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

by James Reasoner

  Turnbo lay there for several minutes, waiting until the fog in his brain cleared somewhat. You're an idiot, he thought, with a curse. Walked right into a trap, seems like. You'd better figure a way out of here right quick before whoever tried to bash your skull in comes back.

  His wrists and ankles were tightly bound, and then had been pulled behind his back and tied together; so that he was bent backward until his heels almost touched the back of his head. He was lying on his right side. For some reason, whoever had knocked him out and tied him up had neglected to take his six-gun. The heavy Colt Peacemaker was digging into his right hip, causing extreme pain. Turnbo tentatively tried to roll onto his belly, only to be stopped short by another rope, which was evidently tied to some sort of post. Turnbo cursed to himself again.

  Hombre who put me here and tied me up sure knew what he was doin'. I can't move more'n six inches. Can't even see anythin' that might help cut these ropes, not that I'd be able to reach it anyway. Ranger, I'd say you got yourself into one helluva mess here. And it looks like there ain't no way out of it. Ropes around your wrists and ankles are so tight they're cuttin' off the circulation. If I'm left here too long that alone might kill me… if I don't suffocate first. Think, J. S., think.

  In frustration, Turnbo began writhing and twisting as best he could, straining to see if perchance one of the ropes was a bit loose, merely enough so that he could work a hand free. He only succeeded in making himself nauseous. Sweat trickled down his face and into his mouth as he gasped for air, struggling against the gag half-choking him. The coppery taste of the blood running from his split-open scalp and mixed with that sweat sickened him even more. He threw up, nearly choking on the vomit which backed up behind the gag and half-blocked his throat. He was forced to swallow the bile, which only added to his misery. A sharp pain shot through his head from temple to temple. Turnbo moaned and once again fell unconscious.

  * * *

  As if from a great distance, Turnbo heard the squeal of rusty hinges as a door opened. A match was struck, and a lantern lifted from its place and lit. Ross Lucast's voice echoed in his head.

  "You must've hit this man real hard, Morey," he said. "He's still out cold. You'd better get a bucket of water to pour over his head."

  "Right away, Ross."

  Turnbo could hear Lucast whistling softly while he awaited Banton's return. A moment later, the wagon creaked and shifted when Banton climbed back inside.

  "Dump it on him, Morey," Lucast ordered.

  Turnbo was doused with a full bucket of water. He shook his head and spluttered feebly through the gag in his mouth.

  "That's brought him around," Lucast said. "Get the gag outta his mouth."

  "Sure, Ross." The gag was untied and yanked from between Turnbo's teeth. He pulled in great draughts of air.

  "Ranger Turnbo," Lucast said with a sneer. "This is an unexpected pleasure. I certainly never expected to see you again. Would it be presumptuous of me to ask what exactly you were looking for in my wagons?"

  "I think you already know what, Mr. Lucast," Turnbo answered.

  "I believe I do, but humor me. Tell me yourself."

  "I'm placing you and your associates under arrest for bank robbery and murder, for starters."

  Lucast threw his head back and laughed.

  "Ranger, I must say you have a sense of humor. I appreciate that. You've also got plenty of guts. However, I don't believe you're in any position at the moment to arrest anyone. I also believe you haven't enough evidence to charge myself or any of my friends with a crime. If you did, you wouldn't have been searching our wagons."

  "I've got plenty of evidence," Turnbo answered. "In fact, more than enough to hang you and your pardners. I was just looking for more, mebbe even some of the money you stole."

  "If that's the case, then why didn't you have the local authorities arrest us?"

  "Because none of the crimes were committed in Junction, or Kimble County. The county authorities here don't have any jurisdiction."

  "Ah, but you do, Ranger. I'm assuming you did notify the Kimble County sheriff and Junction marshals to watch the town banks in case we did attempt a robbery. Well, you're out of luck. We'll be leaving town as soon as we finish our performance tomorrow night. Shame, though, that you're forcing us to leave all that money in the Junction Bank behind. I am curious, however. I thought we did an excellent job of making sure no one could recognize us. What put you onto us?"

  "Don't think I want to answer that."

