"Reckon you're right, but I sure would've liked to talk to at least one of those hombres," Turnbo said.
"No need to, far as I can tell," Spears answered. "One of the men was tall and lanky, sportin' a thin beard. Second had straw-colored hair and blue eyes. Third was a redhead. Looks like that gang of bank robbers is finished."
"You really think it's the same men as the ones we've been after?" Turnbo asked.
"I'm certain. Descriptions fit, and their method is the same, near as I can tell."
"You could be right, Jim, but what about the fourth man who was at some of the other robberies . . . and the horse holder?"
Spears shrugged. "You know how these outlaws are, J.S. Squabblin' all the time over who should be boss, or how to split their loot. My guess is that fourth man either quit the outfit or got killed by his own pards. Probably the same for the one who held their horses."
Turnbo rubbed his jaw. "You're most likely right, but that missin' man still bothers me. The lanky one. Was he left-handed?"
"Didn't pay that any attention, since he was dead," Spears said.
"How about his six-gun? Colt or Remington? Or mebbe even a Smith and Wesson, or some other make?" Turnbo pressed.
"Dunno, but I've got their weapons locked up in a filin' cabinet," Spears answered. "We can check right quick." He took a ring of keys from the top of his desk, selected one, and opened a file cabinet in the corner. He pulled out three gunbelts and tossed them on his desk.
"There you go, Ranger. Two right-handed holsters and one left-handed rig."
Turnbo removed the pistols from the holsters and examined them.
"And one Remington .44 . . . along with a Smith and Wesson and a Colt. Seems like you're right, Jim. Appears that these belonged to the men we want. Sure wish we could be certain about those other men, though."
"They're both most likely either dead or cleared out of Texas by now," Spears answered. He looked at the Regulator clock on the wall. "Hey, the trial will be startin' at nine o'clock sharp. Judge Brockman's a real stickler for punctuality. We'd better hustle if we want to get some breakfast before court opens."
"Sounds good to me, Jim."
"All right. We'll go to Molly Brown's. She serves up the best eggs and fried potatoes in the county." Spears took down his hat and jammed it on his head. "Let's get movin'."
* * *
Turnbo had to wait until mid-morning before it was his turn to testify. After being sworn in, he took his seat at the witness stand. Ned Starling, the prosecutor, began his questioning.
"For the record, sir, would you please repeat your name and occupation?"
"J.S. Turnbo, Sergeant, Texas Rangers. Attached to Company A in El Paso, currently on assignment in Abilene and San Angelo."
"Thank you, Ranger. Now, can you describe what happened on the night of February 4th?"
"Yes. I was riding on the overnight stage from Abilene to San Angelo, along with Deputy Sheriff W. L. Jerrell of Las Cruces, New Mexico."
"What was your business in San Angelo?"
"I was to help Deputy Jerrell serve a warrant on an individual wanted in New Mexico."
"But your journey was interrupted."
"Yes."
"By stage robbers?"
"Yes."
"Exactly what transpired?"
"We were stopped by the eastbound stage driver, who informed us that his stage had just been robbed, and he had been ordered by the robbers to keep heading for Abilene, not to turn back to San Angelo. Our driver wanted to turn around and go back to the nearest way station and wait for morning. However, I ordered him to proceed to San Angelo."
"Did he comply?"
"Yes."
"What happened next?"
"We had gone just about a mile when two men tried to stop the coach."
"Two men? Are you certain?"
"Yes, I am. Two men came out of the mesquite. The driver was stopping the coach when Deputy Jerrell shot at one of them. His bullet missed, and the outlaws returned fire. Two of their slugs hit Jerrell. I returned their fire, along with two of the other passengers. I apparently did manage to hit one of the men, but evidently not seriously. The man dropped his gun, grabbed his belly and went down, but got right back up. He picked up the gun and resumed shooting at the stage, along with his partner. Then the stage horses panicked and took off, taking us out of gunshot range. We got to San Angelo and I immediately sent for the doctor. Unfortunately, Deputy Jerrell was fatally wounded."
"Another of the passengers was also wounded, am I correct?"
