Bloody Trail (8 page)

Satterlee gazed at Bill, who had thrown on his
shirt, but had yet to button it. He took in the bullet scar on
Bill’s chest, and the old saber slash across his belly, both still
coated with Jed’s and Rojo’s blood. He also hadn’t failed to notice
the Model 1866 Winchester Yellowboy repeater Bill slid into his
saddle scabbard.

“
Joe, I think Torrance might just
surprise all of us. He’s ridin’.”

“
Ridin’ what? He don’t even have a
decent horse,” Montgomery objected. “That fancy calico pony of
his’ll never keep up. Hell, it ain’t nothin’ but a spoiled
pie-biter, everybody knows that. Horse like that is only fit for
women or squaws.”

Bill had said nothing, until now. He stalked
up to Joe, and sank his left fist deep into Montgomery’s belly. The
young man doubled up, wrapped his arms around his middle, and
collapsed to the dirt. He lay on his side, gasping for breath, eyes
watering with pain.

“
Montgomery, you can say whatever
you’d like about me, but talk about my horse like that again and
I’ll kill you where you stand,” Bill warned.

Whatever Joe intended to reply was cut off by
Satterlee’s brusque order.

“
That’s plenty out of both of you.
We’ve got a big enough problem facin’ us as it is, without fightin’
amongst ourselves. Joe, soon as you get your air back, get on your
horse and catch up to us. Bill, you hold your temper. Rest of you,
get mounted. Every minute we stand around is another minute between
us and the Danby bunch.”

****

Bill’s thoughts raced faster than the powerful
horse galloping underneath him as the posse raced hell-bent for
leather across the rolling Kansas plains. When he’d left Texas,
he’d vowed to never again wear a badge or touch a weapon. Yet,
despite that vow, here he was deputized, and in pursuit of one of
the most vicious outlaw gangs plaguing the southern
Plains.

As one of the considerable minority of Texans
who opposed secession from the Union at the start of the War, Bill
had refused to join the Confederate army. As far as he, and a lot
of others, were concerned, the war had been started to support a
bunch of wealthy plantation owners in the South and rich Yankees in
the North. He’d never bought the argument advanced by many
Southerners that the whole reason for secession was states’ rights.
Bill’s opinion was that claim was so much horse manure. If the
plantation owners hadn’t wanted to keep their free labor, the war
would never have been fought.

However, while Bill held no truck with the
Confederacy, he was still loyal to Texas. Once the Comanches
realized much of the male population of the state had gone off to
fight, they intensified their raiding, hoping to take back some of
the land they’d lost. When volunteer companies of Texas Rangers
were once again organized, Bill answered the call. Before long, he
rose to the rank of sergeant.

By the time the war neared its end, the
Rangers found themselves dealing with white renegades as much as
Indians. Deserters from both armies, mainly the South, and outlaws
in general flocked to Texas. The wide-open spaces and lack of law
provided plenty of opportunity, and places to disappear. The people
of Texas soon found out many of those white renegades were far more
trouble than any Comanches.

It was during a confrontation with one of
those bands of deserters when Bill had his first encounter with Wes
Hammond. He and five men from his Ranger company had been searching
for the band which included Hammond for several weeks. They finally
caught up to them at a trading post some miles west of Bandera,
where they’d already killed the proprietor and his family and were
looting the place. When the Rangers arrived, the outlaws holed up
inside the building. A two-hour gun battle ensued, during which one
of Bill’s men was killed, and another badly wounded. The standoff
finally ended when a Ranger was able to get close enough to the
trading post to set it on fire. Forced to flee the structure or
burn to death, the outlaws raced into a hail of lead, which cut
down all but one. Wes Hammond managed to escape being hit, and made
it to his horse. Bill caught up to Hammond just as he was climbing
into the saddle. He ordered Hammond to surrender, but Hammond
whirled, saber in hand, and slashed Bill across the belly. Bill
staggered back, and managed to fire one shot before Hammond could
strike again. His bullet took Hammond in the upper right arm,
causing him to drop the saber. Bill collapsed, while Hammond,
leaving him for dead, pulled himself onto his horse and disappeared
through the smoke and haze. Bill survived, but took several weeks
to recuperate. Months later, he heard Hammond had left Texas and
joined back up with his old guerrilla outfit, led by a man named
Jim Danby.

