Blood Bond 3 (23 page)

“Naw,” Vonny told him, twirling his Peacemaker and settling it back into leather. “I'm just good, Max!”

Max tried to life his pistol out of leather. He gave up. It was just too much effort. His legs could no longer support him, and he sat down in his chair and looked at John Lee. His face was very pale. “I reckon I'm dead, boss.” Max slowly put his head on the table and closed his eyes. His hat fell off and hit the floor with a very small sound.

“Hot damn!” Josiah yelled from the batwings. “I got to see it again! You're finer than frog hair with them Peacemakers, Vonny.”

“Will you
please
come on to the office!” Doc Winters pleaded. “I've got to get that slug out of your leg.”

“Shoot that damn John Lee,” Josiah urged. “Lemme see you twirl them guns again. I ain't never got the hang of twirlin' guns. I give it up when I damn near blowed my toe off one time.”

“Please, Mr. Finch,” Doc Winters said. “You have got to get off that leg!”

“You worser than a old woman, Doc,” Josiah told him. “Hell, I got more bullet scars on my hide than an Injun's got arrows. Stop tuggin on me, I'm comin' along.”

“I 'spect our supplies is loaded by now, boss,” Winslow said. “We best be gettin' on back.”

“Yes,” John Lee said in a low tone. He could not take his eyes off his dead foreman. “Please . . . remove Max from this place and put him in a wagon. Do it gently. He's been with me for many years.”

John Lee stood up, moving like a man in severe pain. He looked at Vonny, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He shook his head and walked toward the batwings.

“Have a shootin' iron in your hand next time I see you, John Lee,” Vonny told him. “Either that or leave this part of Texas.”

John Lee turned slowly. “You dare to give me orders?”

“Yeah, I'm givin' you orders. I'll not kill you now,” Vonny told him. “I reckon even men like you and Max is capable of feeling a man's comradeship to one another. I'll let you put him in the ground and get drunk a night or two. Do your grievin' for a friend. After that, get gone or face me.”

“You . . . !” John Lee started to bluster. Winslow quickly dropped Max's feet and grabbed his boss by the arm. “Not now, boss. Now now.”

“Yes,” John Lee regained control of himself. “I shouldn't respond to anything this . . . rabble has to say. You're quite right, ah . . .” He looked at the man. “What is your name?”

“Winslow, boss.”

“Certainly. I knew that. It's . . . the shock, I suppose.” He held Max's hat in one hand. “Come on.” He pushed over the batwings and walked out.

“It's just about over,” Bam Ford said. He and Pen had been about two miles from town when the shooting started and had just entered the batwings in time to see Max get his long overdue comeuppance.

“It will be the next time I see John Lee,” Vonny said. “Even if he's standin' alongside God!”

John Lee buried his friend—his only friend—and then retired to his grand house, sitting on the front porch, drinking not whiskey, but coffee. Nick, his behind resting on several thick pillows, sat with him.

“When do you think you'll be able to ride, boy?” his father asked him.

“Another week or ten days, Papa. We goin' to attack the town?”

“I am, you're not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want you gone from here, boy. I'll arrange for drovers to come in and move the herd. These damn gunhands bleeding me dry couldn't manage a herd of goats, much less several thousand head of cattle.”

“We're sellin' out, Papa?”

“No. Were moving out. Heading west to start over. We're finished here. I could go on and fight for the next year and all I'd be doing is spending money.” John Lee paused, recalling the words of Vonny Dodge and the gunfighter's terribly cold eyes.

“Where are we goin', Papa?”

“Montana, maybe. Wyoming. I don't know. Someplace away from here.”

The son shook his head. John Lee looked at him. “What's the matter?”

“I was born right here, Papa. Not in this house, but on this land. It's ours. I ain't leavin'. Besides, Cindy ain't in no condition for a move.”

“That's true,” the father said.

“You're just depressed 'cause Max is dead, Papa. Look, Bodine and Sam and the Ranger can't stay here forever. They're drifters. We just lie low for a time and they'll move on. We'll rebuild our crew and in a month or six months or a year, we'll hit that damn town so hard they'll not know what happened to them. Then it'll be right back the way it was 'fore all these outsiders come in to screw it all up.”

“It'll never be the way it was, boy,” John Lee told his son. “Get that notion out of your head. I'm under a death sentence put on me by Vonny Dodge. I'm on the downswing of life, boy. You've got years ahead of you. You've got to live, you and Cindy and the child. Cindy can't stand no long trail drive, but she could be taken to Fort Worth and looked after there. You go with her. You're not in good enough health to help me in what I got to do. I'll arrange for drovers to move the herd, and then when you and Cindy are able, you come on following. You and me, we'll plan tonight where we start over. I've had my say, boy. That's the way it's going to be. Now leave me for a time.”

