Seymour reached for his hat. “I should follow them—” He paused, torn by differing loyalties. “But my jurisdiction—and my responsibilities—lie here in town.”
“No offense, Marshal, but I don’t figure there’s much you can handle that those two can’t.”
Seymour’s mouth twisted, but he shrugged in acceptance of her statement. “I certainly can’t argue about that,” he said. “I suppose they’d want me to stay here and keep an eye on things in town.”
“That’s your job,” Jessie pointed out. “Anyway, I’m going to Pax. They’re saddling a fresh horse for me right now, down at the livery stable.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Seymour said with a frown. “There may be shooting, and I don’t think Matt and Sam would want you to endanger yourself.”
Jessie took her hat off, settled it on her head again, and pulled the chin strap taut. “I don’t care,” she said. “My father’s liable to wind up in danger, and I’m not going to stand by and do nothing if there’s a chance I can help him. I’ve got a rifle, and I’m a darned good shot, if I do say so myself.”
Again, Seymour was torn by uncertainty. He knew that Matt and Sam wouldn’t want Jessie risking her life by riding out to Pax when a battle was imminent. For one thing, worrying about her might distract them from what they needed to do in order to head off trouble.
But he had no legal right to stop her. She wasn’t breaking any law by going out there. Seymour knew that from time to time a lawman might have to bend the law a little in order to accomplish what needed to be done, but he was too new to this business to be sure what the boundaries really were. All he could do was appeal to Jessie’s good sense.
“Miss Colton, I urge you very strongly not to go out there. I know that if Matt and Sam were here, they would tell you the same thing.”
A thin smile curved her lips. “I’m sorry, Marshal. I told you where those two are. Now I’ve got to be going myself.”
Seymour lifted a hand, but Jessie ignored him and turned to stalk out of the marshal’s office.
“Blast it,” Seymour muttered as he stepped out of the building and watched the redheaded young woman disappear into the livery stable. The hostlers must have had her fresh horse ready for her, because a moment later she reappeared on a chestnut gelding and galloped off toward the northeast.
Seymour felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down in surprise. A small boy stood there. He’d come up without Seymour noticing him.
“Hey, Marshal,” the boy piped. “You’re the marshal, ain’t you?”
“That’s right,” Seymour told him. He went down on one knee so that the lad wouldn’t have to crane his neck so much to look up at him. “Is something wrong, son?”
“I dunno. Some man told me to fetch you. He gimme a nickel and told me to tell you to come down to the old barn at the west end of town.”
Seymour knew the barn the boy was talking about. It was a ramshackle, patchwork affair built partially of adobe and partially of stone and wood, with a thatched roof that sagged as if it were in danger of collapsing. Seymour didn’t know how long the barn had been sitting there empty and unused, but it looked as if it had been abandoned for several years at least.
“You’re sure the man didn’t say whether or not something was wrong?”
The boy shook his head. “Nope. Just that it was important you come down there as soon as you can.”
“Very well.” Seymour straightened to his feet. “Let me get my hat.”
The youngster didn’t care about Seymour’s hat or anything else. His job was done, and he said, “I’m gonna go buy some candy with my nickel.”
“You do that,” Seymour said as he stepped back into the office.
He snagged his hat from the desk, and thought about taking down one of the shotguns from the rack on the wall. He decided against it, thinking that it was unlikely he would run into any real trouble right here in the settlement while the sun was still up. This wasn’t like the ambush of the night before.
School had been dismissed a while earlier, but he knew Maggie would still be at the schoolhouse, wrapping up the day’s work. She usually stayed at least an hour after the children went home for the day. Seymour would have liked to stop at the school and say hello to her, but just in case anything really was wrong at that old barn, he decided he’d better check it out first. He could always stop by the school when he was finished.
