Boswell's Luck (12 page)

The coach's arrival in Thayerville was another matter. No sooner had the wheels rolled to a halt than people rushed out of shops and saloons to cheer their homegrown hero.

“All I done was throw a few shots at 'em,” Rat complained.

“Saved two children from certain death, as I heard it,” Varina Palmer proclaimed. “And brought my man back to the bosom of his family.”

Rat had to grin at the sight of a petite Varina Palmer hugging her giant of a husband. A smallish, plain-faced girl joined them, as did three bony-legged boys. It was hard to believe the children were the same ones Pop had described in his numerous tales. But young Tyler wrapped an eager arm around Rat and thanked him for saving his father, and Varina provided a generous invitation to supper that night.

“From now on there'll be no stable sleepin', either,” the woman insisted. “Ty's made you up a rope bed in the boys' room, and you'll pass your nights in Thayerville with us.”

Rat started to argue, but the Palmers wouldn't have it. And once he tasted Varina's pork chops, he had no urge to object. He clearly saw how Hoyt Palmer had increased his girth, and if the children were plain and a bit ragged, they were nevertheless full of pepper and noise. They howled with delight at every tale Rat spun of his years on the range. In contrast to the silence of the stable, Pop Palmer's crowded farmhouse was a home.

Nate Parrott provided a few rewards of his own.

“Colonel Wyler sent you his congratulations, Rat,” the stationmaster explained the next day. “You got yourself five dollars a week more money, and the colonel says to pick out the best pair o' handguns you can spot. They're on him.”

“I never handled nothin' fancy,” Rat explained. “Just this ole Colt give to me on the cattle drive north.”

“I'll help you choose 'em,” Parrott pledged. “I already spoke to Mary Morris at the mercantile 'bout some new clothes, too. Colonel wired we got to outfit you proper.”

“I don't understand,” Rat complained. “All I did was what you hired me for. I just shot a horse and drove off some fellows who likely weren't but broke cowboys tryin' to get their poker money back.”

“Not how others see it, Rat. You already brung us business. From here on out there'll be lots o' money travelin' to Albany and back, I wager.”

“Won't make my job any easier, will it?”

“Sure won't. Honey draws flies, you know. Now run along to the mercantile. I got work for you after.”

Rat nodded, then started out the door. As he walked, he couldn't help shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. Any minute he expected to wake up in the stable having dreamed the whole business.

Vesty Plank was tending the counter when Rat appeared.

“Always knew you hadn't any sense,” the boy declared. “Takin' on Pa the way you did back when. Took my lickin' that time, Rat. And now … “

“I'm supposed to pick out some clothes,” Rat explained.

“Miz Morris got 'em ready for you, all 'cept the size. Rat, you got to be careful here on out.”

“What?”

“Ef rides with some folks out past Albany,” Vesty explained. “I hear things sometimes. You watch out, hear?”

“Thanks, Vesty,” Rat said, giving the frail young man a shake of the shoulders. “I know those words didn't come easy.”

“No, but I owed you,” he said, gazing intently into Rat's eyes. “I seen Pa shot, too. Bullets make big holes in people, Rat. And it don't matter if a man acts brave or not.”

Rat nodded his agreement as Mary Morris arrived. With a shout, she rushed over and hugged Rat tightly.

“Lord be praised!” she shouted. “My boy's been delivered from peril. You should quit that stage company, Rat Hadley. It's not God's work, shooting men.”

“Maybe not, ma'am, but it's work just the same,” he answered. “I had no rush o' other offers. Seems to me, ma'am, like the Lord sends a man on his way. I see the path, and I take my steps along it. All I know to do.”

“Nothing good ever came of violence,” she argued.

“Seems to me people look me in the eye now. That's a middlin' good, don't you think? I ain't much, Miz Morris, but nobody ought to step on me like they used to. They don't try it now. And they won't long as I keep ridin' the stage.”

“And when someone shoots you dead?”

He tried to manage a smile. He wanted to tell her how the pain would end. Instead he kept mum and let her show him the clothes she'd picked out.

Rat Hadley was outfitted in new woolen trousers, a cotton shirt, and a heavy sheepskin coat when he climbed up beside Pop Palmer for the westbound journey to Albany that next day. The two elderly women in the coach paid him no mind, and Pop merely chewed the remainder of one of Varina's biscuits. Glory and fame were apparently short-lived.