After the war’s end, with the Rangers
effectively disbanded and replaced by the despised State Police,
Bill took the town marshal’s job in Blanco. He liked law work, and
the citizens of Blanco, for the most part, liked Bill. He
envisioned remaining as Blanco’s marshal indefinitely, until the
day Harold Perdue came home to find his wife, Georgia, in bed with
Pete Channing. Harold was the mayor of Blanco, while Pete just
happened to be Bill’s closest friend. Instead of doing the sensible
thing, leaving town fast, Pete shot Perdue dead in his own bedroom.
Later, when Bill attempted to arrest him, Pete pulled his gun. Bill
hesitated, not wanting to shoot his best friend. That moment of
indecision nearly cost him his life when Pete put a bullet in his
chest. Bill’s two return shots tore through Pete’s belly. The
gut-shot cowboy lingered for three agonizing days before he died.
After Pete’s funeral, Bill turned in his badge, took off his guns,
and left Blanco without looking back.

“
So here we are again Cholla,
chasin’ outlaws,” Bill murmured to his horse. “Reckon I don’t need
to ask how you feel about that.”

Cholla merely twitched his ears and increased
his pace. True to his mustang ancestry, the big paint loved to run,
and enjoyed nothing more than the thrill of the chase.

****

Little more than three miles outside of town,
Satterlee ordered the posse to a halt. Lying on a creek bank were
the bullet-riddled bodies of two young boys, each no more than nine
years old. One still clutched a fishing pole.

“
Those bastards!” Satterlee
exclaimed. “That’s Jody and Jesse Haskins. Just a coupla kids. No
reason for Danby to do that.”

“
You reckon we’d better check the
Haskins’ place?” Spence Pennycuff asked. “Tracks’re headin’ that
way.”

“
Yeah. Can’t take the time to care
for these boys properly. One of you toss a blanket over ‘em, then
let’s keep movin’,’ Satterlee ordered.

“
Sheriff, I don’t reckon we’ll
find much left at Haskins’ house,” Derrick said. He indicated a
thin wisp of smoke, barely visible against the hazy sky.

“
Even more reason to swing by
there,” Satterlee answered. “Won’t take but a minute or two. Let’s
go.”

“
Hold on, Sheriff. Someone’s
comin’. Appears to be Mack Haskins,” Charley said, when a rider on
a hard driven horse topped a small rise. He held a rifle, which he
waved over his head. He pulled his horse to a halt once he reached
the posse. A deep bullet crease, still oozing blood, marred his
forehead.

“
Sheriff,” he called. “I was just
headed into town. Bunch of riders hit my place, shot me and left me
for dead, then burned the house down and ran off my stock, except
Rowdy here. Mary’s missing. Those men must’ve taken her. Got to
locate my boys, make sure they’re safe, then go after my
wife.”

“
Slow down, Mack,” Satterlee
advised. “Same bunch invaded town, looted the place and robbed the
bank. We’re on their trail. Far as your boys, I’m
sorry.”

“
What do you mean,
Sheriff?”

“
There’s no easy way to break
this. Your boys are dead, Mack. Shot by those men. They’re right
behind us, on the creek bank.”

“
Lord, no!”

Haskins buried his head in his hands,
sobbing.

“
Jimmy, you stay here with Mack,”
Satterlee ordered. “Help him get his boys home, then catch up with
us if you can.”

“
We’ll catch up with you all
right,” Haskins said. “Rowdy is fresh.” He glanced at the young
Cherokee cowboy. “Let’s go,” he barked, “I’m gonna lay my boys out
in the house and kiss ‘em, and then I’m ridin’ with you to get my
Mary back!”

****

Danby’s gang had ridden west out of Wolf Creek
for two miles, then turned due south, heading for Indian Territory.
After pursuing them for three hours, Satterlee called for a
twenty-minute rest break.

“
What’re we stoppin’ for,
Sheriff?” Red Myers demanded. “You can be sure Danby
ain’t.”

“
Won’t do us any good to ride
these horses into the ground,” Satterlee explained. “Danby’s mounts
can’t be in much better shape. Mack says they didn’t get more’n two
fresh horses from him, so they’ll have to rest their horses,
too.”