  "But you will," Lucast said. "I'd like to point out to you that I collect antique swords, as well as interesting current examples. My collection is in that trunk opposite you, which I have no doubt you have already opened and searched. I don't want to kill you here, but unless you reveal to me exactly how you concluded myself and my partners were behind those robberies, I'm afraid I will be forced to disembowel you right now . . . or perhaps decapitate you. Neither is a very pleasant possibility, wouldn't you agree? Please don't make the mistake of thinking you can somehow get loose from those bonds. Morey is an expert with ropes and knots. That's one of the acts in our show, you may recall, Morey's rope tricks. You have no chance of getting free, so you might as well answer my question. That will allow you to live for a few more days."

  "All right, I reckon it doesn't make much difference," Turnbo answered. "One question first, though."

  "That's only fair," Lucast said.

  "Was every one of your cohorts in on your scheme?"

  "Like you, I don't care to answer that," Lucast replied. "However, as you pointed out, it really doesn't matter, since you'll be dead soon. No, they were not. Morey here was, obviously. So were Jake Cutter and Hugh Marks. The rest have no idea what we've been up to."

  "That explains quite a bit," Turnbo said. "More'n a few of the witnesses I talked with said at least one of the robbers was a crack shot. That'd be Marks."

  "We had everything planned perfectly," Lucast answered, unable to resist bragging a bit. "Knew where to steal or borrow horses without getting caught, and where to leave them after a robbery. Timed things so there were always some of us at the theater or in plain sight during a robbery. Of course sometimes we would hold up a bank a day or two before or after our performance in a given town. With Hugh being such a fine marksman, and the rest of us more than adequate with pistols, we knew we could take care of anyone trying to shoot us down. However, that's enough about us. How exactly did you discover we were responsible for robbing banks?"

  "You made one small mistake, Lucast, like most outlaws usually do," Turnbo said. "You recollect robbin' the bank in Brady? And killin' four men there?"

  "I certainly do. Got quite a bit of cash from such a small town bank."

  "You also took some money from a feisty older woman during the robbery. Remember her?"

  "That old bitch? Of course," Lucast answered, scowling. "She tried to fight me off, and ripped the sleeve of one of my best shirts. She's lucky I didn't shoot her for that."

  "She also noticed the birthmark on your right forearm," Turnbo said. "Told me about it. It took me a while to recollect where I saw an hombre with a birthmark like that. Then I remembered your show over in San Angelo. I saw that mark when you performed the scenes from Shakespeare. It's as good as a brand for identifyin' someone. I got to thinkin', and realized besides that birthmark the descriptions of the other holdup men matched up pretty well with some of your actors. Put two and two together. Other mistake you made was mentioning to Sheriff Owens up in Brady where you were headed next. Made it real simple to trail you."

  "I see," Lucast said. "Well, this has all been very interesting, Ranger Turnbo. However, it's time to end this conversation. I really do wish I could kill you right here and now; however, I don't want to chance your body being found while we are still in the vicinity. Regretfully, you will have to be my guest for a few more days. If you behave yourself, I'll allow you enough water to survive. Don't think it's because of my overwhelming generosity, however. I have good reas
on to keep you alive for now. You shall make a good hostage, on the remote possibility someone else figures out what we have been up to before we reach Louisiana."

  "Ross, we could kill him now and just leave him here in the wagon," Banton suggested.

  "Don't be stupid, Morey. Think. In this heat his corpse would stink to high heaven in no time at all," Lucast said. "No, Ranger Turnbo's demise will just have to wait. However, it will give me great pleasure once it does occur."

  "Don't count me out yet, Lucast," Turnbo said. "Unless you do as your pard says, and finish me off right now, I'm gonna haul you in. You can count on that."

  "And you can count on this, Ranger!" Lucast snarled, infuriated. He drew back his foot and kicked Turnbo hard in the belly. A second kick went to the point of Turnbo's chin. His head lolled, and fresh blood trickled from his mouth.

  "That should keep him quiet for another day, at least. Gag him again, Morey, and double-check those ropes," Lucast ordered. "Keep this wagon locked. You'd better stay here on guard, too. I'll tell the others you're not feeling well."

  "What about during the show? I've never missed a performance yet. If I'm not there, someone could start wonderin' where I was at."

  "That is a possibility, I suppose. We'll handle it this way. You stay here until the last possible minute. Head for the theater just in time to dress for the show. We shouldn't have to worry about the Ranger for that long."

