The Red River Ring (7 page)

Chapter IX

The raid had been sudden and the cowboys had no warning. A half-burned body was lying across the campfire ashes. Another body was bloating under a mesquite bush, a Yellow Boy Winchester still held in his death grip.

Pommel sighed and tipped back his hat. “You know who they were?”

Temple nodded and stepped cautiously from his mount. “They're mine. The one on the fire is Waco Bob and the other is Arch Davis. Waco has ridden for the brand for eight years.”

Pommel read the evidence without dismounting. “It's been a day and a night, no longer. Looks like there were four maybe five of them.”

I sent Waco and three riders up here to clear the mesa of cattle and join us at the west box canyon in the Palo Duro. They rode out when I did.”

Pommel nodded and started his sorrel in a circle of the camp. “Your other men ran this way, on foot.”

“Check it out,” Temple ordered as he lifted Waco Bob from the ashes.

Shotgun pellet wounds were strung across Waco's chest and neck. Davis had identical wounds.

Temple laid the men side by side and wondered what he could use other than his Bowie to dig the graves.

Pommel returned to camp with the body of Josh Allen slung over his saddle. “There's another out there. They made it less than forty yards. Both were shotgunned in the back.”

“That would be Kroger. These were four of my best riders.”

“I'd use rocks and cover the bodies together if you've a mind to put them under now. We don't have time for that much digging.” Pommel said.

“You think we can catch them?” Temple asked.

“They've got twenty, maybe twenty-five cattle. I figure that even pushing them hard, they only made eight or ten miles. Eight or ten yesterday, that would put them no more than twelve miles out today. We could catch them by dark if we ride now.”

“They need burying.”

“That's all they need. It will take at least four hours to rock them under, a whole day to dig graves. Every minute we wait makes a better chance of losing our sign.”

“I can't leave them like this. They were my friends.”

Pommel nodded. “Let's get to it.” He stepped from his sorrel and slipped his saddle. “You'll want to get your saddle off. We need to give these ponies as much rest as possible.”

It was nearer five hours before enough rocks were gathered and piled on the bodies to satisfy Temple. He placed each cowboy's hat under a rock at the top to show that four bodies were present. Pommel waited patiently as his son said the words.

The trail was easy to follow and they pushed their horses at an easy lope. By noon they were breaking out of the canyons and onto the flats stretching to the northeast. They rode without stopping and forded the Red at dusk. From the top of the bluffs of the north bank, they saw a campfire a half-mile further north. They stepped from their exhausted mounts and let them blow.

“You got a plan?” Temple asked.

Pommel pulled the Winchester and examined its condition. “I was hoping we'd still have some light when we caught up with them. This thing won't do us much good tonight. If we wait till morning to hit them, chances are we'll lose a couple when they scatter. I'm for hitting them tonight, take the night guard with knives and kill them in their bedrolls.”

Temple shook his head in disgust. “Bushwhack them like they did our men.”

“Exactly. Leave them where they lay with three rocks under their heads so's folks will know why they were killed.”

“Is that the way you did it in the old days?”

“No, I wouldn't have wasted a whole morning burying four dead men. I could have done that on the way back. And, it's not the old days. We buried two rustlers at home last April.”

“After you bushwhacked them?”

Pommel's voice showed his impatience. “No, we hung em. We had a posse of seven and the numbers were in our favor. These men are tough and at least one of them is packing a shotgun. How much of an even break do you think you owe him?”

“You think this is the right bunch?”

“Of course. We've followed their trail to this spot. They should be running a cold camp but I figure they never expected your riders to be found so quickly.”

Temple nodded. “How do we do this?”

“I'll find the outrider and take care of him. You locate their horses. If they're tied to a picket line, check for a guard and take care of him. If the ponies are hobbled, get between the camp and the horses with the rustlers silhouetted against the fire. Use that Yellow Boy and don't let them make it to the dark. It's hell to pay if you do.”

