Golden Riders (22 page)

Sam saw a determined look come to Bonsell's eyes.

“Go on ahead, Ranger, shoot them curs!” he said. “I'll stick right here and see to it our horses are safe.”

“Obliged, Teddy,” Sam said. Then he reached out from behind his back with his handcuffs and snapped one around Bonsell's wrist. “You can watch about the horses from over here.” He dragged the outlaw to a stall door and snapped the other cuff around an iron hinge.

“Ranger, you can't leave me here handcuffed! What if they kill you? What happens to me?”

“Then you'll have to tell a good story, how I made you bring me here,” Sam said. He grabbed his rifle from his saddle boot and ran out the barn door in a crouch toward the side of the house, catching the riflemen on their blind side as they fired into the grass and trees.

The gunfire from the trees and grass kept the gunmen busy in the front of the house while Sam ran in a crouch and took cover at the side wall, out of sight. Seeing him trying to take position, the gunfire from the grass grew even heavier. Sam ran alongside the house, found a half-filled rain barrel and rolled it on its bottom edge over to the window standing ten feet above the ground.

As the gunfire thumped into the front of the house and zipped along past him, he leaned his rifle against the wall, placed a short plank across the top of the barrel and climbed atop it.

Here goes. . . .

Gripping the ledge of the open window, he climbed up and rolled over the ledge and crashed onto a landing on a staircase. Hearing his entrance, two gunmen turned toward him from the front window, their rifles already firing.

Sam flattened on the landing and stuck his Colt out between two ballasts and returned fire. His rapid shots hit one man twice in the chest and sent him flying backward through the window onto the front porch. The
other man threw a jammed rifle aside and grabbed for a shotgun leaning against a chair. But before he got the shotgun leveled to fire, another shot from Sam's Colt sent him stumbling backward against the wall. He slid down as the shotgun fell from his hands.

The Ranger stood and walked down the stairs, one step at a time with caution. He heard the back door slam shut behind a pounding of boots across the back porch. With only one round left in his smoking Colt, he shoved the gun into its holster and drew the big clumsy LeMat from where it stood in his waist. A long strip of rawhide ran through a lanyard on its butt and looped up around Sam's neck.

“Don't—Don't shoot,
please . . . 
!” the wounded man leaning against the wall pleaded, seeing the big gun in the Ranger's hand.

“Don't make me,” Sam replied, stepping closer, the big LeMat out and cocked, already feeling heavy in his hand. Out front in the tall grass the shooting had waned to a halt. “How many of you are here?” he demanded.

Gripping his bloody chest, the wounded man tossed a glance toward the front window.

“Barnes and me, now,” he said. He gestured to the rear of the house and added, “Those . . . two jackrabbits . . . couldn't stick.”

“So I noticed,” Sam said, hearing boots pound around the side of the house and take off across open ground. He kicked the shotgun aside and leaned enough to look out the front window. He saw Joey Rose, his face covered with gauze like a mummy, and John Garlet running, guns blazing in their hands. Garlet ran
shirtless, covered in bandage and gauze from his waist up. His right arm was thickly plastered and held up shoulder-level, a diagonal iron rod running up from his hip, supporting his elbow.

Sam watched them run twenty yards before a concentrated volley of gunfire cut them both down.

“Hey . . . ,” said the wounded man, tugging a bloody hand at Sam's trouser leg. “I'm dying here . . . ain't I?” he said, his voice sounding weak, starting to wheeze in his bleeding chest.

“I believe you are,” Sam said evenly. He stooped and started to untie a bandanna from around the man's neck, to hold against the flow of blood. But the man shook his head weakly. “No need in a bandage,” he wheezed. His dimming eyes went to the big LeMat in Sam's hand. “Obliged . . . you not shooting me with that.”

“Think nothing of it,” Sam said quietly. He lowered the LeMat, feeling the weight of it hang on the rawhide strip.

Seeing the gun not pointed at him, the wounded man looked relieved.

“I was . . . making good . . . tending bar . . . then
this
,” he said. His head lolled to one side, bobbed once and lay there, his dead eyes staring aimlessly across the room.

