Ride Away

by Smith, Cotton

  Deed blurted, “I’m so sorry.”

  The little girl lifted the bowl so it could be fully seen. “I’m helping Mrs. Beinrigt.”

  “I’m sure you are. I’m sure you are.” Deed realized the little girl had no concept of death. Why should she?

  Her next statement made him wince. “Papa is with Washington now. He was our cat, till he died last year.”

  Deed knelt beside her and brushed away the long strands of hair that had stuck to her warm cheek. “Uh, I’m sure they will be very happy together.”

  She turned to him and declared, “I think Papa will be back in a week or so. Like when he went to El Paso.”

  Deed swallowed and couldn’t think of anything to say.

  From behind them came Atlee Forsyth’s, with what seemed to be an overly bright salutation. “Deed, I’m glad you’re here. Mr. Hannah said you’d be coming inside. There’s plenty of stew and biscuits. Coffee’s hot and fresh.” She wiped her right hand on her apron. “Who are your friends?”

  Deed turned toward her. “This is my brother, Blue Corrigan. We own a ranch not far from Wilkon.” He pointed at Blue, then at Silka. “And this is our best friend and partner. Most folks call him Silka.”

  Silka bowed formally.

  “How nice to meet you,” she said. “Please have a seat. You are most welcome.”

  Blue touched the brim of his hat with his hand. “Glad to meet you, ma’am. Awful sorry about your husband.”

  Her eyes took in his sewn-up sleeve, then went to his face. “Thank you. He was a very good man. But we’ll make do. We have to.” Her eyes brightened. “Caleb would have wanted that.”

  Tade rose from his chair and waved his arm. “Told her she should go with us to El Paso. She won’t go. Maybe you can talk her into going into Wilkon.”

  Still holding the bowl of water, Elizabeth walked over to her mother. “Is that like going to Heaven?”

  “I’ll tell you later, sweetheart. Please be quiet now.”

  Folding her arms, Atlee stared at the three men. “Please sit down. Mr. Balkins informs us the stage will be leaving soon.”

  Mrs. Beinrigt came over and guided Elizabeth back to the couch, asking for her help. Deed sat down at the table with Silka and Blue on either side of him. With separate trips, Atlee placed bowls of stew in front of them, along with ironware, cups, and a basket of biscuits. Blue murmured a prayer of grace before beginning to eat. Hannah watched him without saying anything.

  “Ma’am, I know Willard Epson, your district agent. A good man,” Blue said, looking up and watching her move along the table, refreshing coffee cups.

  “Yes, I have met Mr. Epson several times.” Her voice was rigid.

  “Of course”—Blue licked his lips—“he will need to know—”

  Atlee Forsyth stiffened, holding the coffeepot near her bosom. “Because he will want a man running this station?”

  Blue looked at Deed, then Silka, and said, “Most likely . . . ma’am.”

  “So don’t tell him. I just told you that we will do just fine.”

  Blue stared at her, wishing he hadn’t started this line of conversation.

  “I can run this station. I’ll hire someone to help Mr. Montez—and we’ll keep serving passengers well as we have always done.” Her eyelids blinked back tears that were trying to get attention.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sure you can.”

  The room was silent while Atlee resumed pouring coffee for everyone. The others were finishing their dessert, fat slices of gooseberry pie. Pushing away from the table, Tade Balkins headed for the door and announced the stage would be leaving in five minutes.

  Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Tade said, “I have to report what happened, Mrs. Forsyth. Part of my job.” His eyes didn’t meet hers as he opened the door.

  It was Deed who spoke first, “Tade, if you have to say anything, tell your boss the station is operating well, and that Mrs. Forsyth has hired additional help.” He looked at Atlee. “If you’ll let me, I’ll stay on and help Billy till you can find somebody regular.”

  Blue tried not to look surprised, but this was so like his younger brother to step into a fight. Any fight.

  Deed glared at the stunned driver. “You don’t have to report that last part.”

  For a moment, Deed thought she was going to rush over and hug him. Instead, she swallowed, bit her lip, and said, “That would be most helpful. W-We appreciate your generosity.”

