Nate Coffin's Revenge (8 page)

A barely perceptible smile cut across her face like a wound created by an ax. “I don’t intend to approach anyone, Lucius. My aim is to kill them before they even realize that death is standing by their worthless sides. And once I’ve done with them, Nate Coffin is next. The man won’t live out the next month, if I have anything to say about it.”

“All that might be a good bit harder to accomplish than you think. We should wait for Boz Tatum’s return. I’ve sent an urgent telegraph to Fort Worth. He should be here within a week’s time.”

“No. We cannot, must not, tarry—even for a single wasted minute. You’ve already witnessed my ability with a pistol. Fought the Comanche with my father, but have little skill as a tracker. You’ll find the men who murdered my son, and, together, we’ll send all of them to Satan. I expect to see every last one of those skunks dead for what they did to William, and for their manifest other sins I’m certain we know nothing of.” Then, as if an afterthought, she added, “That includes the scurrilous bastard Nate Coffin for sending them.”

“Mighty strong talk.”

“Nothing like strong talk, Lucius. It’s a sworn promise. I swear before the God who watched over this uncalled-for funeral today that, even if you don’t show up, I’ll go after them myself.”

“What about Caleb? He’ll want to come along too.”

She squeezed my arm. “Don’t tell Caleb. He’ll just slow us down.”

Probably would have done what she wanted anyway. But when that sad, beautiful girl pressed her body against mine and kissed me so gently that I barely felt the brush of her full, voluptuous lips, whatever resistance I might have harbored crumbled like heat-withered flowers on her son’s newly dug grave.

She squeezed my hand and said, “You will be there tomorrow, won’t you?” Came out more like a statement than a question.

“I owe you a sacred debt that can never be repaid, Dianna. Not sure what my life is worth. But chasing down William’s killers, and perhaps ridding the world of Nate Coffin, should be a good beginning on the obligation. So, yes, I’ll be there. And promise, by whatever means necessary, to help you kill ’em all.”

She turned for the carriage. I helped her climb aboard, and placed the reins in hands that still trembled. “Be waiting for you at sunup,” she said. And with the snap of her buggy whip, she left me standing in a cloud of swirling Texas dust outside the sadly forlorn Pecan Grove graveyard. Shook my head and wondered if either of us would live through the following week.

Spent the rest of that evening in preparation for the hunt. Bought a mule at the only livery in town. Provisioned it with enough food and ammunition for an extended chase. Figured the killers wouldn’t be foolish enough to spend much time in a town and that we’d spend most of our time living on the ground.

Cleaned, loaded, and checked all my weapons. It’s never a good idea to brace dangerous men with a rifle, pistol, or shotgun you’ve mistakenly forgotten to charge for a fight or to test for possible mechanical failure. Many a man has died as a result of such feebleminded carelessness.

’Course, you can never really know exactly what desperate killers on the run will do. Some want to get away from the scene of their gruesome activities as quickly as possible. Such men won’t stop legging it until they feel safe. Others will hit the first dram shop available, drink themselves into near oblivion over the guilt they feel for their hideous criminality. Still others will drink, raise almighty hell, and brag to anyone who’ll listen about the brutality of their most recent repugnant offense. Worst of all, some murderers gleefully run directly to their next atrocity.

True to her word, Dianna sat on the porch of her devastated house the next morning. She had one of the finest-looking buckskin mares I’ve ever seen saddled, ready, and tied to the hitch rail out by the road. Animal stamped one front foot and snorted when I rode up. Appeared more than anxious to get on the trail. Stepped down from Grizz and started toward the porch. Sharp, oily smell wafted up my nose on a slight, hot breeze.

Guess I hadn’t gone two steps in the grieving woman’s direction when she stood, scratched a lucifer to life, and pitched it into the front door. Dressed like a man in pants, boots, a palm-leaf sombrero, and sporting a fine bone-gripped Colt’s pistol strapped high on her waist, she turned, closed the door, and jumped off the porch. The house exploded in a ferocious ball of scorching fire behind her. Rocked on its foundation. Sparkling shards of shattered glass filled the air on waves of angry flame.

Gal strode past me and never looked back. Bent over, snatched a gallon-sized metal can off the ground, and headed for the mule.

