Black Horse Creek (9781101607466) (23 page)

Upstairs, watching from the front bedroom window, Jacob Blanchard was a witness to the elimination of another of his men at the hands of the relentless stalker. Thinking Slider would stop the ex-lawman, he cursed himself for not taking the shot from the window when he had the chance. Now it was too late, for Grayson was under the cover of the porch roof. Suddenly his anger turned to a feeling of sheer panic when he realized that Grayson was actually coming for him. He was no longer the hunter, he was the prey. It was a feeling he had never dealt with, because he had never before felt fear of any man. At that moment, he decided he was trapped there in the hotel room, and his only thoughts turned to those of escape.

He moved away from the window to confront a confused disciple in the person of Stump Haskell, waiting to be told what he should do. “Get to the stairs and stop them from coming up here!” Blanchard commanded. The dutiful Stump jumped to obey. Blanchard followed him out into the hall and directed him to a position at the top of the steps. Then he ran down to the end of the hall to the back stairs. Almost stumbling due to his haste, he nevertheless made it to the bottom of the stairs, and out the back door, to where Stump and Slider had tied their mounts. Pushing Stump's mule aside, he climbed up on Slider's horse, and flailed the sorrel mercilessly in his panic to escape. Down across the creek, he galloped behind the buildings, his one thought to make it to his ranch where he could hole up in his house.

Unaware their intended target was away and galloping toward home, Grayson and Burt walked through the hotel parlor to the foot of the front stairs, only to find themselves facing Stump looking down at them. The simple man was obviously befuddled by the situation he found himself in. “I—I don't think Mr. Blanchard wants you up here,” he stammered, unaware, as they were, that his boss had fled. “He don't want nobody botherin' Slate's body,” he offered, unable to think of something better to tell them.

“Stump,” Burt said as calmly as he could manage, “you need to step aside and let us pass.” He placed a foot on the bottom step. Stump dropped his hand to hover over his revolver, trying to decide whether to pull it or not. “We're on official business, Stump. Mr. Blanchard's wanted for murder, and we need to arrest him. So you don't want to get in the way of that.”

Stump's brain was whirling out of control as he stared glassy-eyed at the ominous form of Grayson. He had never been forced to face a showdown like this one before. He knew Blanchard expected him to stop them, but Burt McNally had never done him any harm. In fact, Burt had always treated him kindly. But Mr. Blanchard would be extremely angry if he didn't follow his orders. In the final moments, Stump couldn't shoot Burt. He shook his head sorrowfully as if he had failed in his duty, and stepped aside.

“Good man, Stump,” Burt said. “You did the right thing.” He hurried up the stairs then with Grayson close behind him.

“Careful,” Grayson warned, while keeping a cautious eye on Stump in case he had a change of heart. “Don't walk into an ambush. I wanna see you as sheriff for longer than half a day.” Nearing the front of the hall, they could see the bedroom door standing wide open and the body of Slate Blanchard on the bed. Grayson moved ahead and slid up beside the door where he could take a quick look through the crack behind the door. “He ain't in there,” he announced, and they both turned right away to make sure he wasn't behind them. There was no one there but a bewildered Stump Haskell.

A careful search of the other rooms on the floor came up empty before they went down the back stairs and discovered Stump's mule standing alone. Fresh tracks told an obvious story. “He's hightailin' it for home,” Stump announced. At that point, Morgan Bowers and Maria Sanchez joined them, finally emerging from the refuge they had taken in the kitchen.

“Are you willin' to finish this thing?” Grayson asked Burt.

“I reckon,” Burt replied.

*   *   *

The Creek woman went to the kitchen door and looked out across the yard toward the barn where Jimmy was busy replacing a couple of poles in the corral. He was working as hard as a man could, but the place was much more than one man could manage. Jacob was going to have to hire a crew to maintain the ranch, and he was going to have to do it soon, she thought. The crew of gunmen he had hired before were not inclined to work hard on the mundane chores of a ranch. They were more suited to murder and rustling, but they had been of some help when it came time for the fall roundup and branding. But now they were all gone, killed or run off, except for Stump and Dan Slider. She had to believe that it was a case of good riddance. Summer was nearing an end. Soon it would be time for roundup, and Jimmy said that Jacob's cattle were scattered all over the prairie. He needed help, but she told herself that it was Jacob's problem, not hers or Jimmy's.

