Paid in Blood

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Paid in Blood Page 24

by William W. Johnstone


  “Exactly one. And it’s run by Dan Riley,” Micah was quick to answer. “And I can’t see him—or anybody else, if you want to stretch the point unreasonably—tryin’ to move a stolen herd in the daylight. Especially not with our neighbors on all sides, some of whom were on watch with us last night and have lost cattle themselves, alert for anything suspicious.”

  “Sounds like pretty tight figurin’ to me, Sheriff,” allowed Menlo. “I don’t think there’s much worry about that herd, or any other as far as that goes, gettin’ snatched in the daytime.”

  “So we go back and do it all over again tonight? And the next, and the one after that . . . until the thieves finally show up?”

  Micah sighed.

  “Only if we want to catch them, Sheriff. Unless you know a way to get ’em to make an appointment.”

  “I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, Micah.” Tolliver scowled. “The point I was working toward was that me and Bud here can’t leave Deputy Scanlon taking care of the town all by himself every night for who knows how long. Not to mention who’ll cover daytime duties if we’re all three working nights. We’re gonna need some sleep sooner or later.”

  “I’m sure Micah understands that,” Deputy McKeever spoke up. “It would’ve been nice if those skunks had been accommodating enough to hit this first night. But since it looks like they might be draggin’ it out before they make their move, we’ll just have to figure out a way to drag out our coverage, too. Comes down to it, I could do the watches out here while you and Harold take care of the town. Something like that.”

  “And, just incidentally, in case anybody forgets,” said Menlo, “I’m also on hand to help represent the Law. Me and my outfit, a little group you might have heard of called the Texas Rangers, are actually considered pretty good at this sort of thing.”

  Tolliver rolled his eyes.

  “Just what I need . . . more sarcasm.”

  When they got to the ranch, Micah directed Dave and Hank and the other wranglers to hit the grub shack for a big breakfast and then some much-deserved shut-eye. The lawmen had already been invited to join Micah for a separate breakfast up at the main house. Since no good news had been relayed back to the ranch any time during the night, both kitchens would be prepared for the return of disappointed but hungry men.

  The aromas of fried ham, bacon, fresh biscuits, and more that assailed their nostrils as the men came up the front porch steps of the house quickly confirmed this expectation. Pamela Danvers—looking lovely as usual though somewhat wan and hollow around the eyes, as if she also had gone without sleep—was waiting to greet them. So alluring to the weary, hungry men were the aromas and the vision of their awaiting hostess that none of them took much notice of the two horses already tied at the hitching rail out front even as they’d secured their own mounts right beside them.

  Pamela directed the new arrivals first to an area off one end of the porch where they could wash up, then told them to rejoin her in the dining room.

  As the men filed into the dining area they were greeted by the sight of a long table set with plates, utensils, cups, carafes of coffee, and pitchers of buttermilk and water. In the middle of the table were platters of ham, bacon, biscuits, and jars of honey and jam. Pamela motioned everyone to sit wherever they pleased, and as this was taking place, Helga appeared with two additional platters heaped with piles of steaming scrambled eggs.

  “On second thought,” Sheriff Tolliver said, “maybe it wouldn’t be such a hardship after all if layin’ in wait for those rustlin’ scoundrels does drag on for a bit. Not if there’s gonna be breakfasts like this waiting for us on the mornings after we stand watch.”

  “But if you’re forced to stay in town to handle duties there, you’ll miss out,” Deputy McKeever was quick to point out. “Me, bein’ on assignment out this way, will just have to shoulder whatever responsibilities comes with that part of the duties.”

  Tolliver grinned good-naturedly and responded to the rib, saying, “Careful, or you might get yourself reassigned awful suddenlike. Something could occur to me that’d make it necessary for me to send you rushing right back to town this very minute.”

  “That ain’t even funny,” McKeever groaned in mock horror.

  The men waited to claim their seats until Micah had held a chair for his mother. Only then did they sit.

  Taking his own seat at the head of the table, Micah scanned the spread before all of them and then arched one brow questioningly.

  “I notice other places set, Mother. Are you expecting more . . . oh, I suppose Obie will be joining us, too.”