Temple hesitated. Pommel could tell he was uneasy.

“What?” Pommel asked.

“What if they're not the right men? You're talking about killing innocent men if they aren't?”

“If I come in shooting, they'll be the men we're after. I'll know before I do anything. I'll check the brands.”

“No chance of taking them alive?”

“Damn! If we had a posse of twenty, we could worry about their rights. With only you and me we can't worry about such polite niceties. Either we get your cattle or you go back, sell your herd and become a storekeeper with your step-daddy.”

Temple flashed anger.

“Boy, you got to fight to hold on to what is yours out here. They've killed four of your best men. They'll drain you dry as long as they're alive.”

“Alright,” Temple said, still defiant but unwilling to take the argument any further. “I'll wait for you to make the first move.”

“Don't get me mixed up with the others. I'll go for the shotgun man first. I don't fancy trying to outgun him in the dark.”

“I'll know which one is you,” Temple said as he stepped into his stirrup.

Pommel dismounted a hundred yards from the cattle, drew his Remington carbine and made his way to the cattle. It was dark and progress was slow in the rocks and cactus. When he found the herd, he sat against a rock and waited for some sign of the night guard's location. Most of the cattle were down, exhausted from the day's drive. He couldn't make out the brands.

The night guard's horse rolled rocks as it made a pass down a slope. When the horse passed Pommel, he made out the Quick 5 brand. It was one of Black Tom's riders and that's all Pommel needed for justification. He followed the horse on foot at a distance. Once the rider held up his mount and half-turned in his saddle. Pommel figured that the rider had heard him.

After a moment the rider urged his horse forward. A quarter circle later, the rider drew up his horse and stepped to the ground. Pommel could tell that he was fishing out his prick to take a piss. Pommel drew his knife and closed the distance.

Another voice sounded from the darkness. “What you doing, Calhoun? Playing with your jig line?”

The guard jumped and stepped back. “Gott-damn it Sloan. You made me piss on my boots.”

A second rider appeared from the darkness and brought his horse alongside Calhoun. “If it weren't so damn short, you wouldn't have to worry about wetting your boot tops,” he said. “Maybe you should squat like a squaw.”

“You're a right funny son-of-a-bitch tonight.”

“What's the matter Cal? You seem a bit nervous.” Sloan said.

“I don't like this business. We were told to hit the ranch hands. Nothing was said about rustling cattle.”

“Might as well take a little extra profit when we can.”

“Yeah, shit. If Red or Black Tom find out that we're grabbing a few head for our own, they'll be hell to pay.”

“Relax. We'll make a quick sale, pocket a few dineros and be back south of the Red afore any of them know it.”

“And what's Clancy's idea of running a fire? Shit! What if they put a posse on our tail?”

Sloan spurred his horse forward. “Quit playing with yourself and mount up. We've got another hour before we're relieved.”

Calhoun looked toward the stars. From the location of the Big Dipper he figured it was more like thirty minutes. “I don't think we got that long.”

Sloan didn't answer.

Calhoun turned and whispered louder. “I don't think we got that long. Sloan? Sloan?”

The sound of a horse's hooves on the rocks came toward him. When the animal was close enough for Calhoun to see, the saddle was empty.

Calhoun took hold of its reins and drew his revolver. “Sloan? Sloan?”

Pommel put his arm around Calhoon's neck, drew his head back, and shoved his Bowie knife up under his sternum.

Calhoun dropped his gun and tried to cry out but Pommel choked off his air. When his air ran out, he slumped.

Pommel gave the knife another push upward and allowed Calhoun to slip to the ground. He wiped his knife on Calhoun's leggings and made for the camp.

Clancy put his full cup on the ground and placed the pot near the fire. He sat back on his heels and watched the mounts standing at the tie line facing the fire. He watched Holmes and Crutchfield sleeping in their bedrolls before pulling his shotgun, breaking the action, tipping the barrels down and checking his shells.