  "All right, Ross, that should work," Banton answered. "Just send up some food when you have the chance."

  "I'll do that," Lucast answered. "Whatever you do, don't go near that Ranger, unless you hear him stirrin'. In that case, tap him on the head again. But make sure of him. Even trussed up as he is, I just don't trust him. I won't rest easy until we cross the Louisiana line."

  Chapter 10

  Turnbo was jolted back to his senses by the wagon lurching into motion. Pain shot through him with every bounce of the rig into a chuckhole, every time it dropped into a rut. His stomach churned each time the wagon jounced over a rough spot. Hunger and especially thirst tormented him. As the wagon rolled onward, he faded in and out of consciousness. He had long since lost all track of time in the pitch blackness of his rolling prison, not knowing whether it was day or night, nor how long it had been since he had been locked up. All Turnbo knew was the odds were Ross Lucast would most likely never get the chance to kill him. He would die from lack of water or heat prostration well before that.

  Every time Turnbo slipped into the blessed relief of passing out, another bounce from the pitching wagon would jolt him awake. He'd never been one to give up, hell, no Texas Ranger ever had been, but at this point he'd welcome one of Lucast's swords run through his gut. At least that would end his torment.

  Turnbo had no idea how much time had passed before the rig finally came to a stop. Even when it did, it seemed he lay there for an eternity before the wagon shifted, and he heard someone climb the steps and open the door. The faint light which silhouetted the person entering indicated it was sometime in the middle of the night.

  "You awake, Ranger?" Ross Lucast nudged Turnbo with the toe of his boot. Turnbo grunted an assent.

  "Good. Morey, untie him. Be careful."

  Banton knelt to the task of loosing the Ranger's bonds. Fresh agony, the feeling of millions of pins and needles being stuck into his flesh, shot through Turnbo's wrists and ankles when circulation returned. He stretched his legs, attempting to fight the spasms in his back. Banton grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him to a seated position.

  "Morey, you're an idiot!" Lucast exclaimed, when he saw Turnbo's Colt still in its holster. "You forgot to take his gun. Get it right now!"

  "You're right," Banton said, shaking his head. "Dunno what I was thinking." He pulled the pistol from Turnbo's holster.

  "Now give him some water," Lucast ordered. "Don't want him dyin' thirsty." Banton uncorked a canteen and handed it to Turnbo, who took it and drank greedily.

  "That's enough. Get him up and movin'."

  "Sure, Ross." Banton jerked Turnbo to his feet. The Ranger stood shakily, his muscles so cramped he could barely remain upright.

  "Outside, Ranger," Lucast said. "Just remember one thing. Open your mouth and I'll cut you down where you stand. Get goin'."

  Banton shoved Turnbo to the open wagon door. Fighting the pain, somehow the Ranger managed to stumble down the steps and remain standing. A dim moon, low in the sky, and the positions of the stars indicated it was well after midnight, even later than Turnbo had thought. Banton shoved Turnbo's own gun in his back.

  "That way, Ranger. Behind those bushes."

  Turnbo headed in the direction Banton pointed, a thick screen of scrub brush and stunted junipers. He hesitated when he reached the thicket.

  "Keep goin'," Lucast ordered. Turnbo forced his way through the thorny vegetation and into a small clearing. Jake Cutter and Hugh Marks were waiting there. To Turnbo's surprise, there was one other person… Cutter's wife, Julie Ann.

  "You mean there was a woman in on this with you, Lucast?" he asked. "You never mentioned her."

  Julie Ann answered him instead.

  "Ranger, I sure am part of the outfit, and glad of it," she said, laughing. "I'm the horse holder. It was easy enough to disguise myself as a man. No one ever suspected. And in case you're wonderin', I can shoot as well as most any gunslinger. Shot myself a couple of lawmen durin' our robberies. Ross wanted me to stay in my bunk, but I told him I had just as much right to see you killed as anyone. Wish I could be the one to drill you, but Ross is savin' the pleasure of killin' you for himself. So I'm just gonna settle on keeping your horse for myself once we've finished with you. I always did fancy paints, and he's a fine one."

  "That's enough out of you, Julie Ann," Lucast said. "Ranger, turn around, unless you'd rather get it in the back."

