Forty-Four Caliber Justice (14 page)

He reached the eatery and walked in. Major Jones and Jake were seated facing the door, drinking coffee. “Come on over and sit,” Jake said. “You’ve had a busy day. Major, we better get some food out here. I could hear Clay’s stomach from down at the stables.”

Clay grinned and took a seat at the table and ordered lunch.

“So how’s your neck feeling?” Jake said.

“How’d you hear about that?”

“Word gets around.”

“Fine. It gets better every day.”

The food came out. Clay had a big plate of fried chicken with pinto beans and fresh sliced tomatoes. When he was walking up, he had seen the big garden at the side of the restaurant.

Silence surrounded the men as they ate. Clay finished and leaned back in his chair. This felt good. A good meal and good men. These were men with the bark on. They held the door for women and took no guff off other men.

“I’ll tell you, Jake,” Clay said, “I know now what you meant when you said I needed to get some experience under my belt. I searched Hayes, and missed that knife. I never even thought of the possibility of there being one down his back.”

“Many a man woulda missed it,” Jake said. He pulled out his plug and took a bite off it, offering it to the major, who turned him down. “But I’ll just bet anyone around, you won’t make that mistake again.”

“No, I don’t reckon I will.”

“Clay, what are your plans?” the major asked.

“Well, sir, I’ve still got four more killers to catch up with. I aim to do it. I don’t care how long it takes.”

The major persisted, “I understand. But after you catch these men, what are your plans?”

“Major, I don’t rightly know. I still have Pa’s ranch. I’ve met a really nice girl in Brackett. I’m contemplating settling down and ranching the land I grew up on.” Clay turned the question back on Major Jones. “Why do you ask?”

“You ever thought of joining the Rangers?”

Clay looked at Jake for a moment, then gazed out the window at the dusty San Felipe street. He turned back to Major Jones. “No, sir, I really haven’t. First place, there are no Rangers to join. Second, I don’t see myself as Ranger material. I’m still mighty young, for something like that.”

“Stop and think, Clay,” Major Jones said. “You captured Hayes when he was trying to escape from the army.”

Clay started to respond, and Major Jones held up his hand.

“I know he got away, but anyone could have made that mistake. You survived a knife in the neck. Darn few men could have done that. You spotted an ambush. Most any other man would be lying out on the prairie with a bullet through him. You didn’t try to slip away, but you attacked. You captured both men.”

Major Jones took a sip of his coffee and continued. “Son, that’s Ranger material. You may be young, but you’re already seasoned, and you’ll continue to learn. You’re still after the rest of Pinder’s gang. You might get killed, but that’s not stopping you. Also, we heard about what happened in Brackett, with those three toughs jumping you and then the marshal’s son bracing you the next day. We also heard how that turned out. I dare say, you could’ve killed him, but you didn’t. That’s what I want as a Ranger, a man who thinks.

“Now, as far as there not being any Rangers right now, you’re right. But I’m on a recruiting circuit. I found Jake and I need his help. Fortunately, there was another scout, a good man, here in San Felipe who could take over Jake’s job. So Jake will be riding with me as we recruit men to fill the Frontier Battalion of the Texas Rangers.

“This is an important election year. Richard Coke is going to be elected, and that will be the end of this miserable, carpet-bagging government we’ve had for the past ten years. One of the first things that Governor Coke will do is reinstate the Rangers. Our state has suffered much from the Indians since the war began and since we’ve had the miserable state police. We will now put down the Indian problem for good and deal, as need be, with the bandit problem that exists in Texas.”

Major Jones took another sip of his coffee. “I’ve said a lot here, Clay, so that you understand the important role the Rangers will play in cleaning up our state. I’d like you to be a part of it.” With that, Major Jones leaned back in his chair and finished off his coffee.

Clay thought for a moment before he responded.
This is a real honor. But what about Lynn? How would she feel about this? I’d be gone a
lot.

“Major Jones, joining the Rangers is a big commitment. I’m only seventeen. I still have the Pinder Gang to catch. I’ve got a girl to think about. I’m sorry, but right now, I can’t accept your offer. I thank you for it. But, I can’t accept.”

Major Jones nodded. “I understand. You’ve got a mighty full plate. But I want you to know that this offer will stand. I don’t know exactly what the date will be that the Rangers will be commissioned, but it will happen. If you decide to join us, come see me.”

The three men were about to leave when the door opened and in walked the marshal.

Major Jones nodded to him and said, “Afternoon, Marshal Taylor, do you have something for Mr. Barlow?”