The barn sat by itself, a short distance from any of the other buildings on the outskirts of the settlement. It was next to what remained of the foundation of another, larger building. Seymour had no idea what it had been, but he suspected that the barn and the adjacent structure had been some of the first buildings in Sweet Apple. The settlement had gotten its start at this end of town. They probably even predated the railroad. The barn door hung crookedly on leather hinges. It was open part of the way, revealing the dark, shadowy interior.
Seymour strode up to the doorway and called, “Hello? It’s Marshal Standish.”
He listened, but didn’t hear any response from inside. Had the man who sent the boy to summon him already left, thinking that he wasn’t coming?
Or perhaps the man had been sick, or injured in some way. He could have passed out and be lying in there right now, waiting for someone to come and help him. As Seymour thought about it, he knew he couldn’t ignore that possibility. He pulled the door open even farther. The top hinge broke, allowing the door to lean crazily to one side.
Seymour stepped into the barn.
There was no doubt that was what it had once been used for. Even though quite a bit of time had passed, the smell of straw lingered, mixed with other, less pleasant animal odors. Seymour paused as he heard a sudden skittering sound. Rats, he thought, trying not to shudder. He didn’t like vermin.
“Hello?” he called again. “Is anyone here? This is Marshal Standish. Please speak up if you can.”
The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Even though it was still daylight outside, the shadows in the barn were thick. Not much light penetrated the thick walls. The slab of sunlight that came in through the open door just seemed to make the far corners of the old building that much darker. Just as a precaution, he reached for the gun on his hip.
His fingers had just touched the Colt’s ivory grips when something dropped over his head with a faint rustle and jerked tight, cutting off his air.
Matt and Sam expected to hear the sharp reports of gunfire as they approached the headquarters of Esau Paxton’s ranch, but so far, the afternoon air was still, heavy with heat but quiet. They hadn’t been to Pax before, but had a fairly good idea where the ranch house was located. With the unerring instincts of true frontiersmen, they rode straight toward it.
“Maybe we’re gonna beat Colton and his men there,” Matt said.
“It’s going to be close,” Sam said. He pointed. “Look there.”
Matt grimaced as he saw the cloud of dust rising in the air. It took a lot of horses to kick up that much dust. And unfortunately, it was between the blood brothers and the ranch.
That wasn’t the worst of it, Matt thought. If he and Sam could see that dust, then so could Paxton. The cattleman would have to be a damned fool not to realize that trouble was on the way. He would probably call together all the men who happened to be at the ranch headquarters and send somebody out on the range to round up the rest of the cowboys who rode for Pax. He would tell them to come a-runnin’ . . .
And to bring their guns.
The blood brothers leaned forward in their saddles and urged more speed from their horses. The mounts responded as they always did, and stretched out in a hard gallop. The dust cloud drew closer. Colton and his men weren’t wasting any time closing in on Pax, but they didn’t know that possible trouble was coming up behind them.
Matt and Sam caught sight of the large group of riders sweeping down a long, shallow valley toward the Pax ranch house, which was a sprawling adobe structure in the Spanish style, wi
th red-tile roofs on its wings that surrounded a central courtyard. A bunkhouse and other outbuildings were scattered around beyond it.
The Double C men spread out into a line and reined to a halt about a hundred yards from the Pax ranch house. A burly figure on horseback detached himself from the rest of the group and rode forward alone, stopping when he was about halfway between the rest of his bunch and the house. Matt recognized Shad Colton. He had to give the man credit for having plenty of sand. Colton had put himself out in front where he would serve as a tempting target if any shooting broke out.
Several of Colton’s men heard Matt and Sam coming and wheeled around, drawing their guns as they did so. “Hold your fire!” Matt called. “We’re not Paxton men!”
Colton ignored the disturbance behind him. Raising himself in his stirrups, he bellowed toward the house.
“Paxton! Come on out here and face me, you back-stabbin’ murderer! You hear me, Paxton?”
The front door of the ranch house opened. Matt and Sam were close enough now to see that every window in the place had a rifle barrel protruding from it. The house was bristling with Winchesters.