“
Unless they stole more further
down the line,” Spike Sweeney pointed out.

“
In which case, it won’t matter
anyway,” Bill said. “If they get fresh horses, they’ll make the
Nations long before we catch up with ‘em.”

“
Torrance, if you’re so worried
about that spotted cayuse of yours, why don’t you just turn back?”
Joe Montgomery asked.

“
I ain’t worried about Cholla.
He’s got plenty of miles left in him,” Bill replied. “However, most
of the others don’t. Like G.W. says, we rest ‘em, or we lose
‘em—and if we lose these horses, we lose Danby’s bunch.”

“
Much as I hate to agree with
Torrance, he’s right,” Derrick added. “Twenty minutes won’t make
much difference one way or the other.”

Bill allowed Cholla a short drink from his
canteen. While his horse then grazed, Bill studied the other posse
members. If pressed, he would have had to agree with Montgomery’s
objections to some of the men chosen, starting with himself. Of
course, no one in Wolf Creek knew of his background. Likewise, Rob
Gallagher, and, to a lesser degree, Jimmy Spotted Owl, seemed
unsuited to tangling with a gang of hardened outlaws. The same
could be said for Doctor Munro. Bill knew the doctor had seen the
results of combat as a surgeon, but was unsure as to his actual
battlefield experience. At least there were no questions about
Satterlee himself, nor either of his deputies. All were tough,
experienced lawmen.

Red Myers, the tannery worker, and Spike
Sweeney, the blacksmith, were riding side by side—two men who could
be counted on in a fight. The four cowboys, Jimmy, Joe Montgomery,
Phil Salem, and little Billy Below were grouped alongside their
horses. Derrick and Charley were off by themselves, whatever
thoughts they had locked in their heads.

All too soon, the twenty minutes passed, and
the possemen were back in their saddles, galloping south once
again.

****

Charley Blackfeather pulled his bay gelding
alongside Bill and Cholla. The posse’s pace had settled to a steady
lope, a gait that would cover plenty of ground, but still conserve
the horses as much as possible.

“
Bill,” he said, just loudly
enough so only the hostler could catch his words, “I’ve been
studyin’ on you since we left town. Seems to me you know a bit more
about this whole business than you’re lettin’ on. Want to share
somethin’?”

“
Just a gut feelin’,” Bill
answered. “Appears to me these tracks are a bit too plain, even for
a bunch as big as Danby’s.”

“
You think we’re bein’ led into a
drygulchin’?”

“
I wouldn’t bet against it, would
you? Besides, you’re the one who said Danby likes to circle men
back.”

“
That’s right, I did,” Charley
agreed. “I still get the feelin’ you know more about Danby than
you’re willin’ to admit.”

“
Only know what I’ve heard,” Bill
said. “For now, let’s just keep our eyes and ears open—and hope G.
W. isn’t so hell-bent on catchin’ up to Danby he leads us straight
into a trap.”

“
Right.” Charley slowed his horse,
to drop slightly behind Bill.

By mid-afternoon, the posse had reached a
stretch of rougher terrain, land crossed by shallow ravines and dry
creek bottoms. A creek bed, deeper than the rest and marked by
stunted cottonwoods and scrub brush, came into view. Bill studied
it for a moment, then urged Cholla into a faster gait, pushing him
into a dead run until he reached Satterlee. The sheriff and his
deputies were still at the front of the posse.

“
Sheriff,” Bill called.

“
What is it, Bill?”

“
Don’t like the looks of that
creek bed ahead. Perfect spot for an ambush.”

“
Danby ain’t gonna waste the time
to pull a bushwhackin’,” Satterlee objected. “He’s in too much of a
hurry to reach safety in the Nations.”

“
I’m not so sure about that,
Sheriff,” Bill protested.

“
Torrance, you let me worry about
how to handle this posse,” Satterlee snapped. “If you don’t like my
way of doin’ things, then you can head back to town.”

“
You’re in charge, Sheriff,” Bill
answered, with a shrug. He slowed Cholla back to a lope, falling
once again to the rear of the posse. Just as he did, a flock of
startled crows, cawing in alarm, burst from the trees alongside the
creek.