “She went with me. We got another one of ’em too, but he’s still out where he fell. You don’t have to be in any rush to send after him.”

  Damnation, Shag thought. That wasn’t goin’ to look too good. An old, dying man and a woman had gone out and tracked down the robbers while he sat on his butt and waited on the Rangers to arrive in town.

  “Well,” he said, “I surely do appreciate you bringin’ him in. I guess I can take over now. We got a nice little cell just waitin’ for him down at the jail.”

  He looked at Ben, who sat quietly, still slouching in the saddle, his wrists bound, his crossed hands resting on the saddle horn.

  “He looks about half dead,” Shag said. “Must’ve give you a little bit of a fight.”

  “Not much of one,” Ellie said.

  Shag didn’t know exactly what to make of that. “We’ll just see that he don’t do any more fightin’ for a long time,” he said.

  Jonathan was reluctant to hand over the prisoner, but Shag was the law. He was about to pass Tillman the reins when Ben went into action.

  Ben had been docile for the entire ride, but only because he was waiting for the right opportunity. It looked like this was the only one he was going to get.

  He jerked upright and kicked his heels as hard as he could into his horse’s sides. The animal jumped forward, smashing into Jonathan Crossland’s mount and spilling the old man into the dirt.

  Jonathan’s horse shied sideways into Shag’s mare. She danced back, and while Shag tried to bring her under control, Ben’s horse raced forward.

  Ben knew that surprise was the only thing he had going for him, that and the fact that the damn woman was too soft-hearted to shoot him. If she’d wanted him dead, she’d have let the old man kill him last night.

  If he could get through the town without being stopped, he could get away again. He was sure of it. His hands were tied, but he could still ride. He could take care of his hands easily enough when he had a little time to himself.

  He felt a tingling in his veins, and he knew he was going to make it. He knew it just like he knew that sooner or later he was going to find O’Grady and get his share of the money. No woman could stop him, not even with the help of some sick old man, and no half-witted lawman could stop him, either.

  He was still thinking that way when he heard the boom on the Navy Colt behind him.

  Surprised, he turned his head to see the woman, still astride her horse but lifting herself in the stirrups, holding the big pistol in both hands and firing in his direction.

  “God damn,” he said. He was scared, but the bullet didn’t come anywhere close.

  The pistol boomed again.

  “God damn,” Ben said again, bending low over the saddle. “She just won’t quit.”

  He didn’t say anything the next time. He didn’t have a chance. The .36 caliber bullet struck him in the lower back, hitting his spine and straightening him up in the saddle before it ricocheted off the hard bone.

  The next bullet hit him about a foot higher, almost in the middle of the back, where it glanced off his rib cage and entered his heart. The heart ruptured instantly, and Ben fell to the left and out of the saddle.

  But he didn’t leave his mount entirely. His bound wrists hung on the saddle horn. The horse kept on running, Ben dangling on the side, his boots dragging twin trails through the dirt of Blanco’s main street.

  Shag had his horse under control now, and he sat watching, open-mouthed. God a’mighty, he thought. He’d never seen anything quite like it.

  Ellie fired again.

  “You can stop that now,” Shag said, figuring she was out of bullets anyhow. “I think you got him. We better see about Mr. Crossland.”

  Ellie lowered the pistol slowly. There was nothing in her face except concern for Jonathan.

  Shag had dismounted and was kneeling by the old man.

  “Is he all right?” Ellie said.

  “I don’t think so,” Shag said.

  The Ranger was a man named Paul Utley, and he was about as big a man as Shag Tillman had ever seen, well over six feet tall, and wide enough for his shadow to darken a barn door if he stood close by. He had on a leather vest, with a shiny silver badge pinned to it. The badge had been handmade from some kind of big silver coin.

  Shag had just finished telling Utley the story of the past day and night as best he could piece it together from what he’d been told by Ellie Taine. She was in a hurry, and she hadn’t ever explained why she was with Crossland. Shag didn’t see that it mattered much, anyhow. What mattered was that the Ranger got the gist of the story and didn’t think that Shag had been neglectful of his duties.

  “So what you’re telling me is that this old man and this woman brought one of the bank robbers into town and killed him when he tried to make a getaway. And they killed another one and left him out there somewhere,” Utley said, gesturing with his thumb toward the open door.

  They were sitting in the jail, Shag behind the marshal’s desk, Utley in front. They had to sit. Utley was nearly too tall to stand in the low-ceilinged room, at least with his high-crowned hat on.

  “That’s right,” Shag said. “That’s exactly right.”

  “And these robbers killed the old man’s son and the marshal of this town, not to mention the woman’s husband and a teller at the bank.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s what they did.”

  “And there’s one of them still on the loose.”

  Shag nodded. He hated to own up to it, but that was right, too.

  “You goin’ out after him?” he said.

