Black Ransom (4 page)

The two men untied then mounted the big sorrels belonging to Ehron Lee and Winston and prepared to ride off.

“Wait,” Ehron Lee called. “What about our saddlebags?”

Buckskins wore a crooked grin. “Don't think so,” he said, adding a mocking “Adios” before he whooped and whipped the horse into a run, followed by the same maneuver from his partner.

Ehron Lee and Winston slowly got to their feet, but it was too dark to watch where the men were riding. Not that it would have done them any good.

After a few moments Winston walked over to one of the bay stallions and patted its flank.

He exhaled a relieved sigh. “My rump ain't gonna 'preciate ridin' bareback, but least they didn't leave us stranded.”

“Yeah. But you know they was up to no good.”

“No doubt 'bout that,” Winston said with a rock of his head. “But that ain't none of our concern—least for now. Once we get back to town, we can notify the law and let them try to figger it out.”

“I'm for startin' back now,” Ehron Lee said definitely. “Not much chance of us gettin' any shut-eye. And the quicker we report this, the less distance those two hombres will be able to make.”

“S'pose so,” Winston said, though his tone was hesitant. “'Course you know we'll be ridin' unarmed?”

Ehron Lee responded with a slight grin. “You think anything more can happen to us?”

Winston scratched the stubble under his flabby chin and said thoughtfully, “Maybe that's what I don't wanta find out.”

They extinguished the fire and tied up their bedrolls. In about a half hour the two men had broken camp and were riding through the night with the brightness of the silver dollar moon to guide them. It was a clear, flat trail dotted with clusters of plant life indigenous to the region, but still it was unfamiliar territory so they rode at a cautious pace. Both wore heavy ponchos that they'd brought along in anticipation of the cold autumn nights. In place of the saddles that had been taken along with their horses, the men resorted to compromise and sat atop folded blankets, which they'd tossed over the stallions' coarse backs. Even though Winston was generously padded on the behind, the ride was uncomfortable for both men.

The animals rode well, smooth and easy, giving further rise to their curiosity over the “trade.” But the truth was, both Ehron Lee and Winston suspected the answer, and while neither man spoke it, they had little doubt the mounts they were riding had been stolen.

To break the uncomfortable silence that came from this realization, Winston said to his companion, “How much money did yuh have in your saddlebag?”

“'Bout twenty dollars. You?”

Winston grinned. “I just came along for the ride. Kept my cash at home.”

“What about liquor?” Ehron Lee asked with a smirk.

“You could use a snort?”

“Just askin'.”

“Reckon I was thinkin' ahead,” Winston chortled. “What I had was what we drunk.”

“Yeah, sure got lucky there,” Ehron Lee remarked sardonically.

* * *

It was as dawn was approaching, announcing the start of the new day with a bronze glow peeking then steadily rising on the horizon, cresting the distant mountain peaks and splashing the first rays of sunshine over the eastern landscape, that the two men noticed what appeared to be shadowed riders cresting a hill—and after holding their position for only few moments, beginning a slow but steady advance toward them.

“See 'em?” Ehron Lee asked cautiously.

Winston lifted the brim of his straw hat. He raised a hand to his brow and squinted against the brightness of the breaking dawn.

“Uh-huh. Looks to be 'bout eight or ten of 'em.”

“Injuns?”

“Can't tell. Don't think so. But ridin' our way for sure.”

“Let's hope they'll just ride on past.”

Winston straightened himself on the horse. He patted his extended belly. “Mebbe. But I don't like what my gut is tellin' me.”

The group of riders continued forward, not veering off as the two men had hoped. Luckily they weren't hostile Apaches, known to ride this territory, though ongoing military maneuvers had pretty much kept their aggressions at bay, but cowboys, though they didn't look any too friendly either. Once they got near enough, part of the group separated into two columns and formed a loose half circle around Ehron Lee and Winston. The lead riders held their positions in front and, with their revolvers drawn but not aimed, gestured for the two men to halt their horses.

They had no choice but to obey, and they reined in their mounts, coming to a smooth stop, though Winston's stallion seemed anxious and stamped its foreleg against the ground.