“Afternoon, Major, matter of fact, I do. I spoke with the mayor and he authorized me to pay Mr. Barlow for the two horses and gear belonging to Pinder and Reese. You’ve got to understand that we’re a small town, and we don’t have the finances of Uvalde, San Antonio, or Austin.”

The major nodded.

“Reckon, counting the horses, tack, and weapons, the mayor said we can pay Mr. Barlow one hundred and fifty dollars.”

The major shook his head in disgust. “Why, man, one good horse is worth that, and those outlaws had excellent horse flesh.” He turned to Clay. “Are you satisfied with that paltry amount?”

Clay hadn’t expected anything. He was pleased with the windfall, but he didn’t show it. “I guess that’ll have to do, Major.”

The marshal handed the envelope to Clay, tipped his hat, and started to leave.

“Marshal,” Major Jones called, “how much is the reward on Reese?”

The marshal had reached the door. “The reward’s one hundred dollars, Major. We should have it tomorrow.”

“Then I expect that you’ll get it to Mr. Barlow as soon as you receive authorization. Am I correct?”

“Reckon I will.”

“Good. Marshal, we’ll be leaving today. But I would consider it a favor if you would see that Mr. Barlow is given every assistance possible in the apprehension of the Pinder Gang.”

“It’ll be my pleasure, Major.”

But it was clear the idea of helping Clay was anything but a pleasure for Marshal Taylor.

“Thank you for that. Have a good day.”

Marshal Taylor turned and retreated as quickly as possible.

After the marshal was gone, Jake laughed. “Major, you sure lit a fire under that
hombre
’s
blanket. I figger he planned on selling those horses and gear, and also collecting the reward on Reese, if he didn’t plan on letting him go.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Jake.

“Clay, I’d like to stay, but Jake and I have a lot of miles to cover over these next few months. You’re going to be on your own here, so be careful. Think before you act, but then act swiftly and decisively. I have faith in you, and I look forward to seeing you next year.”

Once outside, the three men turned right past the saloon and headed for the stables.

“Clay,” Jake said, “I wish I could stay and help you. But we’ve got a lot of riding to do. You watch yourself. Gideon Pinder’s the leader, but Quint is a sneaky son of a gun. You wanna keep yore eye on him. I don’t need to tell you about Birch Hayes. He’s slick, and he’s as fast with a gun as he is with a knife. You’re after a dangerous bunch. You just keep a keen eye peeled.”

They had just about reached the stables. The old man was back in his chair in front of the building.

Jake nodded at the man in the chair. “You can trust that old man. His name is Rud Campbell. Before he got that leg shot up, he and I did some Rangerin’ together. Not many people around here know that. But he is one tough old codger, and he can shoot the eyes out of a gnat at fifty paces. You need help, you ask him.”

The old man slid his hat back and appraised the three men. “Howdy, Jake, Major. I reckon you’ll be wanting your horses and gear. Looks like you’ve got some ridin’ in mind.”

Jake worked up a spit and hit the lizard sitting next to the stable door. The lizard shook his head and dashed back inside the barn.

“Don’t ya torment my lizard, Jake,” the old man said. “He’s about the only thing I can trust in this town.”

“Rud,” Jake said, “I want ya to take good care of Clay. He’s a friend.”

Rud perked up. “Well, I reckon any friend of yours and Major Jones is a friend of mine. Let me git yore gear.”

The men saddled their horses and slung their gear to the saddles. They led the horses outside and mounted up. Everything having been said, they turned the horses north and rode out of town.

“Son, reckon you’ll be looking for a place to stay. If you want to sleep in the hay in the back of the barn, you’re welcome. There’s a hotel up past the saloon. But it’s noisy, and I don’t trust the owner. If you don’t mind eating Mex food, which I happen to like, there’s Maria’s boarding house, down past the cantina.”

“I like Mexican food.”

“Good, then Maria’s is the place for you. Maria Lopez owns it. She’s got clean, safe rooms. You can leave your things in your room, and they’ll be there when you get back. That’s more than I can say for the hotel, and the food is great. You’ll get plenty of tortillas, but ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

“Thanks, Mr. Campbell.”

“Ain’t no Mr. Campbell around here. Just call me Rud. Now, if you want, you can leave whatever things you want here, and I’ll lock ’em up in the office. They’ll be safe there. I sleep in the back of the office with a loaded shotgun.”

“Reckon I’ll just take my Roper and saddlebags. That’s all I’ll need for now. See you later.”