  “Yes,” Pamela said in a carefully controlled tone. “Obie should be here any second. Along with some other guests who arrived a short time ago.”

  “At this early hour?” Micah said.

  “Considerin’ how long I’ve been absent,” said a voice from across the room, “you could say it’s more like I’m actually kinda late.”

  The clink of glasses and the scrape of spoons ladling food came to an abrupt halt as the men filling their plates sensed something unsettling in the air. All eyes cut to the doorway where Jeff Danvers stood. Behind him loomed Buckhorn, with Obie at his side.

  The facial reactions showed varying degrees of surprise, but none as extreme as what Micah displayed.

  “Jeffrey!” he exclaimed, his voice strained almost to a croak.

  “Mornin’, Micah,” Jeff said casually. “You look a little frazzled. Guess that comes from havin’ been out all night hoping to spring a trap on some no-good rotten rustlers, eh? Too bad you came up empty.”

  Micah blinked several times as if in disbelief before finally finding his voice again and saying, “Me? Never mind about me. Good God, we’ve all been so worried and . . . What about you? That’s the question everybody wants to hear the answer to.”

  Murmurs of concern mingled with the surprised expressions still being worn by almost everyone else in the room.

  “It’s like a miracle, isn’t it?” said Pamela, smiling broadly. “That Jeffrey is back and that he’s returned safe and sound!”

  “Yeah, a miracle,” Micah echoed, though lacking his mother’s enthusiasm. He rose to his feet and came around the end of the table, reaching to shake his brother’s hand. “You have got a story to tell, mister. Where the devil have you been all this time?”

  “Funny you should ask,” Jeff replied, taking Micah’s extended hand but accompanying his grip with a penetrating look that conveyed little in the way of friendliness. “Although it admittedly wasn’t what I set out for, I also ended up becoming involved with a rustler and lawbreaker.”

  “Well, sure,” said Micah, grinning somewhat uneasily. “I mean, if you set out to run away with Eve Riley you should have known there was the risk of tangling with her old man.”

  “Heavens, Jeffrey,” said Pamela. She looked genuinely concerned, but at the same time, her automatic bitterness for any mention of the Riley name showed on her face, too. “Is that what happened? Did you run afoul of that treacherous Dan Riley? There’s so much you haven’t had the chance to tell us yet.”

  “As a matter of fact, I did run across Dan Riley,” said Jeff. “And he’ll be the first to admit that he’s been involved with rustling and probably plenty of other misdeeds as well. But he wasn’t necessarily who I was talking about. Because he wasn’t the only rustler and outlaw I ran across—or learned about, I guess I should say—while I was gone.”

  “Holy cow, little brother,” Micah said, the uneasy grin spreading wider. “How much territory did you cover while you were away? And are you gonna tell us the rest in riddles, or have you got something to say flat out?”

  Jeff didn’t reply right away. First his eyes went to his mother. An unmistakable sadness settled over his face as he said, “I’m sorry to spring this on you without any warning, Mother. There wasn’t enough time between when I got here and now. And I wouldn’t know of a good way to break this, no matter how long I had or might’ve taken.”

  Th
e concern on Pamela’s face only deepened.

  “What are you trying to say, Jeffrey?”

  “Yeah. What kind of song and dance are you mumbling and stumbling over? Make some damn sense,” demanded Micah impatiently.

  Looking on, Buckhorn was poised and ready for any reaction that might appear to be a threat to the truth about to be exposed or to the young man getting ready to reveal it. In the short time he’d been around Jeff Danvers, he’d grown more and more impressed by him—a sharp contrast to the downward spiraling opinion he’d had of Micah almost from the beginning.

  “This isn’t exactly rustling related,” Jeff said, reaching inside his jacket and withdrawing an object. “But I think it makes for a good place to start. How about you offer an explanation that will make sense of this, Micah?”

  Jeff tossed the object onto the tabletop where it landed between platters of food and unfolded, proving to be a canvas sack with a heavy metal clasp at the top. Stenciled lettering on the face of the sack read: HAWTHORNE & HALSEY.