  “Yes. But I expect that he’s a long time gone by now.”

  Shag wondered if there was an implied criticism in Utley’s tone, but he couldn’t detect it if it was there.

  He decided he’d better say something anyway. “We went out after ’em, but their tracks was washed out by the rain. Marshal Dawson said so.”

  “I’m sure he was right,” Utley said. “Nevertheless, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You don’t seem in much of a hurry,” Shag said.

  And that was a fact. The Ranger had arrived around the middle of the morning, and he’d taken his good time in getting around to talking to Shag and hearing the straight of the story. He’d talked to Mr. Wiley at the bank first, and then to old man Whistler.

  “No need to get in a rush,” Utley said. “He’s got too much of a start for that. Anyway, your marshal, the one that got killed, was a good man. He sent a description of the three men in his telegram, and if I’ve got this story right, the only one of them left is a red-headed Irishman.”


  “As best we can tell,” Shag said.

  “Well, then, I’d say that his best chance of crossing the border would be down around Laredo. We’ve got a Ranger station there, and if he comes anywhere near, we’ll get him.”

  There was a quiet confidence in the Ranger’s voice that Shag envied. He believed every word that the Ranger said.

  “I just bet you will,” he said.

  “And just for good measure, I’ll be going along behind him,” Utley said. “I’m not a betting man, myself, but if I were, I wouldn’t give good odds on his chances.”

  Shag nodded. “Me neither.”

  “I’m glad you’re in agreement. Now, suppose you tell me more about this old man and the woman who caught up with the other two.”

  Shag was glad to get onto another subject before the Ranger could ask him to come along after O’Grady, and he eagerly launched into the story of Jonathan Crossland’s illness and the death of Burt Taine.

  The doctor hadn’t wanted to allow Jonathan Crossland to return home, but Ellie had insisted, so the doctor, with the help of some of the onlookers who had gathered at the sound of the shooting, loaded Jonathan into the doctor’s wagon. Ellie followed them to the ranch on horseback.

  It was cool and quiet in Jonathan’s room now. The doctor had gone back to town, telling Ellie that there was nothing more that he could do.

  “I don’t know why he’s lived this long,” the doctor said. “It’s a wonder he didn’t just fall out of the saddle and die when he first got on a horse. If I didn’t see the evidence of it, I wouldn’t believe he’d ridden half a mile, much less done what you’ve told me.”

  “He did it,” Ellie said.

  “There’s no need for you to stay,” the doctor said. “He has a cook who comes in. There’s nothing you can do.”

  “I’ll stay,” Ellie said.

  She sat there now, in a hard wooden chair beside Jonathan’s bed, watching the old man sleep, wondering if he would ever wake up again. It didn’t seem fair to her, somehow, the way things had turned out.

  Jonathan had seemed just fine on the ride back to town, maybe even better than he had the day before. She had almost convinced herself that he would be all right, though he’d told her more than once that he wouldn’t.

  “Wishin’ for it won’t make it so,” he said at one point. “I’ve wished for a good many things in my life, but I don’t think I ever got a one of ’em just because of the wish. I had to do somethin’ or other ever’ single time, and this time there’s not a thing I can do.”

  Nevertheless, he had seemed fine, talking, laughing, even trying to josh their prisoner, who just slumped on the horse and never said a thing.

  His sullenness was all just pretense, Ellie saw now. He’d managed to kill Jonathan in the end, just by knocking him off his horse, or that was the way it seemed.

  Ellie knew it wasn’t really that way at all. A little fall like that wouldn’t have bothered a healthy man a bit. So it wasn’t the fall. It was whatever had been wrong all along.

  She looked at Jonathan again. She hoped that he’d wake up one more time. There was something she wanted to tell him.

  It was mid-afternoon before he stirred. At first Ellie thought he was only dreaming, but after a minute he opened his eyes and looked around the room.

  “Home,” he said.

  “Yes,” Ellie said. “You’re home. How do you feel?”

  Jonathan tried to sit up. Pain twisted his face, but he pushed himself up and leaned back against the headboard.

  He rested a minute, and then said, “I’ve felt better.”

  “Would you like some water?”

  “Now that’s a fine idea, if you wouldn’t mind pouring it for me.”

  Ellie took a pitcher off the stand by his bed and poured the water into a cup. She handed it to Jonathan, who took it in both hands to steady it. He put the cup to his lips and drank the water.

  “I wanted to thank you,” Ellie said as he drank. “For going with me.”

  “Glad to do it,” he said, handing Ellie the empty cup. “I wasn’t much help, but I had me a pretty good time.” He looked around the room. “The doc been here?”

  “Yes,” Ellie said.

  “Bet he was surprised to hear about our little trip.”

  Ellie smiled. “He was.”

  “Figgered. I didn’t expect he’d ever see me again until he saw me in a pine box.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” Ellie said.