The westbound trip proved as dull and uneventful as any Rat could recall. In spite of a sharp wind that left him half-numb, he maintained a close watch on the surrounding countryside. Once or twice he thought he detected shadows in the rocks, but they never sprouted faces or rifles. It proved a peaceful crossing.

The return leg of the trip seemed different from the first. To begin with, the coach was crowded with passengers. Roy and Tobin Heathcock, a pair of Ft. Worth merchants, were finishing a hide-buying trip with a swing through Brazos towns. Mrs. Ethel Gardiner and her two children were off to see family in Thayerville, and one of the Albany freight handlers, young Ed Robson, had talked Colonel Wyler into providing a free trip home to see an ailing mother.

“Got a full load this trip,” Palmer grumbled as he heaved a money chest up to Rat. A second chest followed. Ned Wyler had designed his coaches with a small compartment below the driver's bench where chests could be concealed, and Rat saw the chests placed there side by side. It made sense to hide valuables, but Rat judged half the state knew about the hidden space now.

“Figure to run into trouble?” Rat whispered as Palmer took his place atop the coach.

“Never think elsewise, Rat,” the driver answered. “Don't like to be disappointed. If we have a clear run, well, that's just fine. You plan on trouble, you don't go losin' yer head when she comes 'long.”

Rat deemed it a truth. And as they headed eastward, he checked his rifle and prepared for the worst.

Rat first saw the outlaws ten miles from Albany. There were just two of them, but their flour-sack masks testified to their intent. Rat motioned toward them with his rifle, and Palmer frowned.

“We could turn round,” Rat suggested.

“If we want to close this line,” Palmer muttered. “We see 'em good. Ones to worry over's them you don't see.”

Rat nodded his agreement. That was already troubling him.

For a time the stage seemed to lose its shadowing riders. The pair kept to the hills. Whenever they got within range of the Winchester, Rat fired, and they skedaddled back to safety.

“What you doin', boy?” Roy Heathcock barked from the window just below. “Shootin' squirrels?”

“No, snakes,” Rat answered. “Curious kind.”

“There's robbers chasin' us!” little Tully Gardiner cried. “I seen 'em. You get one o' them, mister?”

“Just seein' they stay respectable back,” Rat answered.

So they remained for the better part of the crossing. It wasn't until they started down a hillside just south of the Brazos that real trouble came. The narrow trail was blocked by a rockslide.

“Any way 'round?” Rat asked.

“Nope,” Palmer replied. “Got to clear the trail.”

Palmer pulled the coach to a halt, and Rat clambered down.

“Ed, come lend yer back,” Rat urged as he tossed a small rock aside. The Heathcocks joined in the effort to remove the obstructing rocks. Rat did his best to scan the hills on either side of the trail for faces, but there were moments when his back was needed more than his shooting eye. It took every man there to pry a pair of boulders from the road. Even as the second of the big rocks rolled away, shots rang out.

“Tobe!” Roy Heathcock screamed as he fell back clutching his belly.

“Roy!” Tobin answered as he hurried to help his stricken brother. Mrs. Gardiner ushered her children to cover, and Rat pulled young Robson out of the way. Pop Palmer was already scurrying under the coach.

“Got real trouble this time,” Palmer declared as Rat eyed his rifle resting beside the door of the coach.

“Can you reach the Winchester?” Rat asked.

“I can,” Tully Gardiner answered, jumping out and grabbing the rifle as three shots erupted from the high ground above. The boy dragged the rifle to Rat and gazed up proudly at the guard.

“Get down, fool boy,” Rat cried, forcing the youngster behind a rocky refuge. “They're shootin' real bullets, you know.”

“Yeah, but I'm quick,” Tully boasted. “I can shoot, too.”

“Not this day,” Rat said, covering the foolhardy mop of amber hair with a weary hand. “Ed, you all right?”

“Scared out o' my hide, but no holes in me.”

“How're the Heathcocks?”

“One of 'em's bad,” Ed answered. “Other one's just mad.”

Rat stared at the hills on either side of the trail. It was well-laid, this ambush. And he was caught in it like a rabbit snared in a dead fall.

“Give it up!” a voice boomed from above them. “You got no chance!”