  Rebecca Tuttle put down her coffee cup hard, almost spilling the remaining contents. “You mean you’re not going on with us? What will we do for protection? Mr. Hannah can’t do it all.” Her eyes were wild and her hands trembled.

  Deed glanced at Blue. “My brother will be riding guard, Miss Tuttle. You will be quite protected. We’ve got business in El Paso.”

  A hint of a smile tugged at Blue’s mouth. He should have known Deed would pull him into the situation. He always did.

  “But he’s, he’s . . . injured.”

  “Blue can shoot better with one arm than most with two,” Deed said. “He’ll keep you safe.”

  With a deep sigh, Rebecca nodded and stared into her coffee cup as if just realizing it was there.

  Blue glanced at his brother. “Yes, I intend to ride as the guard to El Paso.”

  Blue recalled Deed carrying a hurt fawn two miles to their home when he was ten. He had found it when out hunting. The little deer had healed under his care and been returned to the wild, but it always stayed close to the Corrigan house. Blue and Holt teased Deed that the animal thought he was its mother. One day the deer didn’t come back. Deed and his brothers searched for the deer all day before deciding it had found a deer family of its own. Much of the rest of their childhood was deeply marred by their parents’ deaths.

  Tade rubbed his hands and feigned more satisfaction than he felt that a one-armed man would be riding guard. “Mighty good. Finish up folks. We need to get going.” He turned and left the station, slamming the door behind him.

  The Corrigan brothers talked quietly for a few moments, with Deed thanking Blue for understanding his sudden change of heart. Silka said he would return to the ranch, taking Blue’s horse with him. The extra mount brought for Deed would remain at the station for their later return. Blue would throw his saddle, saddle bags, and bridle onto the coach for the ride back from El Paso on the new stallion or he would buy an extra mount there. Silka was to tell his wife what had happened. Bina wouldn’t like it, but she would understand. The former samurai would take the trail-drive money with him, too, after Blue took what he needed for the new stallion and expenses in El Paso.

  Her shoulders rising and falling with relief, Atlee came forward and said, “I should be able to hire someone in a few days.”

  “Sure.”

  Benjamin burst in from the kitchen, his eyes reddened and his face flushed. “We don’t need anybody’s help, mister. I’m the head of the family now. It’s my job to take over for Pa. Nobody else.” Cooper was at his side.

  Setting his fork on his plate, Deed hesitating before answering, “I know how you feel, son. Blue and I lost both of our parents when we were about your age. It’s rough. Nobody’s taking the place of your pa. I’m just helping Billy with the horses. You and your ma will run the place.”

  “That’s enough, Benjamin. Mr. Corrigan is being most generous.” Atlee’s face was hard and her eyes sought her son’s.

  The boy started to say something else, then spun around and went back into the kitchen. Cooper trotted alongside. Elizabeth noticed his performance and headed toward the kitchen, almost spilling the bowl with its remaining water.

  Blue, Deed, and Silka returned to eating without more comment. Atlee left the table and went over to the Beinrigts at the couch.

  “If you want to stay here until your husband is better able to travel, you are most welcome,” she said, putting her hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “There are two beds here. For drivers and guards when they need them. Nobody will be needin
g them.”

  Olivia patted her hand and said, “Danke. Dat vould be most gut. Mein Hermann ist . . . veak. I could also vork for du. To help.”

  At the table, Blue introduced himself to the bespectacled gunfighter, “James Hannah, I believe.” He stood and leaned across the table, extending his hand.

  Pushing his glasses back with his left hand, Hannah rose to shake Blue’s hand. “Glad to meet you.”

  “My brother tells me you made the difference today.”

  “Glad I could help.” Hannah returned to his seat. “Say, do any of you know anything about a fella named Agon Bordner?”

  “Well, he just bought the bank in Wilkon . . . and a big ranch near here, the Bar 3, and two others. Biggest rancher in this neck of the woods now,” Blue said. “Likes to sing in his church choir, I hear.” A frown gathered above his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

  “He wants to hire me. Sent gold for my expenses. I’m supposed to meet him in El Paso. To discuss a job.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  In El Paso’s finest restaurant, the Lone Star, Agon Bordner was enjoying a noon meal of an enormous rare steak, six fried eggs, three baked potatoes, sliced beets, a basket of fresh biscuits, and a bottle of red wine. As usual, he ate alone in a back room reserved for parties and meetings. A waiter stood quietly next to the closed door to accommodate any need he might have.