The sun was drawing low in the west when Clay walked out of the barn toward Maria’s boarding house. Jake had left. Alone again. His thoughts turned to Lynn, back in Brackett.

I wonder if she’s even thinking of me? I like the idea of being a Ranger, but how will she feel? How would any woman feel about her man being gone so much? Will I be successful with the Pinder Gang? I wonder if they’ve heard about
Harly?

Clay’s mind ran on as he walked across the dusty street of San Felipe, his long shadow copying each step he made.
Tonight, a good rest. Tomorrow, I’ll continue my search for the
Pinders.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T
he
small room
was still dark when Clay opened his eyes. He lay still. His senses, keen for the new area, went to work. He could hear pans rattling in the kitchen. He was in bed at Maria
’
s.

He swung his long legs out of the bed and slid the Smith & Wesson back into its holster. He had slept well. Maybe too well, his pa might say.
Would I have awakened if someone had tried to slip into the room? There are no horses to warn me. Caution. That’s how I stay
alive.

Clay slipped his trousers and socks on. His boots were next, and then his gunbelt. He double-checked that the hammer thong was removed from the hammer, and drew three times.
I’ve got to find time to practice with that left-handed
holster.

He poured water from the pitcher into the wash basin, then paused and checked the window, making sure the curtain was closed. Clay fished a match from his vest hanging over the chair back and lit the kerosene lamp. He pulled a straight razor from his saddlebags and stropped it a few times on his crossdraw holster. He needed a shave. It had been a couple of days, and the black stubble irritated him. Pa was always clean-shaven. He aimed to be like his pa.

When he was finished, he put the razor back in his bags and pulled out a clean shirt. It was red-and-black checkered. He’d gotten it, with a few other clothes, at the Brackett General Store. His thoughts turned back to the tinkling bell and Lynn.
Wonder what she’s doing now? Still asleep? Maybe she’s up, getting ready for the
day.

He pushed her from his mind, put his vest on over the shirt, wet his hair from the basin, and combed it back with his fingers. He picked up his hat, brushed it off, curled the brim, and positioned it on his head.

Enticing smells came from the kitchen. He headed to the dining room. Maria’s boarding house was a rambling adobe. She had at least five bedrooms, kitchen, and a combination dining and sitting room. A huge table was covered with food. A veranda ran the front of the house, with several rocking chairs inviting her guests.

Maria walked in from the kitchen as Clay came into the dining room. “
Buenos Dias, Se
ñ
or
. I trust you bring a big hunger with you this morning.”

“Yes, ma’am. You’ll never find me without that.”

Maria looked him up and down. “
Si
. I think it would take much food to fill that handsome body.”

Clay blushed. He’d never had a woman be so frank with him. He didn’t know what to say, so he grinned at her, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

“Señor, if I was twenty years younger, I would make sure you would be looking at me and not the food.” She laughed. “But I am old now, and the young hombres no longer look at me. Although, they do love my food. Now, you eat.”

Clay picked up the egg platter and shoved five eggs onto his plate, grabbed some tortillas, and then some beans. He picked up the big bowl of salsa fresca and ladled the salsa over his beans and eggs.

Maria came back into the room as two Mexicans entered. They talked for a moment, and the two men sat across from Clay. “Coffee, Señor?” Maria asked.

“No, thanks, Maria. If you’ve got some water back there, I’d go for that.”

“Ahh, no coffee? The señor doesn’t want to stunt his growth.” She followed the statement with a big belly laugh at her own joke and poured coffee for the two other men.

Clay grinned and stuffed more egg in his mouth. The two Mexicans chuckled and watched appreciatively as Maria’s ample body swished back into the kitchen.

“You’re not from around here, Señor,” the bigger of the two men said.

“No,” Clay said. “You?”

“Close,” the man said. “We work for a
ranchero
a few miles on the other side of the Rio Bravo. Some days, when we are off, we come to San Felipe to enjoy Maria’s cooking, and perhaps to have a leetle fun in the cantina. We go back today.”

The smaller man looked up from his breakfast and said in a sharp tone, “How is it that you are staying at Maria’s and not at the
gringo
hotel?”

Clay took a closer look at the two men. They both carried big, black, round sombreros that they hung from the back of their chairs. The bigger man was clean-shaven. He had the typical build of the range rider, narrow hips and wide shoulders. He was almost as tall as Clay, but heavier in the shoulders and arms, especially the forearms and wrists. The smaller man was completely different. His movements were quick. His mustache was thick above his lips. At each end it turned and grew down almost to his chin. He was a wiry man, and pushy.