  “Hawthorne and Halsey,” said Sheriff Tolliver. “That’s the stage line that runs out of Basin City off to the south. That’s one of their money sacks for carryin’ payrolls and the like.”

  “Ain’t that also the line,” said Ranger Menlo, “that’s suffered some robberies over the past year or so?”

  “Sure is,” said Obie. “As recently as only a few days ago.”

  “Well, hallelujah, we got us a couple lawmen who can read and an old goat with a good memory.” Micah scowled fiercely and raked his eyes across everyone gathered around the table. Returning them to Jeff he said, “So what the hell’s a dusty old stagecoach money sack supposed to mean to me? What kind of explanation am I supposed to offer for it?”

  “How about starting with how it got in your room? That’s where Buckhorn and I found it just a few minutes ago.”

  “That’s a lie!”

  Jeff shook his head.

  “No, it’s not. You had it hid in the back of your closet.”

  Micah’s eyes turned angry, started to go a little wild.

  “I never saw that thing before in my life. If you found it in my closet, then somebody planted it there for the sake of trying to hang something on me.” He thrust an arm out, pointing a finger. “It’s that damn half-breed! He’s had it out for me ever since he showed up in these parts. He must have stuffed it in that old boot when you weren’t looking, Jeff, and then made sure you did take a look so you’d be sure to spot—”

  “How do you know I found it in a boot, Micah? I never said that. All I said was that I found it in your closet.”

  Micah’s eyes grew wilder, bouncing from face to face.

  “He’s right, son,” Ranger Menlo pressed in a low, even voice. “He never said anything about the sack being in a boot.”

  “This is some kind of trick. A trap,” Micah protested. He looked pleadingly in the direction of Pamela. “You believe me, don’t you, Mother? It’s all some kind of crazy mistake. Why on earth would I be mixed up in anything like a stagecoach robbery?”

  Pamela’s face was gripped by shock and confusion.

  “I . . . I don’t know what to think,” she murmured.

  “I’m sorry, Mother, but there’s really only one thing you can think,” Jeff told her. “When I excused myself to go up to my room a few minutes ago, I took the opportunity to also take a peek in Micah’s. I don’t know exactly what I was even looking for. But I know what I found, and it’s right there on the table. And I’m afraid that’s only the start. In addition to—”

  “That’s enough!” Micah shouted, his right hand diving for the six-gun on his hip.

  But the gun hadn’t lifted more than a fraction of an inch out of its holster before Buckhorn’s Colt was drawn and aimed, muzzle locked unwaveringly on the desperate brother.

  “Raise that hogleg another whisker and your brains will plumb ruin that platter of scrambled eggs in front of you,” the gunman said.

  Micah froze like a statue.

  Pamela gasped audibly.

  But then, only a second later, there was the unmistakable sound of the hammer of a revolver being thumbed to full cock directly behind Buckhorn. “You go ahead and stroke that trigger, ’breed,” snarled a voice from the same spot, “but the insides of your skull will be taking their own trip on a bullet if you do.”

  Scarcely had those words been spoken before there came the thud of a heavy blow and, immediately to Buckhorn’s right, Obie’s twisted form pitched forward and hit the floor.

  “Same for the cripple!” declared a second voice.

  The only sound for a long moment was the tick of the clock on the wall. With agonizing slowness, Buckhorn lowered his arm.

  “All the way. Drop the gun,” said the voice behind him.

  As soon as Buckhorn’s Colt clumped onto the floor, Micah came out of his frozen pose. He finished drawing his gun and then covered the distance to Jeff in a single long stride. He swung the gun barrel viciously, slamming it against his younger brother’s jaw and sending him sprawling alongside Obie.

  “Micah! What madness is this!” said Pamela shrilly.

  “Shut up, Mother!” Micah responded. “For once in your life just keep your damn mouth shut!”

  Sheriff Tolliver couldn’t contain himself. He shot to his feet saying, “You snot-nosed little bastard! Anybody who’d talk that way to his own mother don’t—”

  Directly beside the sheriff, Deputy McKeever also rose suddenly, one hand streaking to the pistol on his hip. For an instant, Buckhorn thought the young fool was making some kind of suicide play to try to save the situation. But instead of turning his gun on Micah or the men who’d gotten the drop on Buckhorn, the deputy jabbed the muzzle hard into the ribs of Tolliver, cutting short his words.

