Steve Knight let out a soft moan, and then sighed.
"Steve?" Knight said.
Turnbo hunkered alongside the gravely wounded youngster.
"Stan, your boy's still alive," Turnbo said. "Dunno how, but he is. We'd better get him on your horse, then you get him to town quick as you can. He needs to see the doc, pronto. I'll keep after those rustlers."
"Right."
Steve was lifted onto his father's horse and then Stan mounted, holding the boy upright in front of him.
"Good luck, Stan. Hope your boy makes it," Turnbo said.
"Thanks, Ranger. When you catch up with those rustlers, try'n save one or two for me. It'll be a pure pleasure to see them hang."
"I'll do my best."
"Much obliged." Knight turned his horse and put it into a slow jog.
Turnbo wrapped Billy Shields' body in his bedroll blanket to provide at least a bit of protection from scavengers, then climbed back into the saddle and resumed tracking the rustlers.
Turnbo trailed the rustlers for several more hours. He was confident of finding them before nightfall. Although they had a good head start, it was impossible to hide the hoofprints of fifty steers, nor to move as quickly as one man on horseback.
"Should be comin' up on 'em anytime now, Hat," he said to his horse. "They ain't in any hurry, seems like. Reckon they think since they killed the men movin' these cattle, no one'd take their trail this quick. They made a big mistake not makin' sure both those boys were dead. Let's move a bit faster, boy."
He kicked the big paint into a lope. He rode for another mile, until Hat slowed to a halt. The gelding stood stock-still, ears pricked forward and nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air.
"Yeah, wood smoke… and a touch of singed hair and burnt hide. I smell it too, Hat. Reckon we've found our quarry. I'm bettin' they're in that hollow just ahead."
The bawling of cattle drifted to Turnbo's ears. He dismounted and ground-hitched Hat.
"You stay here, and keep quiet," Turnbo ordered the horse, with a pat to the nose. "I'll whistle for you when I need you." Hat nuzzled his chest in reply. Turnbo checked the loads in his Colt, and then began a slow stalk of the rustlers. It only took a few moments to where they had the cattle bunched in a shallow arroyo. There were three men around a fire, along with a tied-down calf. Concentrating on their work blotting out and changing the Rocking K brand, the rustlers never noticed the Ranger until he was on top of them.
"Texas Ranger, boys. You're under arrest," Turnbo said, barely raising his voice. The three men jumped and started to go for their guns but stopped before yanking their own weapons, as they stared into the unwavering barrel of Turnbo's six-gun.
"Uh-uh. Wouldn't do that, unless you'd like a bullet in your bellies," Turnbo warned. "Get your hands up, then unbuckle your gunbelts and let 'em drop."
"All right, Ranger. You've got us," the man nearest the fire said. He began to rise, then pulled the branding iron out of the flames and threw it at Turnbo, hitting him in the right shoulder. The red-hot iron burned through Turnbo's shirt and scorched his flesh. Fighting the searing pain half-paralyzing his arm, Turnbo fired and put a bullet into the man's chest, knocking him onto his back. Turnbo dove to the side as a bullet from one of the other men ripped past his head. His snap return shot took that man in the shoulder, knocking the gun from his hand and spinning him to the dirt. He swung his Colt to pin the third rustler.
"You want a bullet in your teeth, Mister?"
The man raised his hands over his head.
"No. No, sir, Ranger. I've had enough."
"Then drop your gunbelt and lay down on your belly, now," Turnbo ordered. Once the man complied, Turnbo took a set of handcuffs from his back pocket and secured his hands behind his back. He next checked the first rustler, finding him dead, the Ranger's bullet having pierced his heart.
"Johnny dead, Ranger?" the shoulder-shot man asked.
"As he can be."
"You killed my brother, Ranger," the handcuffed rustler said. "I'll take care of you for that, mark my words. You're a dead man."
"Been tried before," Turnbo answered with a shrug. He winced when pain shot through his injured shoulder.
"Ranger, you gotta patch me up," the shoulder-shot man whined. "I'm gonna bleed to death here."
Turnbo knelt to examine the man's wound.
"You'll live long enough to hang," he answered. "Mind givin' me your name, just for the record?"
"Nate . . . Nate Barker. Others are my cousins, Clint and Johnny Barker. Reckon I should say Johnny was my cousin. You gonna at least try'n stop the bleedin'?"
