West of the Big River: Boxed Set of Eight Western Novels

by James Reasoner

  "I'm Doctor S. L. S. Smith," he said. "Let me see what I can do."

  He removed his coat and tossed it on a chair along with his bag.

  "Can you hear me, son?" he asked Jerrell. The deputy's response was a low groan.

  Smith opened Jerrell's shirt to reveal two bullet holes, one low in his belly, the other in his shoulder. Blood flowed freely from the belly wound. Smith tsked softly as he examined the wounds more closely.

  "How bad is it, Doc?" Turnbo asked.

  "As bad as it gets," Smith answered. "The shoulder wound is bad enough, as it appears the bullet lodged in the shoulder blade. That would probably be crippling but not mortal. However, the abdominal wound certainly is. The bullet pierced the bowels and is causing considerable bleeding, even more internally than what you see. There's nothing I can do but try to stop the bleeding, and give this man morphine to ease his pain. I'm sorry."

  "Do what you can, Doc," Turnbo said. "I'll be outside. When you've finished with the deputy here, another of the passengers needs your attention. Don't believe he's hurt too bad, but he'd probably appreciate bein' patched up."

  "I won't be long here," Smith said. "Just long enough to pack the wounds and administer morphine."

  Turnbo left the doctor to his patient and went back to the lobby. The other passengers and the driver were waiting for him.

  "How's the deputy?" Corporal McGee asked.

  "He's not gonna make it," Turnbo answered. "Doc says a slug went clean through his guts. Just a matter of time."

  McGee shook his head, while Jake muttered a curse at the long-gone robbers. Turnbo turned his attention to Cochran.

  "What about you, Mr. Cochran? How you doin'? Doc says he'll be with you soon as he can."

  "I'm all right, Ranger," Cochran said. "Don't think the bullet went in too deep. Must have been just about spent."

  The hotel door opened and two men, one wearing a sheriff's badge, entered.

  "Which one of you's the Ranger?" that man asked.

  "I am," Turnbo said. "Ranger J. S. Turnbo."

  "I'm James D. Spears, sheriff of Tom Green County. Heard there was another stage robbery, only this time there was gunplay. How bad was it?"

  Turnbo jerked a thumb in Cochran's direction.

  "Man over there got hit in the back, but it don't seem serious. New Mexico deputy took two bullets, one in the guts. Doc says he's dyin'."

  "Blast it. These robberies have got to be stopped," Spears said. "That's the seventh one in the past three months. Even Colonel Ben Grierson over to Fort Concho, who's as brave as they come, a man who survived the late unpleasantness with the North and fought Apaches all over the southwest, won't ride a stage out of San Angelo. You manage to down any of those bastards, Ranger?"

  "Hit one and he went down, but got right back up and started shootin' again. Don't think I hit him all that hard."

  "Worse luck," Spears said. "Ranger, it'll be light soon. I'd appreciate it if you'd ride back to the place where the stage was hit and help see if we can find somethin', anythin' that might give us a hint as to who those robbers were, or which way they might have headed."

  "Be glad to, Sheriff," Turnbo said. "I was just gonna suggest that. I'll need a horse, though. Mine's back in Abilene."

  "Sure, I'll arrange for one from the livery. It's just down the block. My horse is there, too. Soon as I round up my deputies we can head out. We'll meet you here."

  "I might as well go with you now," Turnbo said. "Nothing more I can do here."

  "Then let's go."

  A crowd had gathered as news of the robbery and shootings spread. As soon as the Ranger and sheriff stepped out of the hotel, one of the bystanders called to Spears.

  "Hey, Sheriff."

  "What is it, Dan?"

  "Those outlaws sure tried to shoot everyone on the stage. Look here." Dan pointed to several bullet holes in the coach. "There's six bullet holes here. And the man who was shot in the back left his coat inside. There's three bullet holes in it. Reckon he was sure lucky."

  "Reckon he was," Spears agreed. He looked at Turnbo. "Reckon you were, too, Ranger."

  "Reckon we all were, except for the deputy," Turnbo said.

  Thirty minutes later, with the sun just topping the eastern horizon, Turnbo and Spears rode out of town, headed for the scene of the robbery. They were accompanied by several of Spears' deputies and a number of heavily armed volunteers.

  "Don't ride over any sign," Turnbo warned once they reached the scene. "Let me and the sheriff look around first."