“Amazing what two gallons of coal oil can do,” she said over her shoulder as she tied the can to the mule’s load with our other supplies.

Stood in what was left of her once-well-kept yard and watched as the fast-moving conflagration spread to a wood-shingled roof, consumed the porch, and hungrily licked at the outside walls through blackened, shattered windows.

Couldn’t do anything ’cept shake my head in amazement. Over the years, I’ve come to realize that it does absolutely no good whatever to question why women do the things they do. As men, our best course of action is to simply stand back in amazement, and wait until they get ready to explain their actions. Gave up trying to figure it out and followed her to the horses. By the time I could get myself mounted, she’d already made it across the road and had pointed the buckskin along the wide, clear trail left by her son’s killers.

Before good dark we crossed the San Saba, and almost made it to the Llano. Set up our first camp under an ancient live oak on a rolling hillside. A rock-filled, clear-running creek wandered south toward the river less than five miles away.

Determined pretty quick I might have to try and get Dianna to slow down a bit. Girl’s fired-up determination and single-minded desire for revenge had the potential for playing havoc on our animals. And if we overtook the killers at the wrong time, it could prove fatal for the both of us.

Picketed the horses, then got a fire going. Dianna volunteered to take care of the meals. That suited me right down to the ground. Never professed any real talent at a cook fire. I could produce a fair pot of coffee in a pinch. Boz forced me into permanently taking on that particular chore when we hit the trail together.

Couldn’t tell exactly how he accomplished it, but my Ranger compadre did something to coffee grounds that defied imagination or understanding. Never tasted such uncommon bilge in my entire life. Fascinating part of the whole deal was that Boz loved the foul-tasting stuff. He derisively referred to my brew as “weak-assed belly wash,” and said it didn’t have any more taste than mildly muddy water—but he never turned down a single cup.

With the scent of wild bluebonnets drifting on an evening breeze that barely stirred the air, we finished our meal and stowed the gear. Stretched my tired, aching body out on my blanket. Dianna dropped into her bed like a felled tree. Thought she went right to sleep.

Surprised me some when, as if talking to the sky, she said, “Do you think we can catch up with them before they make it back to Uvalde?”

“Well, don’t appear as though they’re in any hurry. Probably figure so much lead got poured into your house, it killed everyone they wanted dead. Way we’ve been ridin’, like early don’t last long enough, just might catch up to ’em any time. Specially if they stop, or get careless.”

“Maybe I’ll pray for
careless
tonight.”

“Gotta be more cautious ourselves from now on, Dianna. Save our mounts. Might have to run ’em hard if these boys spot us.”

She rolled onto her side and faced me across our dying fire. “Whatever may come tomorrow, or whenever we catch up with them, I want at least one of those murdering skunks alive.”

“Thought you wanted to kill ’em all.”

She closed tired eyes and snuggled deeper into her blanket. “Oh, he won’t live long after I’ve had a chance to talk to him. Bet he’ll even beg me to end it all before I’ve finished.”

“Sounds like you think you’re up to torture if necessary.”

Barely heard it, but pretty sure she said, “You’d be surprised what I’m up to, or capable of, Ranger Dodge. Completely and totally amazed.”

God Almighty, but Dianna’s bald-faced threat sounded powerful ominous. Never would have figured such venom from the woman, but given what had been brutally taken from her, couldn’t blame the angry gal one little bit. Thought on the whole doo-dah for some time that night. Eventually came to the inescapable conclusion that had I found myself in the beautiful widow Savage’s position, eating bees and biting the horns off the Devil in his own parlor would have only been the beginning of my bloody retribution. ’Fore I fell asleep, said a silent prayer that Boz would catch up right quick. Always best to have another gun on such a raid. Good God, but I didn’t want to make a mistake and get me and Dianna killed.

6

“YOU BEEN SEEIN’ SPIRITS, MRS. SAVAGE?”

MID-MORNING OF THE following day, we topped a rock-strewn, scrubby, mesquite-covered hill that overlooked Indian Creek. Some miles farther to the south, the free-flowing stream emptied into the Llano. Three hundred yards below our vantage point, an unfinished cabin constructed of logs and rough-cut planks almost glowed in the warmth of a rising sun.

