Ralph Compton Comanche Trail (14 page)

The two men sat on the front porch of the hotel, watching as a young man rode a bicycle along the main street of Waco. Neither had ever seen such a contraption before, much less a town of such size. At the far end of the street, a shrill whistle and billowing smoke signaled a steam engine's arrival at the depot. People hurried about in all directions, visiting the mercantile, post office, bank, doctor's office, courthouse, eateries, and buildings on the square where cotton traders headquartered. “I hadn't figured on there being this many folks in the whole state of Texas,” Barclay said.

Since they had crossed the newly built bridge that spanned the Brazos River and ridden into town, Taylor and Barclay felt like out-of-place drifters. Waco, with its location on a spur of the Chisholm Trail and its railroad stop, had become a destination for those driving cattle to market. Too, thousands of bales of cotton were harvested by farmers in the region and transported to the town's mills.

There were churches for Baptists and Methodists, and in a section of town favored by the less godly, dozens of bawdy saloons and gambling houses lined a side street.

“I reckon this is what the future of the so-called frontier's gonna look like,” Taylor said.

For days they had traveled with no real destination in mind. They agreed odds were good that Kate Two and the preacher had headed south, so they had simply set out in that direction, hoping to pick up the trail along the way. Only the faint recollection by a family days earlier had given them any cause for optimism. The settlers recalled a pretty woman accompanied by a skinny older man briefly stopping at their cabin to inquire about buying biscuits and coffee.

“Wasn't no names exchanged,” the farmer had said. “They made their purchase and rode on. Heading south.”

Trail-weary and discouraged, Taylor and Barclay had determined that their dwindling poke would allow a small spurge. They had paid fifty cents each for tubs of hot water and bathed away the grime of their travels, then eaten venison steaks in the hotel dining room.

It was as they sat on the porch at sunset that an elderly man, white-haired and limping more noticeably than Barclay, approached.

“You boys gonna be staying with us?” he asked. “Name's Eli Stampley. I'm the proprietor of this fine establishment. You ask anyone and they'll tell you the Captain's Place is the best in town.”

“Just passing through,” Taylor said. “We've already availed ourselves of a bath and a fine meal. That stretched our budget about all it can stand.”

Stampley smiled. “I was going inside to have myself a cup of coffee. If you boys are of a mind to join me, it'll be on the house.”

The purpose of the invitation became quickly apparent. Eli Stampley loved to talk, particularly about himself.

A native of Tennessee, he told of coming to Texas and serving as a Texas Ranger under Captain Jack Hays. Without a single question from his visitors, he recalled battles fought with Indians, bank robbers he'd helped apprehend, and bloody border wars fought with Mexican cattle rustlers. He wasn't sure how many men he'd killed during the course of his lengthy career. “All I can say is it was a substantial number, even if you don't count the Indians and Mexicans. When I got this leg shot up,” he said, “I had to retire. That's when I moved here and bought this hotel.”

Barclay wanted to ask how he'd been able to afford such a purchase on a Ranger's salary but remained silent.

“So that's my life story, such as it is. What is it that brings you gentlemen to these parts?”

Taylor saw no reason to keep their purpose secret. “We're hoping to find a couple of people who are on the run.”

“Bad people, I'm guessing.”

“One's a killer. The other's being held against his will.”

When he went on to explain that he was talking about a woman and a preacher, Stampley shook his head. “In all my years as a lawman,” he said, “I never heard tell of a combination like that. You think they might be here in Waco?”

“We've got no idea.”

“Back in the days when we were searching for somebody, it was often as not that we'd find him hiding in plain sight. Big as this town has become, it's mighty easy to get yourself lost in the crowd. And, sad to say, we've got a growing number of folks here who ain't exactly law-abiding. For the right
incentive, they'd be quick to help a body hide away. I got no badge anymore, but I'm still on a friendly basis with most who do.” He smiled again. “And I know a few ne'er-do-wells down in the part of town we call Six-Shooter City who'll sometimes confide in me.”