"Yes. However, his wound was minor, merely a crease in the back."
"Would you be able to identify the robbers if you saw them?"
"No, sir, I would not. It was dark, and they were masked."
"Did you return to the site of the robbery?"
"Yes, as soon as it was light the next morning, along with Sheriff Spears and several others. However, we were unable to follow any sign. There was some dried blood, which confirmed one of the robbers was wounded, most likely by my bullet."
"Thank you, Ranger Turnbo. That will be all."
"Your witness," Judge Brockman said to the defense attorney.
Desmond Ballantine was a young lawyer, fresh out of law school. He stared derisively at Turnbo before starting his cross-examination.
"Ranger, you said it was dark, so you could not identify any of the persons who attempted to rob the stage that night. Am I correct?"
"Yes."
"Then you cannot state my clients were in fact the perpetrators of that holdup?"
"No. I'm only here to give the facts of what happened that night."
"If you can't say my clients were the perpetrators, how can you be certain there were only two men involved? As you stated, it was a dark night. You'd been riding all night in a crowded stagecoach. You were undoubtedly weary. How can you state for certain there were only two robbers?"
"Mister, I've been a Ranger for several years. I'm trained to observe things very carefully. Besides, when someone's shootin' at you, you can generally tell where the bullets are comin' from and how many men are tryin' for you. There were only two men that night. You can count on it."
"I see. Just once again. You can neither identify my clients as being on the road from Abilene to San Angelo the night of February 4th, nor as being the perpetrators of the attempted stagecoach robbery that led to the unfortunate death of Deputy Jerrell."
"No."
"Thank you, Ranger. No further questions, Your Honor."
* * *
As usual in the frontier West, the trial of Lewis Potter and James McDaniel went swiftly. By mid-afternoon, the case had gone to the jury. An hour later they returned with a verdict of guilty on all counts.
"Those two bastards got what they had comin'," Sheriff Spears remarked, as he poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Turnbo. He the Ranger were back in his office. "It's just too bad we couldn't hang 'em right here and now, rather'n havin' 'em extradited to San Antonio to face federal charges for robbin' the United States mail. Well, I guess it don't matter all that much. Justice'll be served one way or the other."
"That's right," Turnbo answered. "Federal charges take precedence over state, so there's nothing we can do about that."
"Works out nicely for you, though, J.S. Your job here's finished. Reckon you'll be headin' back to El Paso now?"
"Nope. I'm still gonna ride out in the morning and talk to the folks at all those other banks which were robbed."
"You are? What for? We took care of that gang right here. Or is somethin' still stickin' in your craw about that?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact a few things," Turnbo said. "For starters, the leader of the bunch was described as lanky and left-handed. That left-handed gunbelt and holster you showed me came off a heavy-set individual. Scuff marks on the leather from the buckle show that. Plus, the teller at the bank up in Grape Creek said the leader had a pearl-handled Remington six-gun. He was positive about that. The Remington you have
here has plain wood grips. It's not the same gun. Then, you said one was a redhead. Descriptions from the other robberies said one man had reddish hair, not bright red. Also, you said the redhead killed here had blue eyes. Man we're lookin' for is supposed to have green eyes. Then there's the fourth man, and the horse holder."
"Mebbe the fourth man was the leader. Don't forget, two of those men were described as left-handed," Spears pointed out. "Mebbe one of the other men decided to take over and plugged the original boss of the outfit. That could explain the missing man. The leader, skinny and left-handed, is the one who got himself killed by his own pardners. Same for the horse holder."
"Could be, but I've still got a hunch gnawin' at my gut. I think the men who hit the bank here in San Angelo were a different bunch than the ones we want. I'm gonna do some more diggin' until I'm certain."
"Suit yourself," Spears said with a shrug. "When are you ridin' out?"
"First thing in the morning."