Even though he was uncertain at the intrusion, Ehron Lee tried to speak confidently. “Mornin'. Anything we can do for you fellas?” he said.

“Supposin' you let us ask the questions,” came the curt reply.

Both men immediately took note that no one in this group appeared to be wearing a badge. If they weren't lawmen, had they lucked into another run-in with a bunch of desperados?

“Name's Bert Stradd and these here are my boys,” the man who was obviously in charge said. Ehron Lee couldn't help recognizing that both in appearance and authority, he, too, had likely been in the military.

With that, Stradd flipped open the side flap of his unbuttoned gray duster and revealed a tin star.

“Deputy sheriff, Cullen County,” he said.

The knowledge that Bert Stradd was a lawman did little to lessen the pair's apprehension. With a group of men this large, this looked to be serious business.

Stradd's own gun wasn't drawn since he was well protected by his men. Instead his gloved hands rested easily on the pommel of his saddle.

He continued. “Some of these fellas work for Elmer Bryant; the rest of us are his friends. We're what you might call an unofficial posse.”

“What's that got to do with us?” Ehron Lee asked casually, though with his brow furrowed.

“Those are Elmer's horses you're ridin',” Stradd said straightly. Then he spoke over his shoulder. “Ain't that so, Ed?”

A man who looked like an old wrangler returned, “Would recognize Mr. Bryant's stallions anywhere.”

Stradd smiled an unfriendly smile. “Y'see, Ed here would know. He's been Elmer's ranch foreman for goin' on ten years. Knows Elmer's stock sure as the back of his hand.”

“Sure do,” Ed said in a drawl. “And Mr. Bryant's stallions ain't like none others bred in this county.”

Winston spoke up. “Whoa, now hold on, mister. We know these horses is stolen. We got ours taken from us last night and got left with these two. Where they come from, we ain't got no idea.”

Stradd's steely gaze shifted from Winston to Ehron Lee.

“That's the truth,” Ehron Lee concurred. “We was campin' out on our way back from doin' some business when two fellas came up on us and said they wanted to trade their horses for ours. Since they were armed, we wasn't about to argue.”

Stradd squinted suspiciously. “Business, huh?”

One of the riders cut in. “Business nothin'. These two look like a coupla saddle tramps to me.” He punctuated his remark by spitting tobacco juice out the side of his mouth onto the ground.

“Was lookin' at buyin' some property,” Ehron Lee said simply.

Stradd was silent though it was clear he was assimilating each word spoken, each gesture made by the pair.

“Which I did,” Ehron Lee added.

“Notice neither of yuh is heeled,” Stradd observed with a tilt of his head.

“Hardly,” Ehron Lee said. “Grabbed our side arms along with our horses. As you can see, took our saddles, too.”

Stradd kept his eyes on the pair for several moments, as if assessing them, and then he glanced over his shoulder at the men behind him. Their expressions were set and mean. They looked as though they were ready to pull out the ropes to string the two up.

Fortunately, the man called Bert Stradd looked to have some reason about him. He focused his attention back on Ehron Lee. “Bought some land, you say? And you're ridin' in from the west . . .”

“That's right,” Ehron Lee said immediately. “And you're comin' from the east, where I assume this thievery took place. Well, let me ask yuh: Why'd we be comin' back in the direction of where you say we stole the horses from?”

Stradd's eyes narrowed and his words came strong, laced with a suggestion of offense at what was perceived as Ehron Lee's challenge.

“Remember, we're askin' the questions here,” he said. “Anyhow, you tell me. All I know from where I'm sittin' is that those are Elmer Bryant's horses. And you're ridin 'em. Ain't sayin' your story
might
not be true . . .” He paused and then exhaled a breath. “You got some proof of that land you say you bought?”

For an instant Ehron Lee looked hopeful . . . until he remembered.

“Bill of sale was in the saddlebag of my horse,” he muttered.

One of the posse sputtered out a laugh that sounded more like a cackle. “Well, ain't that all-to-hell convenient.”

Ehron Lee looked straight at the man and spoke with utter conviction. “We ain't lyin', mister.”

“What 'bout the fella who sold you this land?” Stradd said. “Can he vouch for yuh?”