The tall, lean figure of Esau Paxton stepped out, cradling a rifle in his arms. “What are you doing over here, Colton?” he shouted back at his cousin. “You know you’re not welcome on this ranch!”
“I’ve come for justice!” Colton called in return. “Two of my men were murdered earlier today, shot down from ambush while they were doin’ their jobs! But I’m not tellin’ you anything you don’t already know, am I, Paxton?”
Paxton stood ramrod stiff, anger radiating from him like waves of heat on a scorching day. “Are you saying that I had your men bushwhacked?” he demanded.
“Damn right that’s what I’m sayin’! Give me the men who pulled the triggers, Paxton—or by God, I’ll wipe you and yours right off the face of the earth!”
Chapter 11
Matt and Sam held their breath, expecting shots to roar out at any second.
Instead of whipping the rifle to his shoulder and firing, though, after a moment Paxton called, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Shad! I give you my word of honor I didn’t have anything to do with bushwhacking any of your men!”
“The shots came from Pax range!” Colton blustered, shaking a fist at his enemy.
“That doesn’t mean Pax riders fired them!”
Under his breath, Matt said, “How about that? Paxton’s actually tryin’ to be reasonable.”
“You believe him?” Sam asked.
Matt glanced over at his blood brother. “He sounds to me like he’s tellin’ the truth. And anybody could have hidden in that clump of mesquite and gunned down those Double C cowboys.”
Sam nodded. “That’s my thinking exactly. Come on. Let’s see if we can keep those two old pelicans talking sense.”
He hitched his horse into motion, riding forward despite the ominous looks of warning from the Double C punchers. Ignoring the guns pointed at him, Matt rode after Sam. Whether Colton and Paxton continued to talk, or if hell broke loose and bullets started to fly, the blood brothers would face whatever it was together.
At the sound of the horses coming up behind him, Shad Colton hipped around in the saddle. He scowled as he recognized Matt and Sam. “You two hellions!” he said. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Tryin’ to keep you from gettin’ yourself shot full of holes,” Matt snapped. “I don’t care all that much myself, but I know a certain redheaded gal who’d be mighty broken up about it if you were to get yourself killed, Colton.”
“Jessie!” the rancher snapped. “By God, that gal has to stick her nose into everything!”
“You should be glad of that, Mr. Colton,” Sam said. “She didn’t want you to do something foolish, like come over here and attack your cousin’s ranch.”
“Two of my men are dead!” Colton roared.
“Yeah, but what proof do you have that Paxton’s responsible?” Matt drawled, appearing a lot cooler and calmer than he felt inside. Being in the middle of three or four dozen guns that were primed to go off at any second was enough to make any man a mite nervous, even Matt Bodine.
“The shots came from his side of the creek!”
“And like Mr. Paxton told you,” Sam said, “anyone could have hidden on Pax range and shot your men. You need more proof than that for the law.”
Colton snorted in disgust. He tapped the butt of his gun. “I don’t need any more law than what I’ve got right here in my holster. That was plenty when we came out here, wasn’t it—”
He stopped short as he realized that he was about to ask his cousin a question concerning their shared past. With the current hostility between them, Colton obviously didn’t want to bring up a time when they had been more than relatives. They had been friends and partners as well.
He scowled and went on. “Anyway, I don’t care about the law, and you two don’t have any authority out here! You don’t work for the county sheriff or the Texas Rangers. That dude in town who calls himself a marshal don’t mean squat out here on the range.”
“Maybe not,” Sam argued, “but we still don’t want to see you or anyone else hurt or killed in a senseless battle.”
“Defendin’ yourself ain’t senseless! Settlin’ the score for two men who were gunned down in cold blood ain’t senseless!”
“It is if you’re not sure you’re going after the men who were really responsible,” Matt pointed out.
Colton glared at him. “Can you prove that Paxton wasn’t responsible for Rusty and Bill gettin’ killed?”