After his son had gone back into the house, John Lee warmed his coffee and set about cleaning his guns. No man talked to him the way Vonny Dodge talked to him that day and lived. When all the plans were firm, and the drovers moving the herd, and the boy and Cindy were in the buggy and gone, John Lee would gather his fighting men and seek his revenge. That was the way it had to be. Vonny Dodge had thrown down the challenge, and John Lee had to pick it up. That was the code.

John Lee called for one of his few working hands to come to him. “Ride for the settlement, Booker. Start passing the word that I want drovers. We're moving the herd. Get them back here as soon as possible.”

“Right, boss. I'm gone.”

John Lee's eyes were bleak as he stared out over his land. “A week, Vonny. Ten days, maybe. Then one of us is dead.”

 

 

“Stage driver just told me that John Lee's hirin' drovers,” Pen said, sitting down at the table in the saloon.

“Drovers or gunhands?” Josiah asked, his wounded leg propped up on a chair.

“Cowboys,” Pen said. “John Lee's gonna move the herd. Cindy's done pulled out for Fort Worth in a fancy buggy, and Nick is supposed to follow her pretty quick.”

“That stage driver was full of information, wasn't he?” Sam smiled.

Bam stepped out of the saddle in front of the saloon and knocked the dust from his clothing before stepping up on the boardwalk and entering the saloon. He'd been out chasing a horse thief for the better part of two days. He ordered a beer and sat down wearily.

“You catch him?” Pen asked.

Bam nodded his head. “I caught him. He pulled iron. I shot him. Planted him this mornin'.” He took a long swig of beer. “Lots of news out on the trail. John Lee's movin' his herd to Montana, by way of Kansas. He's plannin' to sell most of his beeves to the Army and take the best north for breedin' stock. He's gonna start the herd in a couple of days.”

“I can't believe he's giving up,” Josiah said.

“He ain't,” Bam said, after draining his mug and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I run into Rodgers on the trail. He left the Broken Lance. Said John Lee seemed like he was gonna pull something wild. He doesn't know what, but said some of the boys is talkin' about hitting the town and lootin' it and then settin' it on fire. And John Lee is all the time talkin' about killin' Vonny Dodge.”

“John's good with a gun,” Pen said. “Don't sell him short on that. I don't know whether he's as good as Vonny—I doubt it—but the man is no coward.”

“Nick won't last in Montana,” Matt said. “He'll be dead within six months. It takes some doing to live up there.”

“I agree,” Sam said. “If the weather doesn't kill him, some cowboy will. And it's my opinion that Cindy will never leave Fort Worth. She isn't cut out for homesteading in Montana.” He looked at Bam. “You think Jeff Sparks and Vonny know about this move?”

“Oh, yeah. Rodgers told me that Circle S and Flyin' V punchers are watchin' ever' move the Broken Lance boys make. John Lee's still got about thirty or thirty-five randy ol' boys with him. They could hurt this town for a fact. They'll not tree it, but they could do enough damage so's it might not recover from it. We got to think about that.”

“And stay close,” Josiah said.

“Yeah.” He looked up at the sounds of hooves striking the sun-baked earth of the street. “Here comes Jeff and some of his crew now.”

The owner of the Circle S pulled a table close to the men and he and Vonny and Gene sat down, ordering beer. The other hands with him went to the bar. “You men heard the news about John Lee?”

“That's what we were just talking about,” Matt said. “What do you make of it?”

The rancher sipped his beer and looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think that John Lee has sent his stupid kid and equally stupid wife out of harm's way. I think he is going to throw the dice for the jackpot or bust.”

“A suicide raid?” Sam asked.

“Exactly.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” Josiah said. “But now that you brung it up, you just may be right.”

“He's gone around the bend,” Vonny said. “And I think he knows it. I believe that durin' any right-thinkin' time he might have, he knows he's slap-dab crazy, and he's chosen this way to go out rather than be placed in some institution for the feebleminded.”

“Then he's doubly dangerous,” Matt said. “You can usually predict what a normal person will do. There is no way of telling what a crazy man might do.”

“Especially one who is on a suicide mission,” his brother added.

“So what do we do?” Pen asked.

“Wait,” Josiah said. “There's ain't nothin' else we can do, 'ceptin' warn the townspeople to get ready.”

 

 

The town made ready without being obvious about it. Every water barrel that could be found was filled, and buckets and pails were stashed closeby in the event of fire. The manager of the general store sold out of .44's and .45's and had to reorder. But everyone knew by the time the reordered ammo arrived, their fates would have been long settled.

Men were assigned positions from which to fire. Women knew where to go with their kids from any part of town. Anyone handy with a hammer and saw was busy building thick shutters with gun slits to close and cover their windows in the hope that while the walls sure wouldn't stop a bullet, the shutters might.