“It was recommended to me,” Clay said, ignoring the gringo comment. He continued to eat, not continuing the conversation. He had eaten a few more bites of the delicious eggs and tortillas when the smaller man spoke up again.

The man pointed his fork at Clay to emphasize his words. “You didn’t answer the second part of my question, Gringo.”

Maria came into the dining room as the smaller man finished his statement. “Juan, do not be rude to my guests!” Then they proceeded to argue in Spanish, words flying back and forth like daggers. “Señor, please forgive my rude friend. He did not learn well from his parents.”

Clay said, “No problem, Maria. I’ve met rude people before.”

The smaller man laid his fork down gently and stood. “Señor, you are treading on, how do you say, dangerous ground.”

Clay looked up at the man.
Just what I need. It’s not bad enough I’m chasing four killers, now I have a good chance of alienating the Mexican community.
“Sit down,
amigo
. You haven’t finished your breakfast. You wouldn’t want to miss Maria’s cooking, since that was part of your reason for coming into San Felipe.”

The bigger man said something in Spanish and the man sat down, still angry.

“My friend, Juan, has a short cord.” The man turned to Maria. “How do you say
fusible
in English?”

“Ahh, fuse,” Maria said.

“Yes,” the man said to Clay, “my friend has a short fuse.”

“I’ve noticed,” Clay said.

“My name,” the big man told him, “is Arturo Ignacio Santiago Torres, and my short-tempered friend is Juan Raul Fernandez Medina. Call me Arturo and he is Juan.”

Clay extended his hand across the table. “Arturo and Juan. I am Clayton Joseph Barlow. You can call me Clay.”

Arturo took Clay’s hand immediately. Clay could tell Juan still hadn’t cooled down, but after a moment, he shook Clay’s hand as well.

The door opened and Rud walked in. He yelled back into the kitchen, “Maria, you leave anything for me?”

She came to the kitchen door. Her face had broken into a big, toothy smile. “Rud, sweetie, there is always a little something for you at my table. Sit down.” She turned to walk back into the kitchen, and Rud slapped her lightly on her ample bottom. She giggled and ran into the kitchen.

“How you feeling, boy? I see you’ve put on the feed bag. You get plenty of sleep last night?” Rud limped over to the chair at the end of table and sat down, his bad leg extending straight out.

“Yes, sir. Like a rock.”

“I see you’ve met Arturo and Juan. Buenos dias, amigos.” Rud’s Spanish was colored with his Texas drawl.

Juan said to Rud, “You know this man?”

“I darned sure do. Only known him for a day, but he strikes me as a good lad. He brought Harly Pinder in over his saddle, and had Milo Reese with a rope around his neck.”

The two men appraised Clay with a new appreciation.

“Those are two bad men,” Juan said. “You know they ride with a gang. The leader is
muy malo
, very bad.”

“I do,” Clay said. “They killed my folks and a good friend. I’m after them.”

Arturo asked, “What will you do when you find them?”

“Reckon that’s up to them. If I have to, I’ll kill ’em.”

The two friends looked at each other. Arturo said, “We believe they are rustling our patrón’s cattle. If we find them first, we will kill them.”

“You have any idea where they are?”

“No, Señor Clay, not yet,” Arturo said. “But we will. It is only a matter of time, no? Then we find them and kill them. We do know they have taken our cattle across the Rio Bravo and moved them into the Devils River country. That country is very rough.”

Clay thought for a moment. “If I come out to your
ranchero
, do you think your
patr
ó
n
would mind you showing me where they last crossed the river? I’m a pretty good tracker.”

Juan looked at Arturo. Arturo nodded, “I don’t think he would mind at all, Señor.”

“Good,” Clay said. “When are you going back to the rancho?”

Juan grinned. “We will have a little tequila at the cantina to help wash down Maria’s breakfast and head back today. You are welcome to come with us if you like. That is, if you don’t mind me calling you gringo.”

Clay laughed. “Reckon I can live with that, if you don’t mind me calling you Mex.”

Arturo threw back his head and roared. “I think he has you, Juan. This will be fun.”

Juan grinned. He put his finger and thumb together at the middle of his mustache and ran them across and down each side. “You are a funny man, Señor.”

Rud looked at the three of them. “Something going on I don’t know about?”

“Almost, Señor Rud, almost,” Juan said.

Clay stood. “I’m gonna check on my horses and visit the saloon, if it’s open this early. See if I can find anything else out before we leave.”

