Blood Bond 5 (16 page)

“Yes, Papa,” she said humbly.

Bull opened the door, and she walked in with him right behind her, followed by John Carlin. In the kitchen, she joined her sister and Petunia. Both of them were scrubbed clean and wearing dresses and very subdued.

While the bath water was heating, John asked, “What made you kids think you could get away with this wild scheme?”

“Our brothers,” Wanda and Petunia said together. Scarlett nodded her head in agreement.

“The boys hate us that much?” Bull asked, his tone gentle but firm.

“Yes, Papa,” Scarlett said. “You probably won't believe this, but at first none of us girls wanted anything to do with their plans. I won't pretend to excuse what we did by laying all the blame on them, but they had to work on us for a time before we agreed to go along with them. But only after they agreed that you and Mama wouldn't be hurt.”

Neither Bull nor John believed all that she'd said, but neither of them wanted to give up entirely on their daughters. Still, they didn't trust them any further than they could see them. These girls were schemers and connivers. But maybe not as vicious as their brothers. Time alone would tell that. But neither man held out much hope.

The girls all started babbling about how sorry they were and how it would never happen again and to please forgive them and how much they loved their mamas and papas and so forth and so on. The husbands looked at their wives and saw that the women didn't believe a word they were hearing from their offspring. It was a depressingly bad act. The tears were put-on, and the eyes of the girls were evil and hard. The parents let their turncoat kids run down, and the room fell silent.

“Take your bath and get upstairs with Petunia and Scarlett,” Bull told the girl. “Don't try to run. We're all operatin' on a short fuse and trigger fingers are itchy this night.”

The men walked through the darkened house and stood for a moment in the room that led to the porch.

“You believe anything they said?” John asked.

“No,” Bull said, a weary note in his voice. “I don't trust any of them. But I'll give them one more chance. Even a mean dog deserves that.”

“And when they turn on us again?”

“I hoped you wouldn't ask that.” Bull pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the porch, picking up his rifle. He turned to his half brother. “'Cause I damn sure don't know the answer.”

The gang left their dead where they lay and pulled out sometime during the night. The ranch hands dragged the bodies in and buried them in unmarked graves. No one knew any name to put on the markers. The rider with the busted jaw and no front teeth was trussed up and handed over to Tom Riley and his deputies. He refused to say who he was working for or where the gang was hiding out.

“They'll have changed hideouts by this time,” Matt said. “Probably outside of this county.”

“I'd bet they're south of us,” John said. “Just across the line in Utah.”

“Can you prove it was your boys?” Tom asked both men.

Bull shook his head, “Not unless the girls swear statements. You can ask them.”

Tom did and the girls all said their brothers had planned the raid but did not come along. The girls said they just came along for the adventure of it. They didn't think anyone would be hurt, and surely no one would be killed. It was just a hoo-rahin', that was all. Surely the marshal didn't think they would take part in doin' harm to their parents?

“Lyin' little no-good's,” John said, his big hands balled into fists, anger ready to boil to the surface.

“You heard at least one of our kids out yonder, didn't you, boys?” Bull asked Matt and Sam.

“Hugh,” Matt replied. “But I didn't see him.”

“You boys stay here with John, if you don't mind,” Bull said. “I've got more hands than John, and a couple of them are as salty as any who ever sat a saddle. Tom brought me word that I've got four more men in town. Cowboys, not gunfighters. But they know how to use guns. John's more shook up over this situation than I am. He's still undecided, but I know what I'm going to do.” Without adding anything to that, he swung into the saddle and fell in behind his wife and their errant daughters, the girls sitting in the bed of a wagon, on lots of hay. They all glared hate at the blood brothers.

“I wonder what he's got in his head to do?” Matt asked.

“Finish it,” Sam said. “I'll make a wager he's going to take the fight to them this time.”

“And he's telling us to stay out of it.”

“That's the message I got.”

“You boys don't have to stay here,” John said, walking up. “But there is something you can do for me, if you will.”

“Name it.”

“Escort Petunia into town and put her on the afternoon stage. She says she doesn't want to rejoin her brothers and damned if she'll stay here with her mother and me. Says she wants to go to New York City and become an actress. Both her mother and me said that was just fine with us.” He took off his hat and rubbed his forehead. “I . . . ,” he verbally stumbled for a second, “. . . think this will be the last time her mother and me will ever see her. I view that with mixed emotions, but mostly with relief.”

“John,” Matt said. “Sure, we'll escort her into town. But there's something else. Your boys and Bull's boys are going to brace me and Sam one of these days. Probably pretty damn quick. I just want you to know . . .”