That was a sticky point, all right, Matt had to admit. Colton had no proof that Paxton was guilty—but Matt and Sam had no proof that Paxton was innocent either. All they had was the rancher’s word, and clearly Colton wasn’t prepared to accept that.
“Has anybody been messin’ around that clump of mesquite where the bushwhackers were hidden?” Matt asked.
Paxton said, “This is the first I’ve heard about it, so I’m fairly confident that none of my men have been over there today.”
“One of my riders looked the place over, found horse tracks and some shell casings,” Colton said. “I don’t reckon anybody’s been there since then.”
Sam knew where Matt was going with that question. He said, “Then let us take a ride over there and have a look around. Maybe we can find something that will lead us to the real killers.”
Matt nodded. “You and your men go back to the Double C, Colton,” he said. “Maybe we’re not the law, but we’re the closest thing to it in these parts right now. Let us investigate before you start a shootin’ war.”
Colton didn’t like the idea. The blood brothers could tell that by the look on his face. But he was smart enough to know that they were talking sense. If a fight broke out now, even more of his men would probably be killed . . . and Colton didn’t like to risk the lives of his riders.
“If there’s proof that Paxton is behind what happened to your men, we’ll find it,” Sam vowed. “Then you can let the law take its course.”
Paxton sniffed and said, “You won’t find any proof, because there isn’t any. Because I didn’t have anything to do with those Double C men being ambushed. For God’s sake, Shad, you ought to know me better than that.”
“I thought I knew you,” Colton said as his eyes narrowed with dislike. “You proved me wrong a while back.”
“There’s no point in bringing all that up again,” Paxton snapped.
Colton made a curt, slashing motion with his hand. “Damn right. You showed your true colors, and there ain’t no goin’ back. There ain’t much of anything I’d put past you now, Paxton. Your men have fought with mine before.”
“Hotheaded cowboys at a dance,” Paxton said. “That’s a lot different than lying in wait and gunning down men from hiding.”
He had a point there, Matt thought. If Paxton men were indeed responsible for killing Colton’s riders, then the feud between the two cattlemen ha
d been taken to a whole new level. From here on out there would be nothing but death and destruction . . .
But maybe he and Sam could still head that off. He said, “Are you gonna let us take a look, or do you start killin’ each other for no good reason?”
Colton and Paxton glared at each other for a few seconds; then Colton grunted and said, “Go ahead and have a look at the place where it happened. But if you find any evidence pointin’ to Paxton and don’t tell me about it, then you two are goin’ on my list, too.”
“We’re just after the truth,” Sam said.
“Which is that I and my men had nothing to do with this,” Paxton insisted. “We’ve been falsely accused, and I won’t forget that.”
Matt fixed his intent gaze on Colton. “Turn around and ride back to your ranch,” he told the cattleman. “Take all your men with you.”
“We’ll go,” Colton grumbled, “but we’ll be back once you find out I’m right about this snake-blooded bastard.”
Paxton paled. “I won’t be talked about like that on my own land. Get moving, Colton, or I won’t be responsible for what happens.”
“And I won’t be ordered around by the likes of you,” Colton shot back with a sneer. But he turned his horse and lifted a hand to signal to his men. “Move out, boys! We’re headin’ back to the ranch!”
“But what about Rusty and Bill?” one of the men called. “Ain’t we gonna settle up for them?”
“Damn right,” Colton said with a curt nod. “But not right now. These two hombres”—he waved a hand at the blood brothers—“are gonna take a look around and find proof that Paxton’s to blame for what happened. Then we’ll see to it that justice is done. You got my word on that.”
The Double C riders didn’t like it. Quite a bit of grumbling and complaining came from them. But they turned their horses around and rode away with Colton leading them back toward the neighboring ranch. Matt and Sam didn’t relax until Colton’s bunch was several hundred yards away. They were still within rifle range, but a battle was unlikely to break out now.
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