Texas Bloodshed

by William W. Johnstone

  Bo dismounted and told Early, “Climb on top of the wagon.”

  Brubaker frowned. “What’ve you got in mind to do with the boy, Creel?” he asked.

  “I don’t want to put him in with those three prisoners,” Bo said. “But I don’t want to have to shoot him off his horse if he decides to light a shuck, either. So I figured we could tie his hands and feet and he could ride on top.”

  “I’ll fall off,” Early complained.

  “Try not to,” Scratch drawled. “Sounds like a pretty good idea to me, Bo.”

  “Why are we even takin’ him along anyway?” Brubaker wanted to know.

  “Well, Forty-two, you’re the boss,” Bo said, “so if you don’t want to bring him, I reckon we can just tie him up and leave him here. Somebody might come along to turn him loose before he starves to death. I just thought that if we took him with us, he might be able to tell us some more about Gentry and the rest of that bunch.”

  “I told you, you’re wastin’ your time,” Early said. “I ain’t a double-crosser.”

  “Also,” Bo went on, “we’d have him to use as a hostage if we needed to.”

  Early let out a bark of laughter.

  “Now you really are loco,” he said. “If Hank Gentry wants to kill you, he won’t let me stand in the way. Why, he’d—”

  The youngster stopped short as he realized what he was saying.

  “That’s right,” Bo said. “He’d just shoot you to get to us, because he doesn’t care whether you live or die, Early. Are you starting to understand now what I’ve been trying to tell you?”

  Early just glared and muttered something, probably a curse.

  Brubaker said, “All right, you convinced me, Creel. Get up there, kid. Morton, you got some rope I can use?”

  “I sure do,” Scratch said.

  A few minutes later, Early Nesbit was sitting on top of the wagon with his hands tied together behind his back and his legs stretched out in front of him with the ankles roped together. As long as he made an effort to stay balanced, he wouldn’t be likely to fall off. Bo tied the youngster’s horse to the back of the wagon, alongside Brubaker’s saddle mount.

  “Ready to go,” he told the deputy with a nod.

  “Let’s get movin’, then,” Brubaker said. “Right now, the more distance we put between us and Indian Territory, the better as far as I’m concerned.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Taking Early Nesbit along with them was a complication in the plan Scratch had come up with, but it couldn’t be helped. It wasn’t really safe to leave him behind, because there was no telling when some of Gentry’s men might come along and find him, and at the same time discover that Brubaker had taken the prisoners across the river at that spot.

  And no matter what else, killing the boy in cold blood wasn’t an option, despite what they’d made Early believe.

  Nightfall found them making camp several miles south of the Red River. Early had complained a lot, but at least he wasn’t as obscene about it as Cara and the other two had been during the early stages of the journey. He had gotten on Brubaker’s nerves enough, though, that the deputy had threatened to gag him if he didn’t shut up.

  After that, Early had just muttered and mumbled.

  Scratch took Cara when she had to go visit the bushes that evening. When they were far enough away from the camp, she said, “All right, we’re in Texas now, like you wanted. When are we gonna make our break for it, Scratch?”

  “I was thinkin’ maybe tonight,” he said, keeping his voice pitched low so he wouldn’t be overheard.

  “Oh, thank the Lord! I wasn’t sure I could take one more day of bein’ cooped up inside that damn wagon!” She paused, then went on, “Listen, you’ll have to knock out Dayton and Jim, otherwise they’ll raise a ruckus when they see that I’m escapin’ and they ain’t.”

  “I can do that,” Scratch said. “I’ve been wonderin’. . . don’t they know where that hideout is, too?”

  “Sure, they were ridin’ with Hank back in those days, just like I was.”

  “Won’t they figure that’s where you’re headed and tell Brubaker where to find you?”

  “Not hardly,” Cara answered without hesitation. “They’ll still be hopin’ that Hank will get them loose somehow, and they’ll know that if they spill the location of that cache to the law, he’d kill ’em faster than some judge ever could. They’ll wait until he rescues them, then tell Hank what happened and where they think I went. But by then it’ll be too late, even if Hank does free them. And if he doesn’t, well, they might break down on the gallows and tell about it, but it’ll be too late to stop us by then, too.”