“We make our choices . . . ,” Sam said quietly, knowing the man wasn't listening. He stood up, shoved the LeMat back down in his waist and raised his Colt from its holster and began reloading.

“Ranger Burrack,” a voice called out from the direction of the tall grass.

Hearing a familiar voice, Sam stepped over and
stood in the open front window. He raised a hand and waved it back and forth slowly. He gave a slight smile and shook his head to himself, seeing Sheriff Schaffer and the Delmar twins walking toward the house from the grass and tree line. Lindsey helped the limping sheriff move along, both her hands supporting his forearm. Sam could see a wide strip of cloth circling Schaffer's leg just above his knee.

Her brother, Toby, helped John Garlet hobble through the grass, Garlet's unbandaged arm looped over his shoulder. Garlet's bandaged and plastered arm stuck out from his shoulder like an outrigger on a boat. Sam saw fresh blood running from under the thick gauze surrounding Garlet's head.

Sam watched the four draw closer, curious to hear their story.

“I can't tell you happy we are to see you, Ranger,” Sheriff Schaffer called out.

“Same here,” Sam replied, although curiously. He stepped over the low window ledge and onto the front porch. He met them at the steps and helped Lindsey walk Schaffer over to a chair and sat down. Toby lowered John Garlet into a chair beside him. John Garlet stared up at Sam with a peculiar idiotlike grin.

“I know you,” said the grinning outlaw.

“Keep quiet, Garlet,” said Toby, carefully removing the gauze to check a bullet graze on the outlaw's head.

“I've got a prisoner in the barn,” Sam said, looking from one face to another, then settling on the sheriff, “but I've got to ask, what brings you up here, Sheriff?”

“Chasing these Golden skunks, same as you, Ranger,”
Schaffer said. “I've never seen nothing like them. You shoot one, and two more pop up in his place!”

“It's tough, a gang this big,” Sam said.

“Don't I know it,” said Schaffer. “I started out chasing this lunatic when he escaped from the doctor's office. He met up with Joey Rose along the way—Rose being the one lying out there dead, I'm pleased to say. They both ran up here, so, here
we
are. I took a bullet in the leg two days ago. But it's a clean enough wound.” He grinned and gestured a nod toward Lindsey. “Can't complain though . . . it gets me attention from this lovely young lady.”

Lindsey smiled and looked down.

“Hush now, Sheriff,” she said modestly.

“So did I,” John Garlet mindlessly cut in, grinning, eager to be a part of the conversation.

Ignoring the outlaw, Sam gave Toby a questioning look.

“I couldn't just sit still and watch the sheriff go out here alone,” the young man said. “I asked myself what would Ranger Burrack do in a situation like this.” He shrugged. “So, here I am.”

“But I did it because it's my job, Toby,” Sam said in a cautioning tone.

“And it might be
mine
too, someday,” Toby replied.

“You've been a good influence on my brother, Ranger Burrack,” Lindsey said. “And I admit, on myself as well.” She blushed a little. “I don't know if he was being brave or being foolish, but I wasn't about to let him go alone. So here
I am
, too.”

“Was that the big buckskin I saw go down out there?” Sam asked, already dreading the answer.

“Yes, it was,” Lindsey said. “But he's all right,” she added quickly. “Toby pulled him down out of the gunfire. He just has a graze along his rump. We've named him Easy. I hope you don't mind.”

“No, I don't mind. . . .” Sam took a relieved breath upon hearing the horse was alive. “All right,” he said. “I'm going to go get my prisoner.”

“I'm going to
hang myself
,” John Garlet called out as Sam turned to walk away.

Sam looked around at Sheriff Schaffer, who shook his head and said, “It's that loaded mescal, Ranger. It affects everybody different. This one has babbled about hanging himself so long, I'd pay him to do it.”

“Hear me, Ranger? I'm . . . going to . . .
ha-ang myself
.” Garlet spoke melodiously, as if singing the words to a song.

“Good luck . . . ,” Sam said to him over his shoulder.

When Sam returned to the house with Bonsell, the others had gone inside, Toby keeping watch at the front window in case any more riders arrived. Now that there were other people around, Sam had cuffed Bonsell's hands in front of him. On their way to the house, the cuffed outlaw looked down at his wrists and frowned.