John waved him silent. “You do what you have to do, Matt, Sam. You're dealing with renegades now. Night-riding outlaws. They came here last night to kill me, their mother, their brother, and anyone else who happened to be here. So don't hesitate on my account. Bull thinks I haven't made up my mind. But he's very wrong. You boys ride easy, now. And you're always welcome out here. No matter what happens.”

After John had walked away, Matt said, “I think they both got their heads together and planned something. But they don't want us in on it. They plan to stomp on their own snakes.”

“A hard thing for them, but I'm glad we won't be a part of it.”

“I wonder if we'll be that lucky.”

Petunia never said a word on the way into town. She sat on a pillow in the buggy seat and stared straight ahead. Only when they reached town did she speak.

“I suppose my father asked you gentlemen to personally see that I got on the stage?”

“Yes,” Sam told her. “He did. You have some objections to that?”

“Not a one. Just don't touch me.” She smiled at both brothers, but it was a savage smile. “My brothers will kill you both. My only regret is that I won't be here to see you crawling in your own blood.”

“You are really a charming young lady,” Matt said.

“Thank you. I wondered when you would realize that obvious fact.”

 

 

For two whole days the town of Crossville was quiet and free of trouble. The same bunch of hired guns drifted in and out, but they caused no ruckus of any kind.

Miles Singer had closed his bank and in its place had opened a land office. The four gunslingers he'd hired as bodyguards hung around and loafed, trailing and fronting him wherever he went.

The town seemed peaceful enough, but all its residents could detect a slight air of tension. Sort of like when the fellow in the hotel room above yours drops one boot on the floor and never drops the other one. You keep waiting.

Matt and Sam watched as Batty came fogging into town, waved at them, and then jumped out of the saddle and rushed into the marshal's office. He came out, waved, and called, “I need me a beer. Talk to you two in a minute.”

“You boys hang around and help Parley if he needs it,” Tom said, exiting his office and walking up to them, buckling on his gunbelt. “John and Bull lost about five hundred head of cattle last night, apiece.”

“Next thing you know, they'll be hirin' regulators,” Matt opined.

“Not in this county,” Tom straightened that out real quick. “I'll shoot a damn back-shootin' regulator as quick as I will a rustler. And I already told Bull and John that, long before you two come wanderin' into this Godawful mess. I'll see you boys later on. I imagine it'll be a couple of days 'fore we get back.”

The brothers watched as the marshal, his deputies, and a ten man posse, all heavily armed and with several days' rations, rode out.

“Some of the most able-bodied men and best shots in town,” Sam observed.

Matt looked up and down the street as young Parley joined them on the boardwalk. The smithy had closed up and gone with the posse, as had the man from the saddle and gun shop. The tough young man who ran the livery had gone. The barber, who was a seasoned veteran of the Indian wars had closed up and ridden out. The Mexican, who had fought Apaches and Comanches down south and who ran the café, had gone, leaving his wife and daughter to run the business.

“There is an interesting look on your face, Mr. Bodine,” Ralph Masters said, joining the group. “Anything I can write about?”

“I hope not,” Matt replied mysteriously. And that got him a sharp look from Sam.

The editor wandered on up the boardwalk. “What's on your mind, Matt?” Sam asked.

“Same thing that's on yours.”

“With some of the best shots in town gone for several days, this would be a dandy time for the Sutton-Carlin boys to hit us.”

“Exactly.”

“You think stealin' those cattle was a trick?” Parley asked.

“I wouldn't be surprised. Now let's keep our eyes open and watch for gunslingers to start drifting into town. If a lot of them show up, that would be a pretty good sign that something is up.”

“Parley, you'd better tell the men you know will stand to load up their guns and keep them handy,” Sam said. “You take the other side, and Matt and I will work this side of the street.”

There aren't that many left,” the young deputy said.

“Yeah,” Matt said softly. “We know.”

 

 

Batty had stayed in town after hearing the news, saying, “They's plenty of hands at the ranch to fight off any attack should that happen. But I think you're right. I think right here is where it's gonna pop.”

“Farmer John's up and around,” Parley said. “I seen him standing in the Red Dog, and he's wearin' two guns.”

Doc Blaine walked up, and the men were surprised to see that he was wearing a gunbelt, a second six-shooter shoved behind the belt. He smiled at their startled glances. “I only said I didn't like guns, boys. I didn't say there wasn't a need for them or that I couldn't use one.”

“There's Shorty and Cleat ridin' in,” Batty said. “And a couple with them I ain't seen before.”