He heard a mount on the rocks making toward camp. “Calhoun, is that you? Don't be riding into camp without calling out. I'm likely to blow your head off.”

“Yeah, Yeah,” the voice answered from the dark.

“You've got at least an hour of night guard left so get your ass back out there.”

“Yeah, Yeah,” the voice said.

Clancy lifted the shotgun and cocked the hammers. “Who's out there?”

A flash of gunfire slammed Clancy back into the fire. He scrambled from the flames and crawled toward his shotgun. A second shot dropped him in the dirt.

Holmes and Crutchfield rolled from their bedrolls grabbing their revolvers. Holmes managed to get off a shot before a bullet ranged through his chest. An instant later Crutchfield's legs gave out as he took a bullet to the head.

Temple rose from his spot next to the picket line, his Winchester unfired. Pommel stepped to the ground, the revolving carbine still smoking.

“I never had a chance to draw a bead on any of them,” Temple said quietly.

“Don't worry about it. You really didn't have a chance to fire,” Pommel said as he rolled Clancy over. “Cold Deck Johnny Clancy, what do you know? Black Tom's got every murdering scum in West Texas riding for him.”

“You know that guy?” Temple asked.

“Cold Deck Johnny and I had a run-in over a card game at Doan's Crossing on the Chisholm Trail five or six years ago.”

“And?” Temple asked.

“I shot him in the foot,” Pommel answered reluctantly.

Temple stood silently without asking the obvious.

Pommel gave Temple a hard look when he realized that Temple was waiting for an answer. “Well, I was a little drunk.”

Temple smiled and nodded.

“I don't know those two over there but one of the guards was Ace Sloan, another fine Red Leg gentlemen from Missouri,” Pommel said.

“How many men were there?” Temple asked.

“Five. Three here in camp and two night guards,” Pommel said.

Temple shook his head. “Five men. What a waste.”

“You need to toughen up, laddie. Before this affair is over, this little fracas might look like a school yard picnic.”

“I never heard of one man taking out five riders by himself,” Temple said.

“Back when you was a babe, there was this Comanche named Is-E-Tarack, Horse Track most folks called him. He took out fourteen Mexican vaqueros by himself before what was left of the outfit made it back to the Valdez Rancho. He carried nothing but a bow, a few arrows and a butcher knife. That son-of-a-bitch had all of us quaking in our boots for over a year before the Rangers ran him aground and strung him up. I ran many a cold camp during them months. About forgot what a hot cup of night coffee tasted like.”

“And Mom?” Temple asked.

Pommel rolled Holmes' body and rifled his pockets before answering. “Them was tough times for your mother. You were a babe and we had that old Kickapoo, Andrew, as our only help. She took to sleeping in the rocking chair next to your crib with a muzzleloading twelve-gauge double in her lap. Hell, nobody came through that front door without knocking.”

“What are you doing? You're not robbing these hombres?” Temple asked.

“I wouldn't pass up any gold coin if I found it. I'm looking for something in writing. Something that might give us some proof to take to Austin that Colredge or Bent were in on this.”

Temple watched silently. He let his thoughts drift back to those days when his was small. He vaguely remembered his mother sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, shotgun in her lap, when Reese was a baby. He wondered how many lonely nights she spent, waiting for day and guarding the cabin.

Pommel gathered the weapons and straightened himself. “I'm getting too old for this. Seems like I can't hardly do anything anymore without getting a backache.”

“Yeah, right,” Temple laughed. “You can't hardly bury four men, ride thirty miles and kill five rustlers in one day without getting a backache.”

“Yeah,” Pommel answered without seeing the humor. “We all get old, I guess.”

Chapter X

Mary Fellows smiled when she noticed her daughter-in-law coming up the kitchen steps. She loved Sarah for the way she treated her son and the two granddaughters she bore him.

Sarah's knock was firm and loud, nontypical of a woman of such dainty proportions and frail appearance.