Barclay spoke up. “Way things been going, we'd be obliged for any help, large or small.” He recognized an excitement in Stampley's voice as he offered his suggestion. The old Ranger was a man clearly yearning to reclaim, even briefly, the thrills of his past.

Stampley said, “Here's my suggestion—you fellas take a room for one night here at the Captain, give your horses a rest, and enjoy the hospitality of Waco. Meanwhile, I'll see what I might be able to find out.”

Taylor shrugged. “I reckon sleeping in comfort for a night would do no harm.”

“And a taste of the local whiskey might also be in order,” Barclay said.

Stampley doffed his hat as he limped away. “I'll be in touch.”

Taylor watched the old Ranger disappear into the crowded street. “I wish I had some of his lawman experience. Maybe if I did I'd have a better notion of what it is we're up against. I keep asking myself what I'd be thinking if I was Kate Bender, where I'd be heading and what I planned to do with that poor ol' preacher. Then it occurs to me that I've got no way of figuring out a woman's thinking.”

“You're trouble's not understandin' women,” Barclay said. “It's just that you ain't yet grown mean enough to have thoughts like a bandit. Jerusalem Chadway is likely already gone to whatever reward awaits a crazy circuit preacher. If
the Bender woman's made it this far, she's got no further need of him.”

Taylor shuddered. “You thinking she might be here?”

“Could be, but not likely for long. Any outlaw headed south most likely has Mexico in mind. If he can get across the Rio Grande, everything changes for the better. Course, if it was me, I'd be jumpin' on one of those trains that's headed west and ride it to the last stop. But I'm guessing Miss Bender has her mind set on some other plan.”

•   •   •

On the other side of town, Kole Guinn was already drunk, though it was only midday. Also a former Texas Ranger, he had retired shortly before Stampley and purchased a small ranch and a herd of longhorns. He'd been married twice, but after his first wife died and his second caused him so much grief that he sent her away, his only real passion had been adding to his fortune. Over the years his spread had grown into one of the largest in central Texas. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his slicked-down hair and neatly trimmed beard still as black as they'd been in his younger days. He too liked to brag of his days as a Ranger, fighting Indians—a black patch, covering an eye socket gouged out by a Comanche, evidence of his past valor. His greatest pleasure, however, came from the knowledge that he had become a powerful and wealthy man, intimidating to all and feared by many.

The interior of the Roost was dark except for the hint of daylight that came through the open door. Aside from Guinn, who sat at a back table, a half-full bottle of whiskey at arm's reach, the only other patrons were two men who earned their wages as wranglers and bodyguards for the rancher. It would
be their responsibility to see that their boss got back to the ranch safely once his bottle was empty.

“What causes you to come interrupting my privacy?” Guinn said as he saw Eli Stampley limp into the saloon. Then he laughed. “Come and sit, you ol' rascal.”

The two usually fell into sharing tales of their Rangers days, but not this time. “I've come to make you aware of a situation,” Stampley said.

Guinn put down his glass and leaned forward. “And what might that situation be?”

“You told me a few days back about a woman who rode up on your ranch, telling of how she'd been abandoned by her family.”

“A pretty thing. Pretty as a flower. She wasn't abandoned, though. Her folks fell ill and died when they were traveling this way from Kansas. She told me she's trying to get to some little town down south where she's got kin. Can't help feeling sorry for her.”

“She still at your place?”

Guinn nodded, the smile returning to his face. “I've invited her to stay for a while. My housekeeper came into town yesterday to purchase some clothes for her. I'm thinking one of these evenings soon I might bring her in to the Captain for a nice dinner.”

“I don't think that would be wise. There're two men there at this very moment, saying they're tracking a woman and a man.”

The rancher shrugged. “Can't be Kate they're looking for. She rode in alone.”

•   •   •

Guinn was calling for another bottle as Eli Stampley left, wishing he'd never spoken to the two strangers back at the
hotel. This, he told himself, was an involvement he didn't need. Fearful of the drunken rancher yet closely bound to him, he would have to play the role of Guinn's protector.