Rat turned to Pop Palmer, but the driver shrugged his shoulders and gazed helplessly.

“I plan to get Mr. Heathcock inside the coach,” Rat explained. “Pop, you look after Tully here. If we get the others inside, you climb up and get us movin'. Long as we're down here, we got no chance.”

Rat made his way over to the Heathcocks. Roy was breathing heavily, and his clothes were soaked with blood. He was clearly dying, but his brother would not leave him behind.

“This is how we'll do it,” Rat began. “Ed, take this pistol. You help the Heathcocks, then watch the north hillside. I'll cover you and keep the south ridge clear.”

“Boy, you're crazy,” Tobin Heathcock objected. “They've got us. Do as they say and we got a chance.”

“Ain't many o' them,” Rat argued. “Two chased us in, and I count maybe one or two other rifles. Don't have enough fire or they'd taken us by now.”

“Might have help comin',” the merchant pointed out.

“Well, we may have some ourselves,” Rat muttered.

Nobody seemed very eager to follow a stumpy nineteen-year-old's orders, but there wasn't any other plan. Rat nodded to his companions, then darted forward, He raised the Winchester to his shoulder and opened up on the far slope. Ed Robson helped Tobin Heathcock drag his injured brother along to the coach. Meanwhile rifle fire descended from both sides upon the coach.

It was momentary madness. Bullets splintered rock and sliced into the stagecoach. The horses reared and stomped in an effort to free themselves from the confines of their harness. One figure made a move down the south hill, but Rat sent him scrambling back to safety. Then two rifle bullets chased Rat from cover, and a third tore through his left arm.

“Rat?” Palmer called.

“I'm all right,” Rat screamed as he dove behind another boulder and dragged his rifle along. He felt the blood running up his arm and soaking his sheepskin coat, but there was no time for making repairs.

“Give it up down there!” the outlaw leader urged. “You got no chance.”

“Come down and see what chance we got!” Rat barked.

“Don't need to, friend,” the voice on the hillside answered. “We can wait you out, come by dark.”

“Can you?” Rat responded. “When this coach doesn't reach town, Sheriff Cathcart's sure to send a posse.”

“Won't do you no good. Y'all be dead then.”

“We got Miz Gardiner to think of,” Palmer called. “Rat?”

“No!” Rat yelled as he painfully fired his rifle. He then motioned Palmer to climb up and started toward the coach himself.

The outlaws hesitated just a moment. It was what Rat had hoped for. Tully Gardiner scrambled inside, and Palmer lumbered up and retook the reins. Even as Rat tossed his rifle up and followed, the raiders suddenly descended.

“Get 'em!” the leader yelled.

Rat lifted the Winchester with his right hand and managed to steady the barrel. A masked figure filled the sights, and Rat fired. A bullet knocked the thief's feet from beneath him. A pistol shot from the coach drove off a second outlaw.

“Rat, behind you!” Palmer shouted as he whipped the horses into motion.

Rat had but a second to act. He whirled and saw a solitary masked ban dit clamber up the side of the coach. The outlaw pointed the cold barrel of his pistol toward Rat's face, but Rat managed to knock the gun aside using the Winchester's barrel. Then, as the surprised raider frantically threw himself atop the coach, Rat discarded his rifle and drew the remaining pistol from his twinned holsters.

“Shoot!” Palmer shouted, and Rat rammed back the hammer with his thumb and fired a single round through the attacker's forehead. The masked figure collapsed in a heap amid the neatly arranged trunks and boxes.

“You got him!” Palmer cried. “Rat, you got him!”

“Sure, I did,” Rat said, trembling as he glanced back and watched the remaining outlaws falling far behind. “Now get this coach to town. Hurry!”

Rat occupied himself that next hour and a half stemming the blood flowing out of his arm. Already he was growing light-headed, and he could barely keep his eyes open. Danger remained, of course, for the raiders had horses. In the end, though, the Western Company's eastbound rolled into Thayerville without further incident.

The coach had hardly stopped when Tobin Heathcock jumped out and called for a doctor. Onlookers stared at the bullet holes in the side of the coach, and soon a crowd gathered. Nate Parrott sent a boy off to locate Dr. Tom Jennings, and a party of men managed to carry Roy Heathcock inside the stage office.