Mary opened the door and welcomed her in. “Will you have some coffee and cake with me?”

“Thank you, Mom. I be a pleasured to,” Sarah said as her eyes searched the room for proof of her suspicions.

“Might as well come back into the kitchen. I'm peeling apples for a pie.”

As Mary poured the coffee and slipped a slice of chocolate cake on a plate she noticed that Sarah was quieter than normal and was not making eye contact. “What's the matter, child? You don't seem yourself,” she said taking a place across the table.

“I've been hiding something and I can't keep it under wraps no more. I guess I was ashamed to say something earlier.”

Mary smiled. “I doubt that there is much of anything for you to be ashamed for.”

“Not so much ashamed as concerned. I have worried about how to approach you with the subject.”

Mary nodded and took a sip of her coffee. “You're not having trouble in your marriage, are you?” she asked.

“No, nothing like that. I am being mysterious, aren't I? I sent Martha over here the other day to see if you had some quilting pieces that I might use. She returned upset. She said that she saw a strange man sitting on the porch step. Rather than coming on in, you know how she is, she hid around the corner of the house. She said that you and the man were arguing and after he left, you left the house as well.”

“Is that all?” Mary asked, her grip tightening around her coffee cup.

“No, she said that the man said he had killed a man who was trying to kill her Uncle Temple. And then, she said that you stated that the man was their father and you had written him a letter asking for help.”

Mary studied Sarah as her eyes lowered to her cake. She tried to think of a story but determined that it would probably lead to trouble. “Does Reese know of this?” she asked.

“I didn't say anything to Reese. I wanted to talk to you first.”

Mary nodded and took another sip of her coffee. “I appreciate that. I really do.”

“I have always thought that Reese's father was dead. That's what both of you have always said.”

“That is what Reese has always believed.”

They sat silently, each waiting for the other to make the next comment.

Mary sighed and tears formed in her eyes.

“If this is too difficult for you, I understand. I'll say nothing more of it,” Sarah said.

Mary reached for Sarah's hand and held it. “No. It's time for the truth. I think you should know. All of this should come to light. I knew that Pommel's returning would cause these questions. It is just that I was frightened and could think of no one else to turn to.”

“You mean the trouble at the ranch. Reese has not talked of this much. I knew he was concerned for Temple but he wouldn't talk of any of it in front of the girls.”

“It is not only Temple who is in danger. We all are.”

“They surely wouldn't come into town.”

“I believe that those men are capable of anything.”

“Why didn't you say something to me?”

“Reese didn't want to worry you. He asked me to keep my concerns to myself.”

“I don't think that's fair. I seems there are a lot of secrets being kept.”

Mary nodded. “Too many.”

“If Reese's father is alive, don't you think he has a right to know?”

“It's more complicated than that. There's Pac to consider.”

“Does Temple know?”

“Yes, he has known the truth all along.”

“And he never said anything to his brothers.”

“No, he never said.”

“Mother, I love you. I don't want to cause you any pain. If this is too difficult for you, I'll understand.”

Mary smiled and tightened her grip on Sarah's hand. “What I'm going to tell you, I've never talked to anyone about except Fritz Blomberg. He's the only one who knows the whole truth.”

“What about John?”

“John has always believed that I was a widow.”

“Did you divorce their father?”

“Fritz took care of that years ago.”

“Why all the secrets?”

“When Pommel went off to war, I remained on the ranch. Fritz watched over us but most of the time we were alone with only the old Indian, Tom, and Cap Morgan as our riders. They were gone most of the time. Temple and I took care of the ranch chores. Reese was just a baby. I lived a very lonely life. Sometimes I would go for months without seeing anyone other than the ranch hands.