  “You’ve thought it all out,” Scratch mused.

  “Of course I have,” she said. “I learned a lot while I was riding with Hank. He’s pretty smart.”

  “All you needed was to figure out which one of us was the most likely to help you, so you’d know who to bat your eyes at and play up to.”

  “Now, it wasn’t like that, honey,” Cara said with a pout in her voice. “I never would’ve said anything to start with to Brubaker or your friend Bo. I’ve known plenty of stiff-necked, upright bastards like them. They’re too blasted stubborn to know what’s good for ’em. But a man like you ... you’re smart enough to see the possibilities. That’s why I liked you right from the start. Well, once we got past that part about tryin’ to cut you with a razor blade, anyway.”

  Scratch laughed. “You are a caution, Cara LaChance.”

  “You don’t know just how right you are,” she said.

  “What about that kid? You know him from when you were still with the gang?”

  “Early?” Cara emerged from the brush and shrugged her shoulders as much as the heavy chains would let her. “I remember seein’ him around a few times. Don’t know that I ever talked to him. There were always kids suckin’ around Hank, wantin’ to be desperadoes. He said that was just part of bein’ famous.”

  “I may have to knock him out, too.”

  “Go right ahead,” she told him. “Kill him if you need to. He don’t mean nothin’ to me.” Cara nodded toward the camp. “We’d better get back. We’ve been out here a while, and we don’t want them gettin’ suspicious when we’re this close to makin’ our move.”

  “You’re right,” Scratch said, noting to himself that she was already taking charge. He was starting to wonder just who had really been running that gang. He thought that the story she had told him about being scared of Hank Gentry and going along with everything he said might have been embellished just a mite.

  Back at the wagon, Early was complaining because his hands were still tied behind him.

  “As long as my feet are tied, I can’t go anywhere,” he argued. “So why can’t my hands be tied in front of me?”

  “Where you can grab a gun, if any of us was foolish enough to get within reach of you?” Brubaker asked. He let out a disgusted snort. “Not likely, kid.”

  “Look, Marshal, I’m startin’ to think that maybe I ain’t so keen on bein’ an outlaw after all. If you were to turn me loose, I give you my word I’d go on back to Tioga and you’d never see or hear from me again. And I wouldn’t help Hank Gentry find you, neither.”

  “Forget it,” Brubaker said. “You should’ve thought of that before you started runnin’ with that no-account trash. What I’m gonna do, since we need supplies anyway because the trip is takin’ longer than I expected, is go to Gainesville. We can provision up there, and I’ll leave you locked in the city jail with instructions for the marshal to hold you there until I wire him to let you loose.”

  Early stared at him for a second, then burst out, “You can’t do that! Why, I ... I didn’t even break any laws! I was just sittin’ there smokin’ a cigarette when that old galoot jumped on me and like to busted all my ribs!”

  The youngster jerked his head toward Bo, who smiled.

  “You’ve admitted knowin’ Gentry,” Brubaker said, and his voice was as cold as the night air
. “That makes you a witness, and I can hold a witness in custody for as long as I damned well please.”

  “But it ain’t fair!”

  “Goes to show what a babe in the woods you really are, Nesbit, hollerin’ about fair. There ain’t no fair in this world. There’s only the law, them that follow it ... and them that don’t.”

  Early leaned back against the rock where he’d been sitting. He fell into a sullen silence as he glared at Brubaker and the Texans.

  A short time later, Bo said, “I’ll stand first watch tonight. Scratch, you want the second turn?”

  “Sure,” Scratch replied. “That’ll leave you to finish up, Forty-two.”

  Brubaker nodded curtly and said, “Sure. Fine by me.”

  Scratch yawned. “Reckon I’ll turn in, then,” he said. “Want to be wide awake when it’s my turn to stand guard.”

  He wrapped up in his blankets and fell asleep almost right away, without even thinking about what would happen later. On the frontier, a man grabbed whatever chances he could to rest.