  Turnbo slowly turned to face his captor. He swayed with the effort. Lucast now had a gunbelt strapped around his waist, the holster against his left hip holding a Remington .44. He was wearing his thick spectacles. He pulled the gun from its holster and leveled it at the Ranger's belly. Banton also had his gun aimed at Turnbo's middle.

  "See this pistol in my hand?" Lucast asked, with a smirk. "Reckon you think I'm gonna use it to kill you. Well, you're wrong. That'd be too easy, Ranger. Besides, a gunshot would wake up the others. As I've already told you, they don't know anything about our scheme, and I sure wouldn't want to have to cut them in on it now. Or kill them to keep them quiet."

  He slid the Remington back in place and picked up a cavalry saber from the ground. "I'm gonna run this blade right through your belly, Ranger. It'll be quicker and quieter than a bullet in your guts. You got anything to say before I kill you?"

  "Just that you'll never get away with this," Turnbo said. "You might kill me, but I've already notified Ranger Headquarters about you. Sheriff Spears up in San Angelo knows about you too, as do all the lawmen in these parts. And Rangers never forget when one of their own is killed. You'll be hunted down like the sorry son of a bitch you are."

  "We'll be long gone before that happens," Lucast said. "By the time anyone figures out what happened to you, we'll be in Louisiana. After that we'll be workin' our way up the Mississippi on a riverboat, well out of the reach of Texas law. So you see, Ranger, we've got no worries."

  Lucast walked closer to Turnbo and jabbed the point of the saber into his belly. Just as he did, a female's voice wailed a high note from the edge of the brush. The note climbed to a banshee's howl, its crescendo knifing through the dark. Startled, Lucast and his partners turned to look for the source of the hideous sound.

  Turnbo grabbed his chance. He slammed his head into Lucast's belly and shoved him aside, then jumped at Banton and knocked the gun from his hand. Turnbo scooped up his Colt and shot, hitting Banton in the chest and slamming him to the dirt.

  Jake Cutter reacted with surprising speed for a man of his bulk. He got behind Turnbo, wrapped his arms around him, and locked him in a bear hug, pin
ning the Ranger's arms against his sides. He lifted Turnbo half a foot off the ground as he pressed against his chest and ribs. Already weak from his ordeal, Turnbo struggled for breath. Silver spots swam before his eyes.

  "That's it, Jake. Crush the life out of him," Lucast urged, still gasping for air. Desperate, Turnbo reached his left hand into Cutter's crotch, grabbed his testicles, and squeezed hard. Cutter screeched in pain and dropped the Ranger. Somehow, Turnbo had held onto his gun. He rolled onto his back and fired. This bullet took Cutter under the chin and blasted its way into his brain. Turnbo was rolling again before Cutter even dropped. A bullet burned along his ribs, then, flat on his belly, Turnbo shot Hugh Marks through his right breast. Marks spun half-around and pitched to his face.

  Lucast had regained his feet and, saber in hand, lunged at Turnbo. The Ranger lurched sideways, swung his legs around, and tripped him. Lucast drove his saber into the ground as he stumbled. The blade snapped. Lucast hit the dirt, rolled, and came to his feet at the same time Turnbo regained his. Just as Turnbo thumbed back the hammer of his Peacemaker, Lucast grabbed Turnbo's wrist, attempting to wrest the six-gun from his grasp. Toe to toe, both men struggled for the Colt. The gun fired. The two stood there for a moment, until Ross Lucast backed away with an expression of complete shock on his face. Turnbo had managed to press his gun against Lucast's belly and pull the trigger. The.45 slug ranged downward, tearing through his intestines. Lucast opened his mouth as if to speak, dropped to his knees, and then fell face-down.

  "Look out, Ranger!" A shot rang out from the edge of the clearing. Julie Ann Cutter fell alongside her husband, with a bullet through her side.

  "She was gonna shoot you in the back. Couldn't let her do that. Besides, I never could stand that bitch. Felt good to put a bullet in her," Tangela Peele said. She stood with a smoking Smith and Wesson short-barreled .38 revolver in her hand.

  Turnbo stared in surprise at the woman, for just a moment.

  "Much obliged, Miz Peele."

  He used the toe of his boot to roll Ross Lucast onto his back. Blood soaked the lower part of Lucast's shirt and dribbled from his mouth.