"Guess so." Turnbo stood up and whistled. An answering whinny came to him, and a moment later Hat trotted up, reins trailing.
"Good boy." Turnbo patted the paint's shoulder, then went to his saddlebags and removed a clean cloth and tin of salve. He treated the wounded rustler's shoulder, and then bound his arm in place. That done, he untied the calf, which ran bawling back to its mother.
"Sundown's comin' on. We'll spend the night here, then ride back to town come mornin'," he said.
* * *
It was mid-morning before Turnbo reached Abilene with the three horses carrying his prisoners and the dead rustler in tow. He asked the first person he saw to find Marshal Pettebone and have him meet Turnbo at the doctor's. Curious passers-by followed as he rode straight for Doctor Hiram Somerset's office. Pettebone was already waiting when Turnbo reined up.
"Looks like you've been busy, Ranger," he said.
"Just a bit," Turnbo answered. "Need you to take this prisoner to a cell, hold him for rustlin' and murder. Handle the body for me too, will ya? I'll bring this other hombre along soon as the doc patches him up."
"Glad to."
"All right, you, let's go," Turnbo said to Nate. He dismounted, then helped the wounded man off his horse and led him inside. Sam Knight was sitting in the doctor's parlor.
"Ranger! I see you caught up with one of those sons of bitches," he said upon seeing Turnbo's prisoner. "Too bad you didn't drill him dead center."
"Got all three of 'em, and did plug one dead center," Turnbo answered. "He's on his way to the undertaker. Other one's on his way to the jail. How's your boy doin'?"
"Still alive, at least so far," Knight said. "Doc says it'll be touch and go for a few days." He eyed Nate narrowly. "Mister, you're awful lucky the Ranger found you before I did, because if I'd gotten to you first, you'd have a bullet through your guts or be danglin' from a tree right about now."
"He'll hang soon enough anyway," Turnbo said. As he did, Doctor Somerset emerged from the back room.
"Stan, your boy's still hangin' on. I haven't been able to get one of those bullets out of his chest. If he lives, he'll be carryin' that slug for the rest of his life." He glanced at Turnbo. "See you've brought me another patient."
"Yeah, Doc. Need you to patch him up so I can get him in a cell."
"Bring him on back. Better let me take a look at your shoulder, too," Somerset ordered, eyeing Turnbo's scorched shirt.
"I'll be all right, Doc," Turnbo said.
"You let me be the judge of that," Somerset answered. "Follow me."
Somerset dug the bullet out of Nate Barker's shoulder, then dressed and bandaged the wound. That done, he turned his attention to Turnbo.
"Good thing you let me check you, Ranger," he told Turnbo as he worked on the Ranger. "This is a pretty bad burn here. Liable to fester and get infected if it's not cared for properly. That'd most likely lead to blood poisoning, and you know what that would mean."
"Reckon I do at that, Doc," Turnbo said.
"That's right. You'd die a slow, agonizing death. Far more men have died from blood poisoning than have ever died from a bullet."
"Lead poison from a bullet in the guts or blood poison… not much of a choice, Doc," Turnbo said with a chuckle.
"That's a certainty," Somerset agreed. He slathered salve over Turnbo's shoulder, covered it with a cloth and tied it in place.
"You're all set for now, Ranger. Get your shirt back on, and you can take your prisoner to jail. I'll check him there in the morning. You too. That burn will need to be recleaned and redressed. I'm not fooling when I say it could kill you."
"I know, Doc," Turnbo said. "What do I owe you?"
"We'll settle up once I'm finished treating you. Far as Barker here, I'll bill the county, as usual."
"Much obliged, Doc."
Turnbo shrugged back into his shirt.
"Let's go, Barker."
A short while later, Nate Barker was sharing a cell with his cousin Clint. With his prisoners secured, Turnbo left Hat at the livery stable with orders for the paint to receive a good rubdown and extra measure of feed. After his horse was settled, Turnbo headed for Mrs. McGillicuddy's place. Once in his room, he didn't even pull off his boots or gunbelt but merely collapsed face-down on his bed. He would sleep straight through until the next morning.