She watched the young boy for a moment more before returning to her oven to check on her biscuits. Finding them ready to take out, she took her dish towel and pulled the pan from the oven. Thinking again of Jimmy, she placed a couple of the hot biscuits on the towel and used it to carry them out to the hardworking young man. He grinned when he saw her coming, having also spotted the dish towel in her hand. He had a special place in his heart for Rachel. She was the closest thing to a mother he could claim, his real mother having died giving birth to him. He only wished she had a better lot in life than being the slave to Jacob Blanchard.

“I thought maybe you like a hot biscuit,” she said in her broken English. “Still little while to supper. Maybe you hungry.”

“I'm always hungry for your biscuits,” he said cheerfully.

“You work hard,” she said, after watching him attack the hot biscuits.

“Yeah, and I ain't gettin' it done,” he replied. “I need Stump to get back here.”

She started to return to the house when a rider topped the east ridge and rode down toward the gate. They both paused to identify their visitor. After a moment, Jimmy said, “It's Mr. Blanchard, and from the looks of that horse, he must be in a hurry.” They stood there watching, and when he got to the open gate, Jimmy said, “He ain't ridin' his bay. That's Slider's horse.” Neither expressed it, but both wondered why the old man was alone, although it would not be the first time he had ridden off with one of the men and returned alone. They waited until he pulled the exhausted horse to a stop before the corral.

“What the hell are you two standin' out here doin' nothin' for?” Blanchard demanded angrily as he came out of the saddle. “Can't nobody do what I pay 'em for?” Obviously in a panic, he released the horse's reins and began to shout orders. “To hell with that horse!” he yelled at Jimmy when the boy took the reins and started to lead it toward the barn. “We ain't got time for that.”

“Don't you want me to unsaddle him?” Jimmy asked. “He looks pretty much wore out.”

“Leave the damn horse alone,” Blanchard ordered. “Go to the bunkhouse and get your rifle and plenty of cartridges.” He then turned to Rachel and pointed toward the kitchen door. “You go to the house and get my shotgun and all the shells you can carry.”

She did not have to be told. “Grayson,” she said. “He's coming.”

“Yes, dammit!” Blanchard responded. “He's comin' and we're gonna be ready when he gets here. We'll have three guns waitin' for him and that damn young pup of a sheriff they picked for themselves. Now get to the house like I told you!” He gave her a sharp backhand on her behind to emphasize his command.

Jimmy winced when the old man struck her. It was uncalled for, but the long-suffering woman had learned to live with his harsh treatment. Thinking he might be on the receiving end of the same treatment, he dropped the horse's reins and ran to the bunkhouse to get his rifle. He was confused by Blanchard's ranting, and not at all certain he was ready to fight Grayson and the new sheriff, whoever that was. At the same time, he was reluctant to question Blanchard's orders. Jacob, in the meantime, stood there by the corner of the corral looking around, trying to decide where best to set up his defense—the house might be too big to defend with only the three of them, the barn too open.
The bunkhouse
, he decided. It was a solid structure of logs that would give the best protection.
The son of a bitch won't be expecting us to be holed up there
, he thought,
and we can catch him by surprise between the bunkhouse and the main house
.

In a very few minutes, Rachel came from the house, carrying the shotgun at about the same time Jimmy returned from the bunkhouse. Blanchard told them of his plan. “We're gonna wait for 'em in the bunkhouse. When they ride up to the house lookin' for me, we'll shoot 'em down like sittin' ducks on a pond. It'll be three of us against two of them.” He glared at them and gave an emphatic nod of his chin. “They'll find out who runs my town, by God.”

“Who did you say was the new sheriff?” Jimmy asked.

“That young pup that works for Earl Dickens,” Blanchard snorted. “He's got a little too big for his britches. The whole damn town has got a hard lesson to learn. Well, they'll get my message when they see Grayson's corpse hangin' at one end of town, and Burt McNally's hangin' at the other.”