  He and Spears dismounted and began scouring the hard-packed ground for tracks.

  "Little blood over here, Ranger," Spears said. He indicated a damp spot in the dirt. "Not much, though."

  "Looks like I figured," Turnbo said after he examined the blood. "Hit one of 'em plumb center, but not hard enough to really hurt him. I reckon either my bullet must've hit his gun or deflected off his belt buckle."

  "Worse luck. Too bad you didn't nail that son of a bitch right in his belly, like he or his pard did to that deputy," Spears said. "Would've served him right."

  "No use worryin' about that now, Sheriff," Turnbo answered. "Best we can do is try'n figure out which way those hombres went. Sure didn't leave much sign."

  "Been awful dry, so the ground's real hard and don't show much hoofprints," Spears said. "Looks like they headed into that dry wash, but with all the rocks jumbled in there it's hard to tell which way they went after that."

  "We'll try and follow 'em for a spell and see if they got careless," Turnbo said. "Most we can do."

  The posse spent the next hour studying the area around the robbery site, looking for any definite trail the robbers might have left. However, whatever tracks their horses might have left were mixed in with the jumble of hoofprints on the heavily traveled road.

  "No chance of trailin' 'em, Sheriff," Turnbo finally said. "They were smart enough to stick to the road, figurin' as long as they didn't run across anyone else any sign they made would be lost in all these other prints. Might as well head back to town. I'm bushed and could sure use some sleep."

  "I'd bet you could," Spears replied. "We'll head back to town. You can stay at my office if you'd like. Got a spare bunk there."

  "Much obliged. I'll do that, Sheriff, and thanks," Turnbo said. "By the way, that New Mexico deputy had a warrant to serve in San Angelo. Figure that falls to me now."

  "Who was he after?" Spears asked.

  "Man name of Jethro Burdette."

  "Jed Burdette? Reckon you don't have to worry. You won't be servin' any warrant on him," Spears said. "He's dead. Got into a fight in the Drifter's Saloon two days back and took a couple of bullets in his chest."

  Turnbo shook his head. "That means Jerrell's dyin' was for nothing. Real shame."

  "Sure is," Spears agreed. "Since you won't have to deal with Burdette, you reckon you'll be able to stick around a few days and help find these stage robbers? Whole town's afraid if these robberies keep happenin' the stage line will just shut down. That'd leave San Angelo even more isolated than it is now. If that happens, the town'll most likely dry up and blow away."

  "I'm afraid I can't stay more'n a few days, Sheriff. Sorry, but my orders were to accompany Jerrell until he served the warrant and then head straight back to Abilene with him and his prisoner. Robberies and rustlin' up that way are even worse than down here, so I've got to return quick as I can. I'll remain here until the deputy passes and attend his funeral, but I'll be headin' back on the next stage out after that. You might try wirin' Ranger Headquarters and request another Ranger to be sent down here. All I can do."

  "I understand, Ranger. Reckon these robberies are Tom Green County's problem. We'll get to the bottom of 'em sooner or later, especially after this killin'. It's bound to get folks riled up. Well, let's head on back."

  The posse remounted and turned their horses back toward San Angelo.

  Chapter 2

  At two a.m. on February 6, 1884, less than forty-eight ho
urs after being shot, New Mexico Deputy Sheriff W.L. Jerrell died of his wounds. He was buried in a temporary grave at four p.m. the same day, until arrangements could be made to return his remains to Las Cruces. After the services, Ranger Turnbo took the overnight stagecoach back to Abilene. This trip, there were no attempted robberies or other incidents, and the stage arrived in Abilene unmolested, just after sunrise.

  Turnbo's first stop after reaching Abilene was Monroe's Livery Stable. Owner Hap Monroe was just beginning to feed his charges.

  "Mornin', Ranger. How was your trip?" he asked.

  "Could've been better," Turnbo answered. "Couple men tried to rob the stage just outside San Angelo. Didn't succeed, but they killed that New Mexico deputy and got clean away."

  "That's too bad. He seemed like a decent enough feller," Monroe said. "You here to check on your horse? He's waitin' for you in the last stall on the left. I treated him just like you asked."

  "Appreciate that, Hap. Yeah, I'm gonna say howdy to Hat, then spend the rest of the day catchin' up on lost sleep."

