Autumn of the Gun (60 page)

“Damn it,” said Nathan, genuinely irritated, “you could find work in a medicine show, reading minds.”

She laughed. “But I'm not like the first Molly. I believed you'd come back, and now you have. Will you ride away again?”

“No,” he said. “I've been killing men and having men try to kill me for eighteen long years. I'm tired. Tired of having men—even kids—that I don't know, trying to kill me, just to prove they're faster with a gun. That's what bothers me about young Wes. Before I associated the name, before I knew who he was, all I heard was how quick he is with a gun. Maybe that's what bothered Molly Tremayne, why she never told him about me. She didn't want him riding vengeance trails, a gun in his hand and a lonely grave ahead of him.”

“You feel that's what you've been doing?”

“I reckon,” he replied. “What do I have to show for those eighteen years, except the men that I've left dead? All my friends have lived by the gun, and most of them are dead by it.”

“So you're going to settle here, across the river from the Sandlin gang?”

“Why not? I can't name a town on the frontier where I can be sure I won't meet an hombre wantin' to kill me to prove he has a faster gun.”

“What will you do in El Paso?”

“I don't know,” said Nathan. “I have enough money so that I don't have to do anything, unless I want to. I aim to stay out of the saloons, and if I play poker, I'll stay with low-stakes games.”

“I like the sound of that,” Molly said. “Since I'm partners with Granny, why don't we just stay here for a while?”

“That might be wise,” said Nathan. “Wes doesn't know who I am, but I'd like to stay close enough to side him if he needs me.”

“He's so much like you,” Molly said. “Don't be surprised if he refuses any help.”

 

In the days that followed, Nathan continued spending as much time with Wes as he could, without the boy becoming suspicious. But Wes Tremayne never wavered in his determination to destroy the Sandlin gang. One night after supper he raised the lid on his watch to check the time.

“That's an interesting old watch,” Nathan said. “May I have a look at it?”

“It was left to me by my grandfather on my mother's side,” said Wes, handing the old time piece to Nathan.

Nathan had caught just a glimpse of the photograph in the lid of the watch, and as he looked at it more closely, there was no mistaking the well-remembered face of the young Molly Tremayne. Nathan swallowed hard before he spoke.

“A beautiful lady, Wes. Is this your mother?”

“Yes,” Wes replied. “It's all I have left of her. She died when I was born.”

Nathan returned the watch to the young man who was his son. No longer was there any doubt, and among the others in the room, Molly Horrell and Granny Boudleaux had seen and understood.

A month after Nathan's arrival, the Sandlin gang struck again. They rode across the river half a dozen miles east of El Paso, murdered a rancher and his wife, and then set fire to the house. They rode away with a dozen horses, escaping across the border. Following breakfast at Granny's, Wes Tremayne broke his long-standing rule and rode into town and went right to the town marshal's office, to talk to Jim Gillett.

“All hell has busted loose,” Gillett said. “The city fathers have telegraphed Austin for help from the Rangers.”

“A lot of good that'll do,” said Wes. “They've already had two Rangers here—you and me—and our authority ended at the border. A Ranger can't be everywhere at once. I was riding the river west of town, and the Sandlin bunch crossed the border a dozen miles to the east. I learned of it when I saw the glow from the burning house, and long before I could get there, the varmints had taken the horses and were back across the river.”

“There's just one way to get at the Sandlin gang,” Gillett replied, “and that's to lure them across the river for some definite purpose, but that can blow up in your face.”

“Yeah,” said Wes. “Like when they hung the Connors men.”

“Exactly,” Gillett said. “Then you'll have the whole county giving you hell because you were responsible for enticing the outlaws across the river. When I took the marshal's badge, I thought I could make a difference here. But I'm not allowed to do what has to be done, and I'm giving it up.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Just as soon as I can be replaced,” said Gillett. “The town council was after me this morning before breakfast. They wanted to know where the hell I was when Eli Danvers and his wife were murdered and their ranch house set afire. I had no way of knowing the Sandlin gang was coming, and even if I had known, they could have crossed the border anywhere along a fifty-mile stretch. Damn it, I'm one man with one gun. Let them send for the Rangers.”

“I'll take the badge for a while,” Wes said, “if you can arrange it.”

“I can arrange it, but are you sure that's what you want? I'd feel like I'm signing your death warrant.”

“I believe I can lure that bunch of owl hoots across the river,” said Wes. “They want me, and I've kept out of their reach, waiting for them to make a move. Well, they made it, and I was too far away to make any difference. They have to think they can get their hands on me.”

“So you aim to set a trap with yourself as bait,” Gillett said. “There's just one of you, same as there's just one of me. They can always spring the trap, take the bait, and just ride back across the river.”

“They can try,” said Wes. “Get me the badge and let me try.”

Gillett had no trouble getting Wes appointed as town marshal, but nobody at Granny Boudleaux's favored it. Only Nathan Stone kept his silence.

“They'll kill you,” Renita predicted. “The only reason they haven't already is that they couldn't find you.”

“She right,” said Granny. “You young, have pretty woman. Why you want to die?”

“Wes,” Molly said, “you and Renita could make a new start somewhere else, far from the border. You don't owe this town anything.”

“I don't run from a fight,” said Wes, “however unfair or uncertain it may be.”

Wes Tremayne refused to change his mind, and Molly tried to get Nathan to intervene.

“I didn't see you trying to talk sense to him,” she said.

“No,” said Nathan, “and you won't. He's enough like me that it wouldn't make a bit of difference. He knows I ran out on a fight once, and the Sandlin gang has been a threat ever since.”

“Then if he won't take Renita and leave here,” Molly said, “why don't we get away from here?”

“No,” said Nathan. “The kid's right. I ran away once. I won't do it again.”