“Could. Can give you his name,” Ehron Lee offered. “Albert Patterson. But first time we met him was at the farm, a deal set up through an acquaintance of his who heard I was lookin' to buy some property.
His
name was Mike somethin'. Can't recall. Didn't really matter at the time.”

“Where could one find this Patterson?” Stradd asked.

Ehron Lee lowered his eyes and sighed heavily. “That was a coupla days ago. Said he was movin' on after the sale. Seemed to be in a hurry to close the deal. Didn't say where he was headed. Don't know how to reach him.”

“As I said, ain't that just all-to-hell convenient.”

Stradd said to his men, “Any of you ever hear of an Albert Patterson?”

There was a mumbling among the posse that indicated no one knew of him.

By now the sun had almost cleared the mountain-tipped horizon. The skies were clear, and as they reached across the pastoral vista, it promised to be a beautiful autumn day. Winston took note of this and was just hoping he'd be around to see the end of it. As it stood at the moment, things didn't look so good.

Bert Stradd confirmed Winston's uncertainty when he gave his head a slow, almost regretful shake. He raised the brim of his Stetson over his brow and said, “Can't say you got me convinced. As for neither of you havin' weapons, well, that's a mite suspicious, too, ridin' unarmed in these parts.”

“I told you, our guns were taken,” Ehron Lee said, nearing exasperation.

“Some of the fellas who work for Elmer but who got there a little late said they never saw a gun pulled anyhow. The old man was jumped and just got beat pretty bad. By a big fella, they say.” Stradd regarded Winston appraisingly. “You look like you're purty powerful.”

Ehron Lee looked askance at his brother-in-law, who was starting to appear very nervous. That troubled Ehron Lee. These cowboys were eagerly waiting for
any
sign they could interpret as guilt.

Ehron Lee tried to smooth away the tension. “Sure, Winston here's a big man, but he ain't hardly got the energy to roll outta bed, much less beat someone. 'Sides, that ain't his nature.”

Stradd said, “Wouldn't take much energy to beat Elmer. The man's old, not to mention sick and feeble. What's more, he's near blind. Yeah, even if Elmer came around, he could never say for sure who jumped him. Reckon that's a mite bit of good luck for yuh.”

“Yeah, good luck if we was guilty, which we ain't,” Ehron Lee declared.

Winston swallowed back the bile he felt rising sourly in his throat, and when he spoke, his voice sounded desperate.

“We ain't no horse thieves, mister, and we sure ain't beat up no old man,” he protested. “Both of us got families. I—I got a wife. Ehron Lee here, his wife—”

One of the posse interrupted with a sneer, “Don't matter a good goddamn to me if'n you got families, wives . . . grandmothers. Lotsa your type do. Things have been rough since the war ended, and I seen a lot of decent folk go bad 'cause of the way things are. Don't know either of you and sure as hell can't see no reason why you two should be any different.”

Ehron Lee was able to maintain a fair demeanor of calm, but it was getting increasingly difficult for Winston, whose nerves looked about to give.

“At least give us a chance to prove ourselves,” Winston said, his voice high and nearly a shout. “That's only fair, ain't it?”

“And how d'yuh suggest we do that?” one of the posse said casually.

“Get after them real thieves,” Winston blurted out. “They ain't got that much of a head start. They—they was headin' west, last we saw.”

“Ain't much to ask,” Ehron Lee added.

Stradd said, “Or you could be tryin' to stall us. Send us off on a wild-goose chase while you two conveniently head off yonder. Don't think so. As I told yuh, we're all friends of Elmer, and as it looks now, there's a good chance he ain't gonna recover from that beatin' he got. Would be more to our likin' to string you both up right now and leave yuh to the buzzards.” He paused for effect, then he exhaled a breath. “But count yourselves lucky we ain't no vigilantes. We'll let the court deal with yuh. 'Course you ain't got much of a case. But that's 'bout as fair as you're gonna get from us.”

Winston was perspiring fiercely, an anxious fat man's sweat that dripped down his face in rivulets, as if he'd just dunked his head in a bucket of water, and his breathing came more rapidly and in a wheeze. His chest was heaving erratically. Ehron Lee was growing ever more concerned as he feared that Winston might just suffer a heart attack and drop dead on the spot.