“That's the first time they've come to town since they quit Mr. Bull,” Parley said. “Or at least the first time I've seen them in town.”

“Look at the south end of town,” Matt said. “There come Dud, Proctor, and Donner.”

“There's Coody stepping out of the livery,” Sam pointed out. “Two men right behind him.”

“Only a couple of real gunhands,” Matt said. “Makes me wonder where the others are.”

“They're close by,” Doc Blaine said. “We can all bet on that.”

The men stood silent for a few moments, watching. “The bank!” Matt spoke the words hard. “That's what they want. If they could clean out the bank, they'll have this town on the ropes, along with Bull and John, 'cause it's their money that started it. Then they'd start rustling all of their cattle and wipe them out. You asked where the other top guns are, Doc? Probably about a mile out on either side of town. When the shooting starts, they'll come in fast and hit the bank and the stores, cleaning them out of cash. If they could manage that, this town would die, or at best, be so crippled it might not ever recover.”

“If that's true,” Doc Blaine said, “somebody planned this very carefully. But I can't believe it was any of the Carlin or Sutton kids. None of them are that smart.”

“The man who planned it is standing right over there in the doorway to his land office,” Sam said. “Miles Singer.”

“Why don't we just plug the skunk now and be done with it?” Batty suggested.

“It's a nice thought,” Doc said. “But he's unarmed. As usual. He's a careful man. It would be out and out murder. Sorry, Batty.”

“But it was a good thought,” Sam surprised Matt by saying. Of the two blood brothers, Sam had a tad more respect for law than did his brother. And that was odd when one took into consideration that the law almost never treated Indians with the same respect and due process as it did whites.

“Interesting thing for you to say,” Matt said.

“I do have my moments when frustration builds to the boiling point,” Sam replied drily.

“You sure do talk funny,” Batty said.

A young boy walked out of the alley and up to the men. He had a .22 caliber single shot rifle and carried two fat rabbits hooked onto his belt. “Deputy,” he said, “I seen a whole bunch of really crummy lookin' men over by the crick east of us. They told me if I said anything about them, they'd skin me alive. I told them to go to hell and took off runnin'.”

Parley laughed and said, “You did just fine, Billy. Now you go on home and take care of your mother. And don't leave the house, now, you hear me? It's gonna get real dangerous out here in a minute.”

The lad lifted his rifle. “Any of those bad ones come close to me and Ma, they're gonna get plugged.”

“That sounds good, Billy, but don't take any chances. Now, go on home. Hurry!”

The boy took off at a run, his dog yapping right beside him.

“Hey, Cleat!” Shorty hollered, stepping out onto the boardwalk in front of the Red Dog. “I betcha a dollar I can hit that runnin' mutt from here.”

“You're on,” Cleat hollered.

Billy heard every word, stopped, and knelt down, rage on his face. He leveled his little .22 and let it bang.

He was just a tad off his aim. The little slug, instead of hitting Cleat between the eyes, tore off part of the man's ear. Cleat howled and dropped his six-gun. “Shoot that goddamn kid, Shorty!” Cleat screamed, the blood pouring down the side of his face.

Shorty jerked iron and leveled his .45 at Billy, frantically trying to reload and protect his dog at the same time.

Four six-guns roared from across the street, and Shorty was slammed back by a barrage of .44 and .45 slugs. He fell through the newly installed front window of the saloon and did not move.

“I'll kill that goddamn punk kid!” Cleat yelled, and clawed for his other gun.

He never made it. Doc Blaine drilled him clean from a good eighty-five paces away. “Anybody who would shoot an innocent dog is a sorry enough excuse for a human being,” Doc said, lowering his pistol. “But anybody who would shoot a child is on a level with snake crap.”

Cleat managed to get up on one elbow, cock and lift his pistol, and Doc plugged him again. He did not move after that. It would have been a miracle if he had, for Doc's second round took him in the center of the forehead.

Singer stood in the doorway, stunned by the doctor's shooting of the man. His bodyguards all looked at one another, as if they didn't know what to do next.

Farmer John's bulk filled the half-pushed open batwings of the saloon. He, too, had a quizzical look on his face.

Coody and his two buddies stood by the broken window of the Red Dog, along with Les and Willie.

“Get the hell home, Billy!” Parley shouted. “Like right now, damnit.”

Billy got.

Doc quickly reloaded and stepped back into a store stoop.

“Back,” Matt urged his friends. “Take cover.”

“What the hell are they waiting for?” Batty asked, backing up and kneeling down behind a quickly overturned bench.

“Here they come!” a shopowner shouted from the roof of his store. “My God, there must be forty of them.”