Chapter 3
"Don't know if we're ever gonna clean up this territory and get home to El Paso, Hat," Turnbo said to his horse early one morning as he groomed the big gelding. "Seems like every time we round up a bunch of rustlers, three more outfits turn up to take their place. Not to even mention the bank robbers, stage robbers, and other assorted thieves and scoundrels."
It was now June, and despite Turnbo's having arrested several bands of cattle and horse thieves, as well as three bank robbers, it seemed crime in the area around Abilene was just as prevalent as ever, in spite of the Ranger's and local law enforcement's efforts.
"At least the weather's nice," Turnbo continued. "With that bit of rain we've finally had, things are greenin' up fast, and the bluebonnets sure are lookin' pretty. They're way behind schedule with this dry spell, but that don't matter none. Well, soon's I have breakfast and break camp, let's keep moseyin' along and see what we might turn up. If we don't come up with anythin' by sundown, we'll spend one last night out here, then head back to town. Six nights sleepin' on the hard ground's enough for awhile."
Turnbo ate a quick meal, had a smoke, and within a half hour, with the sun still low on the eastern horizon, was in the saddle, searching for any signs of outlaw activity. About ten o'clock, he came upon the hoofprints of a large herd of fast-moving horses.
"Hold on a minute, Hat," he said. "Looks like we might've stumbled onto somethin'. Those broncs ain't movin' like that on their own. Someone's drivin' 'em, and hard. Lemme take a look."
Turnbo dismounted and hunkered on his heels to study the tracks.
"Looks like I was right," he said. "Appears to be five or six men pushin' that herd along. Can't be all that far ahead of us. Let's trail 'em a ways and see what we come up with."
He climbed back into his saddle and put Hat into a fast lope. Two miles further along he pulled his gelding to a slow walk when he spotted several black specks wheeling in the sky.
"Buzzards. Reckon they might lead us to somethin', Hat. Let's find out."
A few moments later he rode up to a worn-out palomino mare. The horse was standing alongside the trail, spraddle-legged and head hanging. From the size of her belly, distended udder, and the wax on the ends of her teats, it was apparent she was going to foal very shortly. Apparently the men pushing the horses had driven the mare as far as she could go, then abandoned her when she could run no farther. The exhausted animal barely looked at Turnbo when he rode up.
"Easy, girl." Turnbo spoke softly to the mare as he dismounted. "Lemme see what I can do for you." He took his canteen from the saddle horn and opened it, then removed his Stetson. He emptied most of the canteen's contents into his hat and held it to the mare's muzzle. She greedily sucked down the water.
"Not so fast," Turnbo warned. "Don't want you to colic." He rubbed a hand along the mare's neck, and then froze at the distinctive click of a gun being cocked behind him.
"Freeze, Mister!" a voice warned. Turnbo stood stock-still.
"Good. Now get your hands in the air and step away from that horse, real easy-like. One wrong move and I'll blast you to Kingdom Come . . . or to Hell, more likely."
Knowing to try for his gun was sheer suicide; Turnbo complied, raising his hands shoulder-high and sidling away from the mare.
"Now turn around so I can look at you. Real slow."
Again, Turnbo obeyed, turning to face his captor. He found himself looking at a young cowboy in his early twenties, tall and lanky, with a thin moustache on his upper lip and a goatee covering his chin. He had a rifle trained on the Ranger's chest.
"You've got this all wrong, cowboy," Turnbo said.
"I don't think so, Mister. Honey, get his gun. Be careful."
A woman about the same age as the cowboy, blonde and pretty, emerged from where she had burrowed under some brush. She held a Colt SAA, also aimed at Turnbo's chest. It only took her a moment to circle behind him and lift his pistol from its holster. For good measure she pulled Turnbo's knife from its sheath.
"Got 'em, Tanner," she said.
"Good work, Laura," he replied. To Turnbo he continued, "I've half a mind to drop you right where you stand, rather'n runnin' you in to the sheriff."
"You'd be makin' a big mistake, son," Turnbo answered. "Like I said, you've got this all wrong."
"Seems plain enough to me," the cowboy said. "You and your pals stole a bunch of my best horses, but poor Sunrise there couldn't keep goin'. Dunno why you stuck with her instead of stayin' with your pards, but that's gonna cost you a long spell in jail… or a bullet in your guts. I'm favorin' the second."
"Which would get you a noose," Turnbo said. "I'm a Ranger, and while we're standin' here yammerin' the real horse thieves are gettin' away."