Rail corral attached to the west end of the incomplete house showed empty. Lean-to shed on the east side was near hidden under the sheltering shade of a sixty-foot-tall cottonwood shaped like a gigantic umbrella. A flock of skinny chickens wandered about in the grassless yard.

The massive tree dropped puffy white balls in such quantities, the entire silent place appeared as though covered by a layer of summertime snow. Hot, gently wafting breezes carried the tree’s droppings of the cottony stuff in drifts that piled hand-sized wads against every upright surface available. An unnatural hush, occasionally punctuated by the raspy call of locusts, presented the entire area in an eerie, otherworldly, grayish-white shroud.

Strained to get an informative look through my long glass. “Appears the front door’s open, but I can’t see anyone movin’ about,” I said. “Not even any animals, other than the chickens, in evidence. Trail leads right to the front door, though. If the men we’re after aren’t here, you can wager the family fortune they’ve been here. Lord help anyone down there who got in their way.”

Dianna snatched the glass from my grasp. “Let me see,” she said.

After several seconds of scanning the scene for herself, she handed the scope back, removed her dusty hat, and slapped it against an equally encrusted leg. “Be willing to take that bet. Appears the skunks we’re chasing have been here and gone already, Lucius. God only knows what the murderous scum left behind.”

Pulled and cocked a pistol. Gently urged Grizz down the hill. Over my shoulder, said, “Stay here with the mule while I give the place a good going-over. Shouldn’t take long. Wait till I call you in.”

Heard no objections from Dianna, and when I glanced back that way, she still sat her buckskin and hadn’t moved. Almost made it to the silent hut’s front door before I spotted what appeared to be a man’s body stretched on the floor inside.

Pulled up, stepped down, and let my reins drop to the ground. Patted Grizz’s neck and whispered, “Stand, Grizz, stand.” Animal nibbled at my hand and snorted. Knew he wouldn’t move, no matter what transpired.

Kept the pistol pointed at the house and, with my free hand, loosened the bindings on my short-barreled shotgun. Pulled the big popper and snapped it open with my left hand. Both barrels were primed. Snapped it shut, and headed for the door. Felt considerable better once I had the big blaster in hand.

Do not to this very day know exactly why, but there’s just something spine-chilling about approaching the scene of a freshly discovered and brutal murder. Had been in such a state of belligerence the day I burst into Dianna’s house, those feelings had somehow managed to go right over my head at the time. But as I approached the half-built, cotton-covered house on Indian Creek, an uncomfortable feeling of sinister forces, perhaps lurking nearby, came over me in an unsettling wave of apprehension.

Carefully eased my way to the open door. Based on what I could see, the dead feller couldn’t have been any more than twenty-five or thirty years old. Obvious to me his killers had surprised hell out of him with a bullet to the eye when he opened the door. Powder burns on one whole cheek of a contorted face led me to believe that whoever fired the fatal shot must have been right on top of him. Looked like they’d shoved the muzzle right into his eye. Jesus, what a bloody mess.

Stepped over the corpse. Did a quick, nerve-rattled inspection of the single twelve-by-twenty-foot room. Littered floor and overturned, broken furniture presented the image of a formerly well-kept home where not a single item now resided in its intended place. Only good thing I could say about the scene was that no other dead folk appeared in evidence.

Noise from behind got my attention. Jumped and brought the shotgun around only to find Dianna standing in the doorway. Girl held her cocked pistol ready for action, and shook her head in disgust.

“Thought I told you to wait up on the hill,” I said. “Could’ve shot you dead, girl. Shouldn’t sneak up on an agitated man like that.”

“I did exactly as you told me, but felt I’d waited long enough. Thought came to me that, perhaps, you might need some help. Of course I can now see that you don’t. Have you found the woman yet?”

“Woman? What woman is that? What makes you think there’s a woman?”

“Better take a good look, Ranger Dodge. Dead or alive, there must be a woman around somewhere.”

“How can you tell?”

Sounded a bit frustrated with me when she snapped, “Furnishings, curtains on the windows, broom by the door, place is spotless, except for the overturned furniture and such. Haven’t known a man yet who didn’t live like a hibernating bear when left to his own devices.”