  Bordner was a huge man with bulging eyes that rarely seemed to blink; his hair was thinning and long over his ears, curling around his white paper collar. He wore a custom-tailored, navy blue suit, accented by a huge, gold watch chain stretched across his mountainous stomach and vest. Like his voracious appetite, his business desire was to join the handful of great ranchers—Charles Goodnight, Richard King, John Chisum, and Henry Miller—with, like them, hundreds of thousands of acres under his control. They had overcome drought, fluctuating cattle prices, and Eastern financial panics. All he had to do was take control of the five ranches around Wilkon, and he already had three—one of them, the largest in the region. He smiled at the thought, took another bite of steak, and washed it down with half of his wineglass. The waiter rushed over to refill it.

  His strategy to achieve this goal was simple, brutal—and, so far, effective. First, he had purchased the Wilkon Bank. Well, the price was basically a steal with several of his gunmen convincing the president-owner that it was time for him to leave. His men had gotten a big laugh out of actually stealing a bank, not robbing it. One of his men, Willard Hixon, had taken over as president. From there, Bordner would take control of one ranch at a time. The initial ranch acquisition was the Bar 3, the largest ranch in the region. The former owner and his family were murdered in the night. Comanches were blamed. He took over after a large Bar 3 loan from the Wilkon Bank surfaced.

  The two small ranches abutting the Bar 3 were then coerced into selling. When the two families left for a more peaceful life, Bordner’s men followed and killed them, taking back the money used in the purchases. Again, Comanches were blamed. Keeping his operation flush with actual cash was a secondary, but essential, strategy.

  Taking another mouthful of potato and gravy, he let his mind wander over the details of the Bar 3 massacre, as his right hand man Rhey Selmon had related. His fascination with such gory details had no bounds. Of course, he wasn’t personally involved in the night’s savagery. Such endeavors had ended years ago when he murdered his stepfather, cut up the body, and fed the pieces to the family’s hogs. Since then, he had mostly hired his killings done. But not always.

  Smiling, he hummed part of a hymn that his church choir was practicing, then began singing,

  “Rock of ages, cleft for me,

  Let me hide myself in thee;

  Let the water and the blood,

  From thy wounded side which flowed,

  Be of sin the double cure,

  Save from wrath and make me pure.”

  He stopped singing and gulped a drink of wine. Singing made him thirsty. He loved singing and had bought robes for the choir so there would be one big enough for him. It didn’t hurt his image either, he knew. On several occasions, he had even sung a solo, but only when requested. People would have a difficult time believing such an upstanding churchgoing man could be behind the largest land grab in Texas history. That was the idea.

  He hummed more of the hymn and motioned to the waiter, told him to bring more gravy and another bottle of wine. The anxious man hurried away to handle the request. Agon Bordner had come from New Mexico Territory with his gang under Rhey’s direction. Together they had built a gang of thieves, gunmen, bank robbers, and rustlers, as well as specialists. Specialists like Willard Hixon, a wizard with numbers and an artist at forging signatures. They could have stayed in New Mexico, enjoying the fruits of their well-planned stagecoach and bank robberies. But Bordner wanted more; he wanted a cattle empire. And Texas was the place to take it. His men were happy to follow him—especially now that they were settled into the Bar 3, glad to leave their camp in the hills. The money earned from the Bar 3 trail drive gave him the kind of cash he needed to keep them happy.

  Snorting and laughing, Bordner yelled, “Texas! Look out, here comes Agon Bordner!”

  The fourth ranch on his list of acquisitions was the Lazy S, almost as big as the Bar 3 and owned by a Mexican family with deep roots in the region. The attack would take place within the month with the same strategy and Comanches would be blamed again. That would leave only the Corrigan spread with its excellent, year-round water.