"I'm not buyin' that story," the cowboy said. "But I'm willin' to listen, leastwise before I gun you down. You got any proof you're a Ranger like you claim?"
"My badge is in my shirt pocket," Turnbo answered.
"Pull it out, real slow. One false move and you'll eat lead."
Turnbo reached in his pocket and pulled out his badge, holding it up so the silver star in silver circle glittered in the sun.
"Got papers to go with this if you need 'em."
The cowboy lowered his rifle. "Nah, I reckon you're who you say you are. Laura, give him back his weapons. I'm Tanner Baker, and this is my wife, Laura. We own the T Bar L horse ranch. The spread's a few miles back southwest of here. Bunch of our horses turned up missin', and we've been trailin' 'em. Needless to say, when we came across you we figured you were one of the hombres who ran 'em off. Sorry for the mistake."
"J.S. Turnbo." The Ranger took his gun and knife from Laura and slid them back into place. "No apologies needed. I'm gonna pick up where I left off. You want to join me?"
"You couldn't stop me if you tried, Ranger," Baker said. "Laura?"
"Go ahead with the Ranger, Tanner," Laura said. "I'll try and get Sunrise back home before she foals. Wouldn't do for her to have her baby out here. Wolves or scavengers would get them both. With luck, if I take it easy, we'll reach the ranch before the baby comes."
"All right," Baker answered. "Ranger, our horses are behind those scrub cedars. I'll retrieve mine and we'll get after those hombres."
Baker whistled, and an answering whinny cut through the air. A moment later, a blaze-faced grulla gelding trotted from behind the brush and up to the cowboy.
"Good boy, Woody." Baker patted the grulla's neck, and then pulled himself into the saddle. Turnbo had already remounted.
"Let's go, Ranger."
They put their horses into a long-reaching lope.
Two miles further, Turnbo pulled Hat down to a walk.
"Ease up, Tanner," he said. "From the looks of these tracks, those horse thieves are slowin' down, and they aren't too far ahead. We're liable to ride up on those boys any time now. Wouldn't do to run into 'em too quick. We'll take it slow and easy from here on."
"Right, Ranger."
They rode for another half hour, until a line of scrub brush came into view. The whinny
of a horse drifted to their ears.
"Gotta be our quarry. Keep your horse quiet, Tanner," Turnbo ordered. "He whinnys back and it'll give us away."
"Woody ain't the talkative type," Baker answered.
"Good. We'll ride up to the brushline, then dismount and go in on foot until we see what we've got."
They stayed in their saddles until just before reaching the brush, then dismounted and ground tied their horses. They slipped their rifles from the saddle boots, ducking into the brush, and dropped to their bellies, pulling themselves along with their elbows through the thorny vegetation, shoving their rifles in front of them. In a few moments, they were on the edge of a deep cutbank, at the bottom of which was a shallow stream. There was a wide spot at the bottom of the opposite bank of the creek bed, and Baker's stolen horses were bunched in that, several of them drinking. Six men watched the herd, two still mounted.
"Those are my horses all right," Baker whispered. "How we gonna handle this, Ranger?"
"Only one way," Turnbo answered. "We've got 'em pinned down, against that bank. I doubt they'll surrender, so when the shootin' starts we'll gun the two mounted hombres out of their saddles first, I'll take the one on the left and you shoot the one on the right, then we'll get the rest. You ready?"
"Just say the word."
Turnbo came to his knees, threw his Winchester to his shoulder, and shouted, "Texas Ranger! Don't any of you make one false move, or I'll drop you right where you are."
Startled, the horse thieves looked up. As Turnbo had expected, they went for their guns rather than facing a long prison sentence, or more likely a noose. He and Baker both fired at once, each of them finding their targets. The two mounted rustlers were knocked out of their saddles with bullets in their chests. Turnbo next put a bullet through the belly of one of the dismounted raiders. The man jackknifed, howling in agony, and pitched into the creek. He drifted downstream with the slow-moving current. Baker put a bullet through another's forehead, and then grunted with pain when a return shot hit him high in the chest, just below the left collar bone, and spun him to the dirt. The remaining two horse thieves dove for the scant cover of some scrub willows along the creek bank.
West of the Big River: Boxed Set of Eight Western Novels Page 36