“I’ll be along in a bit,” Rud said.

“Maria, if it’s okay with you, I’ll settle up when I come back for my gear.”

Maria came out of the kitchen and moved behind Rud, to massage his shoulders. “That will be fine, Señor Clay. I’ll be here.” She winked at Clay. “Rud, he may also still be here.”

“I just might, boy, I just might,” Rud said, a big smile on his face.

“Arturo, Juan, I’ll see you later.”

The two men nodded. Juan waved as he took a sip of his strong coffee. Clay put his hat on and stepped out the door. The morning sun was climbing above the stable roof as Clay crossed the street to check on the horses. He was halfway across the street when the blue roan tied in front of the saloon got his attention. Clay stopped. Was that Blue? He started walking toward the horse. It stood between two other horses. The horse between Clay and the blue roan moved forward at the rail and exposed the roan’s brand. Rocking A W. That was Blue.

Clay checked both guns to make sure the hammer thongs were off. He moved them in the holsters. They were nice and loose. He whistled softly. Blue’s head snapped up as he looked toward Clay.

Today was a good day, Clay thought. He had slept well, he’d enjoyed a delicious, sit-down breakfast. The warm breeze slipping through the alleys from the west felt good across his neck and face. He had never drawn on another human being. He could hear his pa saying, “You’re ready, just remain cool. Don’t get excited. Don’t focus solely on your target. Remain conscious of what’s happening around you. You can do it.”

He stepped up to Blue and rubbed his neck. The horse rubbed his head against Clay’s shoulder. Clay scratched him behind his ears, then turned and stepped into the saloon.

He saw Hayes sitting at the back table with another man. Hayes was dealing cards. Clay checked the bartender, fifteen feet to his right, wiping beer mugs behind the bar. Two other men sat at a table in the far corner, to his left, no more than twenty feet, each with a beer.

Hayes looked better than he had the last time he saw him. He’d healed pretty quick.

“Hayes,” Clay said, “you killed my family, and you stole my horse and gear.”

Birch Hayes, the handsome, educated man who had already killed several men, turned his head to the door. “Hello, boy. You’re mighty lucky. Last time I saw you, my knife was stuck in your throat and you were bleeding out. Figured you were dead. That was my favorite knife, well balanced. Did you bring it back to me?”

The man with Hayes let loose a loud, tense laugh. He looked to Clay, then back to Hayes. The two men in the corner didn’t make a move. The bartender laid his hands flat on the bar.

Clay watched Hayes stand and motion his partner up. His partner stood and faced Clay.

“Mister,” Clay said, “I don’t know who you are. I figure if you’re with Hayes, you’re probably running with the Pinder Gang. Don’t know if you know it, but they killed my ma and pa. I’m only here for Hayes, unless you feel the need to deal yourself in.”

The man had a scar on the right side of his face that ran from his ear to the corner of his mouth. The scar was pulsing red.

“You can’t take me, boy,” Hayes said. “You don’t have a chance. I’ve already killed three men. Tell you what I’ll do. You turn around and walk away, and I’ll forget all about this.”

Clay didn’t move. He felt relaxed. It was like emotion had drained out of him. His hands felt loose, ready.

Watch their eyes, he remembered his pa saying.

The two men in the corner sat frozen, their only movement their heads swiveling between Clay and Hayes. Clay noticed the bartender start to edge down the bar. “Mr. Bartender, I wouldn’t move another inch. It won’t be healthy.”

The bartender stopped, his hands still on the top of the bar.

“Hayes, you can start by dropping your gun. Then we’ll talk about all your hideout weapons.”

Hayes smiled. “Boy, you don’t stand a—”

Mid-sentence, Hayes went for his gun. Clay saw his eyes narrow a split second before he drew.
Pa was right.
Now everything seemed to slow. He could see the other man going for his gun and the bartender reaching beneath the bar. His first priority was Hayes. Clay’s Smith & Wesson New Model 3 .44 caliber American cleared his holster while Hayes’s hand was still moving down to his gun. Clay could see the surprise in the eyes of Hayes, along with the realization that he was a dead man. Hayes’s six-gun had just cleared his holster, the barrel starting to rise, when the first .44 American slammed into his third button. He took a step back and, though slower, continued to bring his six-gun to bear. The second .44 slammed into his chest, no more than a half-inch from the first. His gun stopped rising. The third shot formed a half-inch triangle with the other two. Hayes dropped his gun and fell to his knees.