  “Just a little joke,” Jonathan said. “I wish he’d stuck around for a while, though. Somethin’ I got to do.”

  There was a knock on the front door.

  “I’ll go,” Ellie said.

  “I thank you. Whoever it is, you bring ’em in here. And I’d appreciate it right much if you could go in the other room over there and bring me a piece of paper and a pencil.”

  Ellie didn’t know what he wanted paper for, but she said, “Of course. Let me get the door first.”

  The man filled the doorway. “I’m Paul Utley,” he said. “Texas Rangers. Are you Mrs. Taine?”

  Ellie told him that she was.

  Utley took off his hat. “I wonder if I could talk to you and Mr. Crossland a minute.”

  “He’s very weak,” Ellie said.

  “I won’t take long.”

  Ellie led him to the bedroom, stopping off for a piece of paper and a pencil on the way. Then she introduced Utley.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Jonathan said. “Sorry I can’t get up to shake your hand.”

  Utley laughed and leaned down, extending his hand. “I’m pleased to shake with you any way I can.”

  “I guess you wanta hear about those two outlaws,” Jonathan said.

  “That’s right,” Utley said. “If you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind,” Jonathan said.

  After Jonathan was finished, Utley thought for a second. “Thieves fall out, you think?”

  “Sure enough,” Jonathan said. The effort of talking had tired him, but he had shushed Ellie when she tried to stop him. “The one we brought in was wounded, and we sure didn’t shoot him. Must’ve been the other partner.”

  “Who’s still out there.”

  “Dead or alive, one or the other,” Jonathan said. “I’d say alive, since the one we brought in didn’t have the money, and neither did the other one we met up with.”

  “But the third one could be wounded as well,” Utley said.

  “Could be.”

  “Well, I appreciate your telling me all this. I’m sure we’ll get the third one. I’ll go now and leave you alone.”

  “I wish you’d stay a minute,” Jonathan said. “There’s somethin’ I’m of a mind to do, and I need a favor.”

  “What’s that?” Utley said.

  “I want to write a new will,” Jonathan said.

  Jonathan Crossland died in his sleep that night.

  Ellie was beside the bed all night, and she never closed her eyes, but he slipped so quietly from life to death that she never knew when the moment occurred. His skin was cool to the touch when she took his hand in the early morning light that came through the window, so she knew it had been some time earlier, maybe as much as an hour.

  She crossed his arms on his chest and pulled the blanket up to his chin. Then she stood looking down at him. Tears welled in her eyes, but she brushed them away. There was no need for tears. Jonathan Crossland had gotten what he wanted, a day and a night of freedom from the pain. And now he would be free of it forever.

  The enormity of what he had done for her the previous afternoon was still at the forefront of her mind. She only hoped that she was up to the challenge.

  “I can’t take it,” she said when he told her what he was going to do.

  “Yes, you can, and it’s all legal. Couldn’t ask for a better witness to a last will and testament than a Texas Ranger.”

  “If I take it, I can’t handle it,” Ellie said.

  “Shoot,” Jonathan sa
id. “A woman that can hunt down the men that killed her husband, and you say you can’t handle a little old ranch? I grant you it won’t be easy. I’m not gonna give you the money. It’s already promised to them orphans.”

  Ellie had finally given in. “I’ll do my best,” she said.

  “I know that,” Jonathan said. It was just about the last thing he’d said to her.

  She looked down at his face and smoothed his brow with a work-hardened hand.

  “I’ll do my best,” she said again.

  O’Grady looked out over the muddy Rio Grande. It was flat and smooth and sluggish. The sun glinted off its surface, and O’Grady could see a sand bar about halfway across.

  He leaned over and patted his horse’s neck. “Well, old fella, looks like we made it.”

  The horse was drinking from the river and made no response. The other horse, the one O’Grady had taken from Ben, was drinking as well.

  O’Grady had not gone to Laredo. He’d thought about it, but he was worried about the Ranger station there. You never knew what that small-town marshal might have done. He might have alerted all the law in the state.

  So O’Grady had gone farther west, toward Eagle Pass and Piedras Negras. He could cross the river a long way from Laredo and work his way back down to the border town if he wanted to. He didn’t think he would, though. He thought he’d head toward Monterey.

  He hefted the money sack. He had enough there to last him a long, long time. Maybe he’d have to spend the rest of his life south of the border, but he might not have to take any more risks. He could buy a little store or maybe a cantina. It was worth a try.

  He thought for a minute about Ben. There had been a time or two earlier in the day when O’Grady had thought there might be someone on his trail, a ways back. There was nothing special he could point to. It was just a feeling he had.

  It didn’t matter now, though. Once he was across that river, everything would be different.

  The horses were through drinking, and O’Grady urged them forward. He knew that he might never return to Texas again, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t even look back.