  However, the first step in that acquisition, a crucial one, would be to eliminate Deed Corrigan. Even Rhey Selmon, his right-hand man and excellent with a gun, wanted no part of him. Neither did Macy Shields, his next best gunman. Nor did Sear Georgian, the brute with a lust for beating up men and women, who had especially enjoyed the Bar 3 massacre.

  After Deed was killed, that would leave Blue Corrigan and the crazy Japanese fighter who rode with them. The two would still be a significant force, but without Deed, Rhey was certain he and his men could handle them. Once they were dead, a bill of sale would surface. Bordner had sent for the well-known gunman, James Hannah, to join in this phase of elimination and expected his arrival any day now. Rhey Selmon had mentioned the possibility that the third brother, Holt Corrigan, might get involved, but just in passing. Holt was a known outlaw and not part of the LC ranch operation. Rhey wasn’t certain if he was even alive. There had been talk of a gunfight in an Amarillo saloon that had ended his life, though Sear Georgian told them it wasn’t true. Just a saloon tale that actually involved another man named Holt.

  Bordner grinned and steak juice ran down his chin. The waiter returned with a bowl of hot gravy and a bottle of wine. The large man accepted them without comment and the waiter returned to his post by the door. After pouring gravy over his remaining potatoes, beets, and eggs, he started eating again.

  Since coming to Texas, his wealth had grown greater by a series of stagecoach and bank robberies all done with care. Owning the Wilkon Bank gave him access to the timing of shipments of gold and gold certificates. Rhey Selmon took it from there, sending teams of gunmen wherever they were needed. Whenever possible, they made sure Holt Corrigan was blamed. It kept the Texas Rangers and Pinkertons looking for him.

  Utterly without scruples, Rhey was the driving force in Bordner’s scheme to become the dominant rancher in the region. Another member of the gang, Dixie Murphy, took care of the cattle operations; he was a mean man, well suited to Bordner’s task. Two days ago, Dixie wired Bordner about catching up with the Bar 3 cattle herd en route to Kansas, successfully selling the beef in Abilene, and now returning. Left unstated in the wire was what had happened to the original Bar 3 drovers.

  A knock on the door startled both Bordner and the waiter.

  “Boss, I need to talk with you.” The voice was Rhey Selmon’s.

  Bordner motioned for the waiter to let in his associate. How unlike Rhey to interrupt his lunch. Surely this had to be more than a report of movi
ng the gang to the Bar 3 as planned. Bordner planned to move there himself in the next week or two.

  Tall and skinny, Rhey Selmon entered. He was loyal to one man, Agon Bordner, and one cause, helping Bordner become a cattle baron. The two were alike in their love of greed and power. Physically, they were as different as night and day. Although hollow cheeked and thin, Rhey was quite strong and never seemed to sleep much. Regardless of the weather or the season, he wore a long bearskin coat. His clothes were of the range and nondescript. His eyes were ice blue and slightly crossed. Black hair strung from a narrow-brimmed hat. At his waist were two crossed gunbelts holding twin silver-plated revolvers with pearl handles, the only things of distinction that he wore or owned.

  “What is it, Rhey? Can’t you see I’m dining?” Bordner said angrily. “Surely your news could have waited.”

  “One of the Regan kids is alive,” the tall gunman blurted.

  Bordner stared at his lieutenant without speaking, then motioned for the waiter to leave the room. Gulping his words, Rhey told him one of his men had overheard Blue Corrigan’s wife buying canned milk and candy at the general store and telling why the purchase was necessary. For a moment, the fat man thought he was going to vomit. How could this be?

  “I thought you were better than that, Rhey,” he growled and slammed a fat fist against the top of the table. The filled glass jumped and spilled red wine down the side. “You’ve got to find that little brat—and kill him before he starts telling the world what really happened.”

  “Right,” Rhey took a deep breath.

  Bordner crossed his fat arms. “Wait. Nothing’s been damaged. Not really. Nobody’s going to believe that kid. What is he, five or six? Give me some time by myself and I’ll figure out our next move.”

  “Do you still want us to get the kid?”

  “No. If you shoot him now, it’ll only look suspicious. We’ll wait until James Hannah gets here. I’ll give him that job.” Bordner speared another slice of steak with his fork. “Say, three of Rose’s best doves are coming to my place tonight. Want to join in?”