  After several hours, Bo woke him to take over. The fire had burned down quite a bit. Bo had fed it just enough wood to keep it going and provide a slight bit of warmth. Mostly, though, it was another cold winter night.

  The wagon was dark and quiet. Brubaker lay motionless in his blankets, snoring softly. Not far away, Early Nesbit was wrapped up in blankets as well, sleeping restlessly because it was difficult to get comfortable when you were tied hand and foot.

  “Anything unusual goin’ on?” Scratch asked Bo in a whisper.

  “Not a thing. Night’s as quiet as can be.”

  Scratch nodded and said, “Just the way I like it.”

  Taking his rifle, he went over and sat down on the wagon tongue. He watched Bo crawl into the other bedroll, turn to face away from the fire, and pillow his head on his saddle. Within moments, Bo was breathing deeply, steadily.

  Scratch waited some more.

  When half an hour had passed, he stood up. Moving with the stealth and silence that decades of experience had taught him, he approached the recumbent Brubaker. The deputy didn’t stir as Scratch lifted his rifle and then brought the butt crashing down.

  Swiftly, wasting not even a second, Scratch whirled away from Brubaker and took a couple of quick steps that brought him within reach of Bo. The rifle rose and fell again, brutally.

  Then Scratch turned back and bent over to reach into Brubaker’s coat pocket. He brought out the heavy key that unlocked the padlocks.

  He had just started toward the wagon when Early Nesbit started up off the ground as much as his bonds would let him, apparently startled out of sleep. He started to say, “Wha—”

  Scratch’s boot crashed against the young man’s jaw, stretching him out on the ground, senseless.

  Scratch went to the wagon, thrust the key into the padlock, and turned it. When he opened the door, Cara was already awake and waiting for him. She whispered, “Knock out these two, quick!”

  “No need,” Scratch told her. “Bo and Brubaker are dead. I stove in their skulls. Got to thinkin’ about it and decided why take chances?”

  “You ... killed them?”

  “Yep.” Scratch unfastened the padlock holding Cara’s chains to the ring in the floor.

  She began to laugh. Lowe and Elam both stirred, and Lowe rumbled, “What’s goin’ on here?”

  “I’m gettin’ away, that’s what’s goin’ on, you damned fool!” she told him.

  Scratch unlocked the shackles on her ankles, then the ones on her wrists.

  “Hey!” Elam said. “Let us loose, too!”

  “Sorry, boys,” Cara said. “Scratch and I are the only ones ridin’ away from here tonight.”

  “You bitch!” Lowe roared. “You double-crossin’ bitch!”

  “I’ll see you in hell for this,” Elam snarled.

  “Not if I see you first,” Cara taunted. She bent over for a moment to rub her ankles and get better circulation in her feet, then stood up and said to Scratch, “Let’s get out of here.”

  “You’ll have to lead the way,” he told her. “I don’t know this part of Texas.”

  “Fine. Come on.”

  She climbed down from the wagon without any trouble. Behind her, Lowe and Elam bellowed futile curses. Cara told Scratch to close the door and lock it again.

  “I’m tired of listenin’ to those two,” she said. “I hope they both starve to death before somebody finds them.”

  Scratch replaced the padlock on the door and snapped it shut. He gave it a tug to make sure it was secure.

  “We’re gonna be rich, Scratch, just you and me,” Cara went on. “I’m takin’ your friend’s horse, all right?”

  “Fine with me,” Scratch said. “He don’t need it anymore.”

  Moving quickly, he saddled his own horse and Bo’s mount. They climbed onto the animals. Cara looked at the Winchester sticking up from Bo’s saddle boot, and for a second Scratch thought she was going to pull out the rifle and put a few slugs into the motionless forms of Bo and Brubaker for good measure.

  But then she turned the horse and said, “Let’s ride!”

  Her reckless laughter rang through the cold night as she kicked the horse into a run despite the darkness. Scratch followed close behind her.

  When the sound of rapid hoofbeats had dwindled away completely, Bo pushed his blankets aside and stood up.

  “They’re gone, Forty-two,” he said.