Chapter 6
Turnbo spent several days questioning everyone who had witnessed the bank robberies in Tom Green County and the surrounding area. He also interviewed ranchers and farmers along the way, hoping someone could come up with a better description of the gang, or at least something which would give him a hint as to their identities, something which would allow him to recognize the men if he ran across them. Despite Sheriff Spears' belief the robbers had been killed during the attempted bank holdup in San Angelo, Turnbo was convinced the men he was seeking were still on the loose. However, his search proved fruitless. He finally had to admit he was getting nowhere and reluctantly returned to San Angelo. When he rode Hat into the livery barn shortly after sunset, Hank, the owner, shouted at him.
"Ranger, don't even bother to get off that horse. Sheriff Spears needs to talk to you, pronto. Told me to send you to his office the minute you got in. Said if he's not there, then you're to head straight to his house. That's the last one on Second Street. Painted yella, with green trim and a picket fence. You can't miss the place."
"All right, Hank, and thanks. Have a stall ready for Hat when I get back, will ya?"
"Sure thing, Ranger."
Turnbo turned his horse and put him into a trot. A few moments later, he was reining up in front of Spears' office. Lights blazed from the windows. Turnbo dismounted, looped Hat's reins over the rails, and hurried inside. Spears was seated at his desk. He came to his feet as soon as he saw the Ranger.
"J.S. Where in the blue blazes have you been? I've been sendin' telegrams all over west Texas tryin' to find you."
"They must've missed me. I never got one," Turnbo answered. "'Course, lot of those little towns where I've been don't even have a telegraph office. What's so all-fired urgent?"
"You were right, that's what," Spears answered. "Got a message the bank over to Brady was held up. Four men, plus one holdin' the horses. Cleaned out the bank, shot and killed a teller, customer, and two deputies. Hombres matched the descriptions of the ones who hit all the banks around here. Guess they're still on the loose after all. Reckon I owe you an apology."
"No need for that," Turnbo answered. "Men who you got were a pretty close match. Most lawmen would have thought it was the same bunch. I was even beginnin' to believe so myself. Well, it looks like I've got some more hard ridin' ahead of me."
"You're headin' over to Brady?"
"Soon as the sun's up. Gonna let my horse have a good night's rest, and do the same for myself. Figure if I push hard I'll make Brady in two days."
"You'll be way behind those bastards," Spears pointed out.
"I know," Turnbo answered. "But they're gonna slip up one of these times. When they do, I'll be right behind 'em."
"Sure hope so." Spears said. "I probably won't see you in the mornin', so I'll wish you luck now."
"Appreciate that."
Chapter 7
Brady was located just about atop of the geographical center of Texas, at the edge of the Hill Country. It had been established in the mid-1800s, and by 1876 had been declared the seat of McCulloch County. The old Dodge Cattle Trail had run through Brady, and what was believed to be the longest fenced cattle trail in the world stretched from the railhead in town southwest to Sonora, a distance of nearly one hundred miles. As the center of commerce for a wide area, it was a bustling community. The streets were crowded when Turnbo rode into town mid-morning three days after leaving San Angelo. Texas was in the midst of a blistering hot spell, so he had been forced to rest by day and travel by night to avoid the worst of the heat and conserve Hat's strength. Luckily, a nearly full moon gave plenty of light.
Turnbo paused at a horse trough on the town square to let his horse drink his fill, then rode diagonally across the square to the McCulloch County Sheriff's Office. He left Hat tied to the rail with a promise to get him rubbed down and fed as soon as possible. The deputy on duty looked up when Turnbo pushed through the door.
"Can I help you, Mister?" he asked.
Turnbo pulled his badge from his shirt pocket and held it out for the deputy to see.
"Sergeant J. S. Turnbo, Texas Rangers. The sheriff in?"
"He's in his office. Go right ahead, Ranger. You here about the bank robbery and killings?"
"That's right," Turnbo answered. He pushed through the wooden gate separating the office from the lobby and walked to the end of the hallway. The sheriff's door was open, so he went straight in.
"Sheriff?" Again, Turnbo held out his badge. "Sergeant J.S. Turnbo, Texas Rangers."
"Ranger, I sure as the devil am glad to see you," the lawman replied. He stood up and shook Turnbo's hand. "Sheriff Mel Owens. I'm hopin' Austin sent you down here to help find the men who robbed our bank and shot up half the town."