  Turnbo headed down the aisle to the last stall. He whistled. In response, his horse stuck his head over the door and whinnied.

  "Howdy, Hat, you been behavin' yourself?" Turnbo asked. He scratched the big horse's ears. Hat nuzzled his cheek in return. Hat was a paint gelding, almost all white except for small buckskin patches on each of his flanks, and a buckskin "hat" that covered his ears and the top of his head, what the Indians called a Medicine Hat horse. Turnbo knew that Indians considered Medicine Hats sacred, an animal that would bring good luck in battle and protect its rider from gunshots and arrows. However, Hat hadn't brought much luck to his previous owner, a Kiowa warrior who Turnbo had shot off the horse during a furious battle. Turnbo's own aging mount had been wounded in the same fight, so Turnbo took the Kiowa's horse for his own and turned his old horse out to pasture. He named the paint plain old "Hat", and the Indian war pony had proven to be an excellent Ranger's mount, unafraid of gunfire, with plenty of speed and stamina.

  Hat nickered again and pushed his nose against Turnbo's chest.

  "I know, I reckon you're tired of bein' stuck in that stall," Turnbo said. "One more day. Tomorrow we'll be doin' some ridin', you can count on it. I'll see you later."

  Turnbo left the stable and went straight to the boarding house where he was lodging. Peggy McGillicuddy, the widowed landlady, was in the backyard, beating a rug hanging from the line.

  "Good mornin', Mrs. McGillicuddy," he called.

  "Ranger Turnbo, you're back," she answered. "Good morning. There's coffee still keepin' warm on the stove. You're a bit late for breakfast, but I can round something up if you'd like."

  "That's not necessary. I'm just gonna get some sleep. It's been a rough trip."

  "You do look plumb tuckered out. You want me to wake you for supper?"

  "I'd appreciate that. Much obliged."

  "Fine. I'll see you this evening."

  Turnbo stopped at the privy behind the house, went to his room, undressed, and splashed water over his face. He toweled off and then stretched out on his bed. In less than five minutes, he was sound asleep.

  * * *

  Turnbo did indeed sleep the day away. After supper, he headed for John Billings' Saloon for a few drinks and perhaps a game of cards.

  "Howdy, Ranger," Billings called when he saw Turnbo enter. "Heard you were back in town. Shame about that deputy. Too bad you couldn't catch the hombres who shot him."

  "Howdy yourself, John," Turnbo answered as he edged up to the bar. "How'd you hear about Jerrell so fast?"

  Billings placed a mug of beer in front of Turnbo.

  "Hap Monroe was in earlier. Told me all about it."

  Turnbo rolled a quirly, struck a match on his belt, and lit the smoke.

  "Couldn't have told you much."

  "Just that there'd been a robbery, and the deputy was gunned down."

  "That's about all you need to know. And Hap's right, the killers got clean away."

  "They'll be caught, sooner or later," Billings said. "Hey, you want some grub? Amanda baked a ham. She just took it out of the oven a few minutes ago."

  The portly bartender and his wife both enjoyed good food, and there was always a hearty meal ready at their establishment.

  Turnbo declined. "Appreciate the offer, but I just had my supper. Peggy McGillicuddy dished out some extra tonight. Anything much happen while I was gone?"

  Billings thought hard, then ran a hand through his mop of unruly hair before replying.

  "Not a whole lot that you'd need to be concerned about, anyway. Sheriff Lake's gone down county to check on some stolen horses, and his deputies are also all out of town. Otherwise, Marshal Pettebone and Deputy Horton have kept things pretty quiet around here."

  "Don't imagine it will stay that way for long," Turnbo answered. "You have any idea when Lake will be back?"

  "¿Quién sabe?" Billings answered with a shrug. "You want another beer?"

  "I could stand one," Turnbo said. Billings filled another mug and placed it in front of the Ranger.

  Joshua Hayes, the house gambler, called from his usual spot at the far back corner card table. "Ranger, you gonna play some poker tonight?"

  "Depends. Josie gonna be here?" Turnbo asked.

  "I'm right behind you, J.S.," a feminine voice called from the doorway. "Heard you'd gotten back to town. 'Bout time. A gal can't wait forever. You lookin' for some female company?"

  Josie Potter was a petite brunette, one of the most popular girls at Billings' place.

  "I sure am, darlin'," Turnbo answered. He downed the last of his beer. "Reckon I'll take a pass on that card game, Josh. C'mon, Josie, let's go."