One bright hot morning, one of Noah's hands came fogging into town and jumped down in front of the marshal's office. “The drovers have started the Broken Lance herd north,” he panted, wiping the sweat from his face with a bandana. He used his hat to knock the dust from his clothing. “One of Jeff Sparks's spies he sent down to the settlement come back last night sayin' that John Lee's men done bought ever' box of bullets in town.”

“Nick Lee?” Matt asked.

“Gone. Pulled out yesterday in a buggy. I think we done seen the last of that squirt.”

“Don't bet on it,” Josiah said. “He's just as crazy as his old man. And when he learns of his old man's death—and John Lee is gonna die, and soon—Nick'll be back with murder in his eyes.”

“I tend to agree with you, Josiah,” Sam said, noticing the badge was once more pinned to Josiah's shirt.

“Thank you,” the Ranger said with a smile. “I asked to come off leave, since it's all up to John Lee now. I'll be sure to arrest any survivors of the raid.”

“Here's the plan from our end of it,” the young Flying V hand said, and laid it out.

 

 

Almost everyone was sure that John Lee and his men were coming hellbent for the town to loot it and destroy what was left. But the ranchers had to also plan on the unexpected, that being that John Lee and his raiders just might attack their ranches first. Noah only had a few hands, and he could not risk sending any of them in to help the town.

Jeff was keeping ten at the ranch and sending the rest into town. Those were Chookie, Barlow, Gilley, Parnell, and Beavers. They rode in late that same afternoon the Flying V hand delivered the message and the plan.

Vonny had already ridden in alone. The old gunfighter had tied his guns down and had a rifle in his hand and a bandoleer of ammunition slung across his chest. He pretty much stayed to himself, restlessly pacing the boardwalk, stopping occasionally to build a smoke.

He finally settled down and came into the marshal's office and took a seat. “When do you figure they'll hit us?” he asked Matt.

“Just before dawn. They'll make us sweat—or so they think. They'll think we'll be all tired and grainy-eyed from being up and tense all night. At least that's my thinking on it.”

“I agree with it,” Josiah said. “And I think it'll come in the morning. I get the impression that John Lee is not a very patient man. We'll take turns watchin' from the rooftops this night, and an hour before dawn, we'll roust everybody out of bed and be ready to meet the attack.”

“How's your leg?” Vonny asked.

“It pains me some. But I can gimp around on it.” He grinned. “I'll be right in the middle of it, boys. Don't none of you fret about that.”

The town shut down early that night. By the time the sun had vanished over the horizon and the evening's shadows began cooling the land, most of the townspeople had eaten their supper and turned out the lamps.

The men would stand two-hour watches through the night, thus insuring that everyone would get enough rest while still maintaining a tight vigil over the town.

Doc Winters had laid out the tools of his trade before looking in on the few patients he still kept on cots in the back room of his office. He didn't think any of the gunmen left were going to make it much longer, and he, quite unprofessionally on his part, didn't really give a damn whether they lived or not. If peace was ever going to come to the frontier, men like these would have to be accounted for. And if accounted for meant stopping a bullet, that was fine with young Dr. Winters. He checked the double-barreled shotgun he'd asked for and received from the marshal's office, leaning it up against the wall by his bed. A sack of shells was on the floor beside the butt of the sawed-off. Doc Winters was quickly adjusting to life west of the Pecos.

He went to bed and was asleep in two minutes.

At four o'clock, all the men of the town were in their assigned positions and waiting for the attack.

“If my addition is correct,” Sam said to Matt, “I figure John Lee's got thirty-five men, counting himself.”

“Add about ten or fifteen more to that,” Matt replied. “His regular hands will probably come in, too.”

“I completely forgot about them. You're right. If John Lee fails this day, those men would have a tough time finding work anywhere in Texas. It's do or die for them, too.”

The office door opened behind them and boots thudded on the boardwalk as Pen Masters joined the brothers. “I heard what you was sayin', Matt. Yeah, they's a good fifteen regular hands out on the Broken Lance, all loyal to John Lee. They're not known gunhands, but they're rough ol' boys who ride for the brand. They'll be comin' for a fact.”

Matt looked up and down the street. He knew that everybody was up, but as instructed, no lamps were lit. The town appeared to be sleeping in the predawn hours.

Vonny joined them, the old gunfighter standing tall and straight and ready. “We got about an hour 'fore dawn. Say forty-five minutes 'fore they hit us. Time for a biscuit, one more cup of coffee, and a smoke. I'll do that and get into position. Good luck to you boys and keep your wits about you.” He smiled. “Like we used to say up in the mountains—‘and keep your powder dry.' ”

He walked off into the darkness.

Bam called from the office. “Coffee's ready, and the cook at the café sent over some doughnuts. You can't beat a breakfast like that.”

The men poured coffee and grabbed up the doughnuts, still warm and sprinkled with sugar.

Sam stepped out on the boardwalk and chanted something in a low voice.