"That's right," Turnbo said. "I've been on the trail of those hombres for quite some time now. Still not any closer to findin' 'em than when I started. It's gettin' real frustrating, to put it mildly. Hopefully they left some kind of clue behind here in Brady."
"Not much of one, I'm afraid," Owens said. He picked up a coffee pot from the stove and held out a mug. "You want some coffee?"
"I could use some," Turnbo said.
Both men filled their mugs, then rolled and lit cigarettes before continuing their conversation. Turnbo settled into a corner chair.
"Tell me as much as you can about that robbery," he said.
"Of course, but I doubt it'll help you much," Owens answered. "Those men rode into town just before the bank closed. Cleaned out the cash drawers and vault."
"How many were there?"
"Four, plus one holdin' the horses. From what I've been told, they didn't plan on killin' anyone until one of the customers, Tad Thomas, tried to get the drop on them. Tad was a crusty old cuss who owned the Triangle T. When Tad pulled his pistol, Bill Bailey, one of the tellers, went for the gun in his drawer. Those renegades killed both of 'em. Two of my deputies, Matt Stringer and Izzy Quenton, heard the shootin'. They reached the bank just as the robbers came out the front door. Neither one of them even got off a shot before they were gunned down by those sons of bitches. Izzy was gut-shot. Took him three days to die. If I ever catch up to those bastards, I'll do the same to them."
"Your deputies never got off a shot?" Turnbo shook his head.
"No, they sure didn't," Owens confirmed. "At least two of those outlaws were real crack shots, accordin' to everyone who saw the gunfight . . . such as it was."
"I see," Turnbo said. "Five men altogether. Can you give me their descriptions?"
"Of course." Owens provided the descriptions, which matched those of the suspects in all the previous bank robberies Turnbo had investigated. However, he did have one new piece of information.
"The man holdin' the horses was kinda on the short side, with longish, light brown hair," he concluded. "Seemed to handle a six-gun just as well as the rest. It was him who put the first bullet into Matt Stringer."
"Well, it ain't much, but it's a little bit more to go on," Turnbo said. "Sheriff, I need to get
my horse put up. I've been pushin' him real hard the past few days. Once that's done, I'll want to talk to everyone who was in the bank or saw those robbers."
"Sure thing," Owens said. "Jesse Holms's livery stable is right down the street. Jesse'll take good care of your bronc. I'll take you to his barn, then we'll meet with everyone who was there that day. Reckon you'll want to start with Jack Hoskins? He's the president of the bank. Oh, and you'll sure want to talk with Sara Tate. Owns a dress shop, and makes clothes for most of the society women in town. She's a feisty gal. In fact, she tried to knock the gun out of one of those bastard's hands. All she got for her trouble was a bruised hip when he shoved her to the floor."
"You're right. I'll definitely want to talk with her," Turnbo said.
"Fine. Let's get your horse settled and get to work."
* * *
"So far I haven't learned much I didn't already know, Sheriff. It's getting really exasperating," Turnbo told Owens two hours later. They had talked with almost everyone who had been a victim of or witnessed the holdup of the Brady National Bank. All the answers merely reiterated the general descriptions and modus operandi of the outlaw gang plaguing west central Texas. "How many more people do we have to question?"
"Only one, Sara Tate. That's her place just ahead."
Owens indicated a small shop. "Velvet Mischief" was painted in bright purple letters on the sign hanging over its door. Several fancy gowns and dresses, along with colorful feather-adorned hats, were displayed in the front window. When Owens and Turnbo entered, a woman of about sixty or so looked up from a dress she was hemming.
"Sheriff Owens. This is an unexpected pleasure, seeing you this morning. What brings you by my shop? And who's your good-looking friend?"
"Good morning, Sara. This is Sergeant Turnbo of the Rangers. He's trying to round up the men who robbed the bank. Ranger, Sara Tate."
"Good afternoon, ma'am."
"Ma'am! No one has 'ma'amed' me in years, Sonny. Makes me sound danged old. Not that I'm not, but I sure don't need to be reminded of it," Sara answered, with a twinkle in her dark eyes.
"I'm sorry, Miz Tate," Turnbo said.
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