  * * *

  Just after sunrise the next morning, Turnbo was in the office of Abilene City Marshal Hack Pettebone. Both men were working on cups of black coffee. Pettebone rolled and lit a quirly, then took a puff.

  "What're your plans for today, Ranger?" he asked.

  Turnbo took a long drag on his own cigarette before replying.

  "Figure I'll head over to the Box S and see if I can spot any sign of the rustlers who hit the place."

  "That happened before you left for San Angelo," Pettebone said. "Mighty slim chance of findin' much."

  "You can never tell," Turnbo said. "Least it's somewhere . . ."

  The door burst open. Stan Knight, owner of the Rocking K, entered. The rancher's face was dark with anger.

  "Ranger, hoped I'd find you here," he said. "Rustlers hit my place last night; and ran off at least fifty head. Tommy Ballard took a bullet in the back, but somehow managed to drag himself onto his horse and get back to the house. I just left him at Doc Somerset's, and now I'm goin' after those murderin', cow-thievin' sons of bitches. My boy, Steve, is still out there somewhere and I need to find him. You comin'?"

  "Needless question. Lead the way, Stan," Turnbo said.

  "You want me along, Ranger?" Pettebone asked.

  "You'd better stay here in town, Hack," Turnbo answered. "You've got no jurisdiction beyond the city limits anyway."

  "You'd sure better stay, Marshal," Knight said. "I'd bet my hat that half-breed Billy Shields you talked me into hirin' was one of those rustlers. He was out there watchin' the herd along with the other hands, and he's gone. Tommy said last he saw of Shields he was ridin' with those cow thieves. Should've known I couldn't trust that bastard, despite your vouchin' for him."

  Pettebone shook his head.

  "Can't believe Billy'd throw in with rustlers. He's a tough kid, but honest. Gotta be some other explanation."

  "Only explanation is Shields saw a chance for some quick money and took it," Knight retorted. "Once we catch up to those hombres, his neck'll be the first one I stretch."

  "Any neck-stretchin' to be done will be done legal, after a trial. Don't forget that, Stan," Turnbo warned the rancher.

  "What happened to just stringin' up rustlers and horse thieves on the nearest tree?"

  "Those
days are gone. Let's get mounted."

  Knight had tied his sorrel to the rail in front of the marshal's office alongside Turnbo's paint. They untied the horses, climbed into the saddle, and headed for the Rocking K.

  * * *

  "Shouldn't be too much further to where those rustlers struck, Ranger, if Tommy recollected right," Knight said. He and Turnbo were about six miles beyond the Rocking K headquarters. "Must've known what they were doin', 'cause they hit a smaller bunch of cows I'd sold to the Triple A and we were movin’ there; rather'n one of my main herds. They would have had a passel more trouble if they'd done that, since they'd have to had taken on a bigger crew. Makes me think that someone tipped 'em off, which points straight at Billy Shields, far as I'm concerned."

  "Let's wait until we track down those cow thieves before comin' to any conclusions," Turnbo answered. "There, up ahead."

  He pointed to several black specks circling in the sky, and then pushed Hat into a run, Knight on his heels. A minute later, he slid the paint to a stop. Buzzards scattered, squawking in protest. Lying face-down in a shallow gully were two bodies, one sprawled atop the other. The Ranger and rancher dismounted and walked up to the two bullet-riddled men.

  Turnbo rolled the first man onto his back. He had two bullet holes in his back, another in his chest, and yet another in his stomach.

  "Billy Shields!" Knight exclaimed.

  Turnbo rolled the other man over. This one had taken two bullets through his chest, and another in the left shoulder.

  "That's my boy Steve," Knight said, tears welling in his eyes. "Those sons of bitches! They didn't give him a chance."

  "Seems like you were wrong about Shields, Stan," Turnbo said. "Looks like he died tryin' to protect your son. Those two slugs in his back were fired at just about point-blank range. Powder burns on the shirt prove it. I'd say Shields was lyin' atop your boy tryin' to keep him from takin' any more bullets."

  "I guess so, Ranger," Shields said. "I was wrong. Shame Billy died for nothin'. Couldn't save Steve. Can't do anything for either one of 'em now, 'cept cover 'em to keep the buzzards away. We'll do that, then keep after those murderin' bastards."