The more the infuriated man ranted, the more uncertain Jimmy became. He knew Burt McNally. He didn't want to kill him—or Grayson either. He had stayed on working for Blanchard because he needed the job. He had never wanted to take part in any of Blanchard's lawless activities, and now he was afraid to say so. Rachel, however, was not.

“I not shoot anybody,” she calmly announced. “I fix food for you. That's my job. These people are your enemies, not mine.” She paused only a moment when she saw the fury in his face. Knowing the damage was already done, she added, “Jimmy should not shoot, too. He's no gunman.”

“Why, you sassy-mouth Injun bitch!” Jacob roared, and struck out at her with his pistol, but she ducked away from him in time to avoid taking the blow on her head.

“No more you hit me,” she cried, and started to raise the shotgun she held.

Blanchard grabbed the barrel of the weapon and easily wrenched it from her hands. “No more I hit you, hell,” he mocked. “You was thinkin' you was gonna shoot me with this shotgun? I'll beat the livin' hell outta you.” He threw her on the ground and stood over her, holding the shotgun like a club.

Jimmy was frozen in a paralysis of indecision, a witness to the horrible beating about to be administered to one who was always kind to him. He could no longer think because of the thunderous pounding of his heartbeat in his ears as Blanchard raised the shotgun to strike. He didn't remember pulling the trigger, and was nearly as startled as Blanchard when the rifle suddenly fired, sending a bullet ripping into the old man's side. Jacob staggered with the impact, and tried to turn the shotgun on Jimmy, only to be stopped by the solid impact of Jimmy's next shot in his chest. The shotgun fell from Blanchard's hands, but he remained on his feet, his body bent forward like a great ape as he stared at Jimmy with unbelieving eyes. Both the young boy and the Creek woman, Rachel, seemed stunned as they watched the old man fearfully. After a long moment, Blanchard sank to his knees, where he remained for several moments more, before finally falling face-first in the dirt.

Barely able to believe she was still alive, Rachel quickly looked to Jimmy. Seeing the stark bewilderment in his eyes, she scrambled to her feet and quickly went to him. “Everything all right,” she gently told him. “You done the right thing. He not hurt nobody no more.” She could see that he was still not sure what he had done, so she told him. “You save my life. I thank you.” She then took his elbow and started him toward the house. “We best sit down now—talk, maybe drink coffee, decide what to do.” She could not help a feeling that she had just been released from a terrible bondage, at the same time wondering what would become of her now that her master was gone. It was far too late to think about possibly returning to her village. There was nothing they could do now but calmly wait for Grayson, so they left Blanchard's body where it lay, and went into the house.

*   *   *

It was almost dark when Grayson and Burt crossed the east ridge and rode down into the river valley. They pulled up short of the gate to look things over before riding in, halfway expecting a rifle shot from the house. But there was none. Then Grayson noticed the two people sitting in rocking chairs on the front porch. It was difficult to tell in the half light, but it appeared to be Rachel and the boy—he had forgotten his name. “Over there!” Burt said, calling his attention to what looked to be a body lying near the corral.

“Why don't you go over and take a look,” Grayson suggested, gesturing toward the body. “Might not be a bad idea to step down and keep your horse between you and the house.” He then followed his own advice and dismounted, pulling his rifle from the saddle sling as he did. There was no sense in taking a chance on Jacob Blanchard hiding behind the two on the porch, with a rifle trained on him. They parted and Grayson walked his horse toward the front porch, taking care to walk even with the gray's withers, his rifle resting across them.

“Mr. Blanchard's dead,” Jimmy called out when Grayson was within a few yards of the front steps. “That's him over yonder by the corral.”

At almost the same time, Burt called out, “It's Blanchard! He's dead.”

“Who killed him?” Grayson asked Rachel.

“I did,” Jimmy immediately volunteered.

“He save my life,” Rachel quickly interjected. “Blanchard was gonna kill me if Jimmy don't shoot him.”

It was obvious by the woman's tone that she was afraid Jimmy might be hauled off to jail, so Grayson was quick to assure her that Jimmy had nothing to fear. “I'll surely accept your word on that,” he told her, “and I don't reckon Sheriff McNally will see it any differently. He was set for a hangin' anyway. And to tell you the truth, I didn't expect he'd come peacefully.” He turned to Jimmy. “So I reckon you just did the sheriff's job for him.”