One day a group of men came asking for work. Temple was gone checking on a calf. It's just as well. They probably would have killed him. I told them that they would have to talk to my husband. I told them I expected him to be home that evening. They were rough looking men and they frightened me. They said they would wait but I told them that they needed to leave and come back another time. One of the men, a dark looking man with cruel eyes, laughed and said that he would wait. I went for my shotgun but he ran me down and dragged me into the house. He raped me and his men raped me. They were there most of the day. When Temple came home, I didn't tell him. I hid the truth. I wanted to kill myself but couldn't because of the boys. I couldn't.”

Sarah began weeping. “I'm so sorry.”

“Then I realized that I was pregnant with Pac. When it became noticeable, I told Fritz Blomberg what had happened. He was angry that I hadn't gone to him. It was too late by then to do anything about it. Neither of the men ever asked what happened. I suppose Cap figured it was none of his business. Who knows about Tom. He was always a strange one.”

“What did Pommel say?”

“When he returned, I was heavy with child. He just stared at me. When I tried to talk to him, he just went back to his horse and rode away. He rode away without a word.”

“That bastard,” Sarah cursed.

“I don't know. I was afraid that he would kill me. He was always a violent man. Never to me or Temple but in other ways. He lived a rough and violent life. He went to war and left me and his sons alone miles from anyone. The killing was more important to him than we were. I received only two letters while he was away. None the last year. I thought he was dead. When he showed up, I waited for him in the house. I didn't know how to tell him. I could see the anger and betrayal in his face when he stepped through the door. I went to him, begged him to say something and he just walked away. He never said a word. He never came back. A year later I received an envelope with eighty dollars. I received envelopes every year afterward, always with the money, never a note, never a word. When Reese turned eighteen, the envelopes stopped. In his own way, he did his duty, I guess.”

Sarah's lips quivered with anger. “A few dollars in an envelope. You call that doing your duty?”

“It was more than I expected.”

“And Pac? Does he suspect anything?”

“Pac was never told the truth. How could I tell him? What could I say? It was my sin.”

“Don't say that. Don't ever say that. You didn't fail anyone. That bastard is the one to blame. How could you have ever written him?”

“Because he owed it to his sons. He owed it and I wanted him to help. I knew where he was. I've known for years. Fritz knew as well. I knew what he was doing. He wouldn't accept Pac and if he didn't love me enough to even hear my story, I didn't want him around. But when the other ranches were destroyed and the Ring became bolder, I wrote him for help. I don't know what I thought. I figured he wouldn't come but he did. Yet I did want him to come. I didn't want John or Fritz to be killed and I wanted to protect the boys. He owed it to them so I wrote him. I guess I knew that this day would come.”

“And now?”

“When Reese comes home, send him to me. I'll tell him then.”

“I could tell him, if it's too difficult.”

Mary smiled through her tears. “No, I'll tell him. Wait until I tell him in my own way.”

“And Pac?”

Mary's face became grim and dark. “We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Maybe Reese and I should be with you when you decide to tell him.”

“No, I don't want that. Pac wouldn't handle that well. You know. I'm afraid I'll lose him. Even if Pommel isn't his real father, they're more alike than I care to talk about. Pac is going to be a problem.”

Sarah nodded. She didn't like Pac. She never had. She had always wondered how he could be so different from Temple and Reese. Now she knew. Her only concern revolved around her husband and how he would take the news. If Pac rode away, she didn't care. But Reese was different. She loved him and wanted to help him with the pain of learning the truth. She didn't want him doing anything stupid. She'd let Pac do that. She was certain he would.

Her thoughts turned to Pommel. As she watched her mother-in-law in silence, she felt the hate develop for a man she had never met. Her thoughts turned back to her husband. Was he like that as well? Would he do something like that? Leave her and the girls without a word?

She shook her head and tried to clear her thoughts. She hoped she would never have to lay eyes on Pommel McMurphy, afraid of what she would do or say. Her heart pounded. She was a mass of confused feelings. Love, hate, betrayal and suspicion ran through her as she thought of each member of the family. She wished she hadn't sent Martha for those quilt pieces in the first place.