It was something he'd been doing for longer than he wished to remember.

They had come to Texas as restless young men, friends who had known each other since boyhood. They had planned to join the Confederate army, but the Civil War ended shortly before they arrived. Learning of the newly formed Texas Rangers, they applied and were accepted. And for a time the thrill of being a part of a respected group of law enforcers and Indian fighters had more than sufficed. Stampley had found his life's calling. In time, however, Guinn began to aspire to something more than public adulation and the adrenaline flow that came with each chase, each gun battle and capture.

He complained that a Ranger's salary would never allow one the stake necessary to purchase a sizable parcel of land on which to plant cotton or start a herd of cattle. Greed began to drive Guinn as surely as it did the cattle rustlers and hijackers he had sworn to apprehend.

Stampley had first become aware of the length to which his partner and friend was willing to go to improve his financial state after their patrol had encountered a small band of Indians in the process of raiding a farmhouse near the Rio Grande. The renegades had been surrounded and killed in short order, but not before the settlers had died at the hands of their attackers.

While searching the adobe house for survivors, Guinn discovered a small leather pouch hidden behind a loose fireplace stone. He pulled its drawstring open to find that it contained coins and a small gold wedding band. Stampley was the only
Ranger to see him shove the pouch into the pocket of his coat.

•   •   •

Stampley's friend had become a thief. When he'd tried to confront him about his wrongdoing, Guinn's casual response had surprised him. “Them being dead,” he said, “they got no use for it. Besides, I'm owed for the eye I sacrificed.”

In time, such behavior became commonplace.

When thieves were apprehended, Guinn made it a habit to take part of the money they'd stolen for himself. Increasingly, it was he who did the robbing, blaming it on phantom outlaws. By the time he'd accumulated enough money to make a down payment on a small ranch outside Waco, he was making deals with rustlers to drive some of the stock they'd stolen to his place in exchange for allowing them a head start toward freedom. Word spread through the outlaw community that Ranger Guinn was a lawman who would ignore their trespasses for a price.

And as his fortune grew, so did the size of his ranch. Owners of adjacent properties became frequent targets of raiders and rustlers. Once their herds were diminished and their wills gone, they agreed to sell out to Guinn. Most of those now working for him were men he should have arrested while wearing a badge.

Stampley knew what his friend was doing but said nothing. Throughout their relationship, Kole Guinn had always been the leader, Eli Stampley the follower. To ensure Stampley's silence, Guinn had promised to one day set him up in a business of his own.

It was after he'd been shot in the leg, very nearly losing it when an infection had set in, that he'd retired and purchased
the Captain's Place. The money had been loaned to him by Guinn.

In time, both men flourished. Stampley found that he was well suited to run a hotel, turning it into one of Waco's showplaces. And while Guinn rarely appeared on its streets, he became one of the town's most powerful men. Bankers eagerly agreed to his every whim, officials accepted his bribes, and in the dead of night, stolen cattle continued to arrive in his pastures.

Each spring an annual barbecue and dance was held on Guinn's Ranger Hill Ranch. The elite of Waco was invited. For many it was more summons than social event, yet all came, none wishing to risk the ill will that might result from not attending. Eli Stampley hadn't missed the celebration in years.

•   •   •

The morning sun was still on the horizon as Kate Two stood on the front porch of the massive ranch house, still in the first store-bought nightgown she'd ever worn. As she brushed her hair—it was slowly growing back to its original length—she surveyed the landscape of Ranger Hill. Pastures extended as far as she could see, the barbed wire fences seemingly endless. Longhorns grazed in every direction. Across the way hired hands were already at work, applying a new coat of paint to a barn. From inside there was the smell of coffee brewing.

“I hope the morning finds you feeling well,” Guinn said as he appeared in the doorway.

“I'm fine, thank you. And yourself?”

“Unfortunately I imbibed a bit too much while in town yesterday. Until I've had an ample amount of Juanita's awful
coffee, the drums in my head aren't likely to stop their beatin'.”