  Brubaker sat up and said, “This is the biggest damn fool stunt I ever did see. I don’t know how in blazes I let you two Texans talk me into it.”

  Bo grinned. “It was Scratch’s idea. But you’ve got to admit, using Cara to lead us right to all that loot the gang stashed is probably the only way the law would ever find it.”

  “I know, I know,” Brubaker grumbled as he got to his feet. “But he came damn near to actually hittin’ me with that rifle butt! If he’d missed a little and hit me instead of my saddle, my skull’d be cracked now.”

  Bo checked on Early. The young man was unconscious and had a bruise starting up on his jaw, but he would be all right.

  Profane yelling still came from inside the wagon. Brubaker walked over to it and slapped a hand on the side a couple of times.

  “Shut up in there!” he roared. “Or else I won’t feed you breakfast in the mornin’!”

  A stunned silence came over the wagon. After a few seconds, Jim Elam said tentatively, “Marshal? Is that you?”

  “Who the hell else do you think it’d be, Colonel George Armstrong Custer? Now settle down, the both of you.”

  Dayton Lowe began to laugh. It was a low, rumbling sound.

  “That treacherous little hellcat ain’t as smart as she thinks she is!” he said.

  “Maybe not, but you ain’t, either,” Brubaker said. “Shut up and go back to sleep.”

  He left the prisoners and walked back over to where Bo was standing and gazing off in the direction Scratch and Cara had taken when they rode away from the camp.

  “Judge Parker’s gonna have my hide for goin’ off on my own like this,” Brubaker said quietly. “And if those prisoners manage to escape ...”

  “They won’t,” Bo said. “The county jail in Gainesville is plenty sturdy, and Gentry won’t have any reason to look for them there. They’ll be fine for a week or so, until we get back. And then we’ll have not only Cara, but all the loot that Gentry hid before he headed for Indian Territory, too. The judge will understand.”

  “Maybe,” Brubaker said. “Or maybe that gal will outsmart us, and we’ll all wind up dead.”

  Bo nodded slowly as he peered into the darkness and hoped Scratch knew what he was doing.

  CHAPTER 23

  As far as Scratch could tell from the stars, he and Cara angled southwest when they rode away from the camp where they had left Bo and Brubaker pretending to be dead. Everything had gone off pretty much the way the three of them had planned during the past few days in quiet conversations out of ears
hot of the wagon.

  Brubaker hadn’t been easy to convince when Scratch first laid out the idea. He had insisted in no uncertain terms that Scratch was plumb loco, completely out of his head, to even be considering letting Cara LaChance escape, no matter what the reason.

  “She’s tellin’ the truth about that cache of loot, though, Forty-two,” Scratch had argued. “I can hear the greed in her voice when she talks about it.”

  “You know she doesn’t really plan to split the money with you, don’t you?” Bo had asked.

  “Oh, shoot, yeah. She’s figurin’ she’ll put a bullet in my back just as soon as it’s convenient for her. Might not be as soon as we get to the hideout, because she might need my help totin’ the loot out of there, but as soon as we’re close enough to a town so that she could make it without me, it’d be adios, José.”

  “I didn’t figure you for bein’ part Mexican, Morton,” Brubaker had commented.

  “It’s just an old sayin’. Anyway, I’m goin’ into this with my eyes wide open, fellas. I know she don’t aim to split the loot with me, and I know my manly charms don’t really make her heart go pitty-pat, neither. I figure she’ll do whatever she has to in order to get what she wants, though.”

  Brubaker had frowned and said, “It’d be like beddin’ down with a she-panther. You couldn’t ever tell when she was fixin’ to rip you to shreds. But that ain’t none of my business.” He had studied Scratch intently. “You ain’t plannin’ to double-cross us, are you? Seems to me you might be playin’ a mighty deep game here, mister.”

  Bo had shaken his head and said, “There’s no game, Forty-two. Scratch and I have been partners for more than forty years. He’d never double-cross me. Besides which, he’s a law-abiding man—”

  “Most of the time,” Scratch had put in.

  “Most of the time,” Bo had gone on, “and he wouldn’t let an outlaw and a killer get away. At least not permanently.”