  “You shut up, too, you lovesick fool!” McKeever barked. “If you wasn’t such an idiot, you would have caught on months ago that there was a second outlaw gang operating practically in your backyard. So it’s a little late for heroics from you now.”

  Tolliver looked more stricken by the harsh words than the jab to his ribs. He said, “Bud? I don’t understand. What th—”

  “Shut up, I said!”

  Micah finally got around to looking over and acknowledging the two men who’d come up behind Buckhorn and Obie. Buckhorn took the opportunity to glance around and have a look for himself. As he should have guessed, he saw it was Dave and Hank, the two wranglers who seemed to be Micah’s near-constant companions.

  “I don’t know what brought you two rowdies over here,” Micah said, grinning ruefully, “but it was damned good to see you slide up in back of that stinkin’ half-breed.”

  “Over at the grub shack, Cookie mentioned how he’d seen Jeff and the ’breed ride up a little while ago and come right to the house,” explained Dave. “We thought that sounded like it might mean trouble so we figured we’d best slip over for a look-see.”

  “Well, that was mighty good figurin’ and don’t think I ain’t grateful.”

  “I just hope you didn’t scrape the bottom of the barrel on good figuring,” said McKeever. “Because, in case it ain’t occurred to nobody but me, now that the beans have been spilled on what’s been taking place behind the scenes around here, we’re gonna have to do some quick, smart figurin’ on how to play things next.”

  “Ain’t like we haven’t known this day was comin’ sooner or later,” Micah replied. “For starters, I think a smart move would be to make sure these hombres are all stripped of their weapons and then corralled somewhere secure so we can do the rest of the figurin’ we need to do. Line ’em up against the wall over there and make sure they keep their hands in plain sight. All except my lovin’ little brother, that is. Leave him layin’ for now. When we get the others taken care of, we’ll bring him around so me and him can have a real intense talk about a few things.”

  “He may be hurt bad,” Pamela protested. “You can’t just leave him lying there!”

  “Shut up, Mothe
r. I don’t aim to keep sayin’ it over and over,” Micah told her. “Number one, I just said we’re gonna roust him up in a minute, didn’t I? Number two, in case you haven’t figured it out by now, you all of a sudden don’t have any say around here anymore. I’m the one running the show from now on!”

  “You’re a disgrace.”

  Micah heaved an exaggerated sigh.

  “Yeah. Well, if you’d been payin’ closer attention, that really oughtn’t come as a big surprise to you by this point.” He turned away from her and waggled his gun at Dave and Hank. “Herd those men over against the wall, like I said. Then you two keep ’em covered while McKeever strips ’em clean of their weapons.”

  Holding his hands at chest level, Buckhorn started shuffling toward the wall with the others. His mind was churning, enraged, looking desperately for some kind of opening. But the quarters were too close and too crowded. And there were the women to consider. If he attempted anything and gunfire resulted, there was the risk of one of them catching a bullet. No, all he could do for right now was go along, try to keep alive, and hope for a better chance to turn things around.

  As he turned toward the wall, Buckhorn stopped to help Obie get to his feet.

  “Leave him alone!” Micah barked. “Let the old cripple haul himself up; it’ll make for a good show.”

  Buckhorn couldn’t hold back. He kept the grip he had clamped on Obie’s arm and his face snapped around, glaring at Micah.

  “To hell with you! I’m helping this man.”

  He heard somebody—Dave or Hank, he couldn’t be sure which—say, “But who’s gonna help you, you mouthy stinkin’ ’breed?”

  Then fiery pain exploded on the back of Buckhorn’s head. He felt himself pitching forward, and all of a sudden there was only blackness around him, swallowing him whole.

  CHAPTER 39

  Slowly, painfully, consciousness returned to Buckhorn. But the blackness remained. His eyes were open, he was certain of it. He rolled them around, blinked a few times. Yet everything was still dark.

 

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