“You have no cause to do this, Burrack,” he said. “I have done nothing to warrant such treatment.”

“We'll be leaving here shortly, Bonsell,” Sam said, the two of them walking on. “Keep behaving yourself. I'll take them off along the trail a-ways.”

“Keep behaving myself . . . ,” Bonsell chuffed under his breath. “You think you're talking to a child?”

“No,” said Sam, “I think you're a full-grown man. So act like it. If you were a child, I might hesitate busting your head with a gun barrel.” He stopped Bonsell at the porch steps and gave him a pointed stare. “Do we understand each other?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Bonsell said with sarcasm, “we understand.”

The two walked up the porch steps and in through the open front door. Toby Delmar turned from the open window, looked Bonsell up and down critically, then turned to Sam.

“Now that you're here, do you suppose I can go fetch the horses and look at Easy's bullet graze?”

“Go ahead,” Sam said.

“Lindsey found some food in a pantry,” Toby said, turning toward the front door. “She's fixing us up something to eat.”

“Sounds good,” Sam said. He nodded the twin on, out the door toward the grass and tree line where they had left their horses. As Toby trotted away toward the tall grass, Sam looked at the two dead bodies lying where they'd fallen, one leaning against the wall, the other sprawled on the porch right outside the large front window.

“What a mess,” Bonsell said, looking down at the bloody bodies.

“You know these two?” Sam asked.

“Yep,” said Bonsell. “Take these cuffs off, and I'll tell you who they are.”

“I told you when I'd take the cuffs off,” Sam replied. “Tell me who they are, else I'll leave you cuffed until tomorrow.”

Bonsell blew out a breath in exasperation.

“There's just no dickering with you, is there?” he said.

“Not a whole lot,” Sam said.

“That one is Buford Barnes,” he said pointing to the body on the front porch. “He's Brax Kane's houseman, all-around guard and personal assassin.”

“I've heard of Buford Barnes,” Sam said. “To tell you the truth, I thought he'd been dead for years. I haven't seen any paperwork on him anywhere.”

“No, he was alive and kicking,” said Bonsell, “just laid up here, taking it easy, killing anybody the Kane brothers pointed him at.”

“Well,” said Sam with finality, “he's dead now.”

“Yes, I'd say he is,” Bonsell replied, giving Sam a sarcastic look. “Too bad though. He's known as a hard-killing dog. I'd have given anything to see you face off with him one-on-one.”

“I just did,” Sam said flatly, returning his look.

Bonsell looked away and grumbled under his breath.

“This one?” Sam asked, nodding at the one leaned against the front wall.

“That's
Stupid
Ned Cooney,” said Bonsell. “The last time I was up here, he was tending bar in El Ricon. Struck me he'd kill his ma for a chance to join the Golden Riders.”

“Looks like he got his chance,” Sam said, remembering Cooney's last words of regret. “Come on, let's get that one off the porch, carry them both out back.”

“Not with these cuffs on,” said Bonsell.

Sam just looked at him and motioned him toward the front window.

“All right, then. Damn it,” Bonsell said walking over, stepping out the window ahead of the Ranger.

“Say Buford Barnes and Kane were real close?” he said.

“Like hounds in a hailstorm,” said Bonsell.

“You figure Barnes knew where Kane and his men were headed?” Sam asked.

“If anybody did, Barnes did,” said Bonsell. “Kane told him everything.”

The two reached down. Bonsell took the dead outlaw by his bootheels; the Ranger took the front of Barnes' bloody shirt in both hands.

“So, it appears you've killed the man who could have told you everything you wanted to know, Ranger.” Bonsell grinned as they raised the body, carried it down the front steps and around the house.

“I thought you had it figured they were headed toward a new rail spur near Sonoyta?” Sam said.

“I thought it, for a while,” said Bonsell. “But now I've changed my mind. That was foolish thinking on my part.”

Sam studied his eyes as they laid Barnes' body on the ground and walked back for the hapless bartender.

“I've changed my mind too,” Sam said, looking down at all the fresh hoofprints in the dirt that led off in the direction of Sonoyta. “Now that you're thinking they're
not
, I'm thinking they
are
headed there.”