“You're going to get yourself killed alongside him,” Molly said.

“I aim to be here if he has need of me,” said Nathan.

“I have need of you alive,” Molly said. “Doesn't that mean anything to you?”

“Sure it does,” said Nathan, “but I have to make up those wasted years. Is that so hard to understand?”

“I understand perfectly,” Molly said. “He's going to get himself shot dead, and you'll be right there beside him. Well, if I'm going to have to live without you, we'll start now. I'm moving to another room. You can sleep by yourself.”

She slammed the door with a finality that shook Nathan but did nothing to weaken his resolve. He sighed, tugged off his boots, and stretched out on the bed.

Wes Tremayne found himself in an increasingly precarious position with Renita. After her outburst following his appointment as town marshal, she said little to him unless she was forced to. To make matters worse, outlaws—presum—ably the Sandlin gang—raided yet another ranch, and while nobody was killed, all the stock was rustled. A week later, the town's request for Ranger assistance was answered when ranger Tom Webb arrived. He was a young man, not more than twenty-five, and Wes liked him immediately.

“A company of rangers couldn't solve this town's problems,” Wes told him.

Webb laughed. “Be a little more specific.”

Wes told him of having shot three of the Sandlin gang, only to have them cross the river and murder three innocent people.

“I've ridden this border as thoroughly as one man can do it,” said Wes, “and it makes no difference where I am. The outlaws are always somewhere else, and when they strike they're back across the border before I can get to them. I reckon you're aware that you're not allowed to cross the river?”

“Yes,” Webb said. “That's the first thing I was told.”

“Two elements must come together,” said Wes. “First, they must be lured across the river, and then we must have some idea as to where they are. They're over here plenty often, but I've never been able to get to them. I never know where they'll cross.”

“Maybe we can set a trap with enough bait to bring them to a specific location,” Webb said. “Are they partial to cattle or horses?”

“Horses,” said Wes.

“Suppose we had a holding pen, and in it fifty or more horses. Wouldn't that draw them across the river?”

“I reckon it would,” Wes said. “It might be the only way to draw them to a specific place. Even then we'd have to stake it out day and night.”

“Exactly,” said Webb, “but wouldn't that be better than constantly riding the border, never knowing when or where they're going to strike?”

“It would,” Wes replied. “It's the best proposal I've heard.”

“We'll begin by riding to the different ranches,” said Webb, “and asking for horses. We'll ask each rancher to contribute what he can, along with necessary hay and grain. The horses will be kept only as long as it takes to lure the outlaws across the river.”

“While we're asking for horses to bait the trap,” Wes said, “I believe we should ask for men to ride after the outlaws. I've heard there may be thirty or more outlaws in the Sandlin gang. That's heavy odds, even for a Ranger.”

“Heavy odds for anybody,” said Webb. “We'll definitely need help.”

“I think then you'll find out just how much folks around here want to be rid of the Sandlin gang,” Wes said. “I've heard that Sandlin has a standing reward of a hundred pesos for any man taking up arms against the Sandlin gang. Nobody's likely to forget how three men were hanged and they hadn't done anything.”

“I can see the deck is pretty well stacked against us,” said Webb, “but if nobody's willing to join us in the fight, we'll have to risk it alone. The trouble is, we'll be risking a holding pen full of borrowed horses. If something goes wrong, and they're lost, there'll be hell to pay. Not just here, but in Austin.”

“If there's just you and me against the entire Sandlin gang,” Wes said, “the very last thing we'll have to worry about is the horses. We'll both be shot dead.”

“Tomorrow,” said Webb, “we'll start calling on ranches.”

When Wes returned to Granny Boudleaux's at the end of the day, he said nothing to anyone about the newly arrived Ranger, and nothing about the plan to lure the Sandlin gang within reach. Renita was still out of sorts with him, and while he wasn't aware of the reason, he was aware that there was a problem between Nathan and Molly Horrell. Where did it all end, when a man began conducting himself according to the wants of a woman?

 

Tom Webb and Wes visited three ranches without gathering a single horse.

“I need the hosses I got,” said one rancher after another. “I can't afford to send 'em to a holdin' pen, to do nothin' but eat their heads off.”

“You need the horses you have,” Wes said, “but if the Sandlin gang rode across the river and took them, what would you do?”

Nobody had an answer to such a question, but they countered it with one of their own.

“Suppose we let you pen up our stock, and the outlaws gunned you down and took 'em anyway?”

The second half of the day was as unproductive as the first, and the sun was less than an hour high when Wes and Webb returned to town.

“I still think your plan's a good one,” Wes said, “but none of these people are willing to risk even one horse. Where do we go from here?”

“Tomorrow,” said Webb, “we'll call on the mayor and the town council. Hell, even a Ranger can't perform miracles. If the ranchers won't cooperate, then the town will have to supply the necessary horses.”

“That I'll have to see,” Wes said. “They're quick to give you hell when the outlaws steal and kill, but nobody's willing to lift a hand to help.”

 

After supper, when it was too dark to be seen, Wes went out on the front porch and sat down on the steps. Nathan got up and followed, leaving Molly Horrell glaring at him. He said nothing, taking a seat at the other end of the steps. If there was a conversation, Wes would have to begin it. Eventually he did.

“How well do you know Harley Stafford?”

“Pretty well,” Nathan said. “We were in the war together. After that, I lost track of him until I found him again in Deadwood, Dakota Territory.”

“That's where Hickok was killed.”

“Yes,” said Nathan, “I was there. Wild Bill was a friend of mine.”

“I've read about him,” Wes said. “I wondered if any of it was true.”

“Probably not,” said Nathan. “He liked to laugh, to drink, and to gamble. In Denver, after a saloon fight, I spent the night in jail with him.”

“Is it true that Jesse James was shot from behind by a member of his own gang?”