Stampede at Rattlesnake Pass (5 page)

"Elly – got to see – Elly!"

Jake’s face registered a measure of relief,
for he had half expected the young man to pass away during the
journey, rather than to regain consciousness.

"Who is Elly?" Jake asked. "And who are you,
and where are you from?"

The wounded man’s face contorted as he
screwed up his eyes and blinked several times, as if he were
struggling hard to fight his way back to consciousness.

"Johnnie – Johnnie Parker – of the Rocking H
ranch," he stammered. Then his eyes opened wide in alarm as he
seemed to register that he was not where he expected to be, rather
like a man awaking from a nightmare. "Cage! It was Rubal Cage that
shot me! What – what happened?"

Jake pursed his lips sympathetically. "There
is no easy way to tell you this, Johnnie. It looks like there was a
stampede. And I am guessing that all of your friends were
killed."

The shock of the news almost seemed too
much. "How - did they die?"

"They were shot. I found eight bodies as
well as you. They were all murdered."

Johnnie’s eyes fluttered. "Who are you,
mister?"

"Name’s Jake Scudder."

Johnnie shook his head as if trying to shake
himself awake. "Jake, can you get me to the Rocking H? I have to
tell – to tell – "

But the effort was too much. His eyes
blinked shut and he slumped back into deep unconsciousness.

Jake eased him back to the ground. "Well,
Johnnie, I don’t know where this Rocking H of yours is, but I
reckon that Tucksville is going to be the nearest town. I’ll get
you there, then we can see what help we can get. One thing is
certain, though – there are some murdering dogs out there that the
law needs to know about."

CHAPTER FOUR

It took an entire day to reach Tucksville
and it was late in the afternoon when they reached the town limit.
Almost immediately, Jake found himself surrounded by a gang of
street urchins and a few of the loafers who seemed to inhabit every
southwestern town.

"What you got there, mister? A dead man?"
queried one dirty-faced youngster of about ten years of age.

"Are you a bounty hunter?" asked
another.

Jake shook his head. "The answer is ‘no’ to
both questions. I have an injured man here in need of urgent
medical attention. Can you point me in the direction of the town
doctor?"

A grizzled oldster chuckled. "A sawbones?
You won’t find anyone like that in Tucksville. We used to have one
but he died of too much drink. Reckon the town marshal might be
your best bet, especially if there’s been a shooting."

"Who’s been shot?" called out a high-pitched
voice from the back of the crowd.

"Watch out, mister, here comes old Eagle-eye
McCaid," squealed one of the urchins, as the crowd parted to allow
a small, tubby man of about fifty with the thickest lensed
wire-framed spectacles Jake had ever seen. He was dressed in a
shirt buttoned up to the collar, but without a tie, a coat that was
also buttoned, but which strained over his paunch, and yet with a
brace of blue steel Colts in holsters on his hips. Pinned to the
waistcoat was a crudely made deputy marshal badge.

"Who said that?" he shrieked, peering
myopically to right and left at the crowd of urchins, loafers and
busybodies. "Let’s have some respect for the law around here." And
then blinking up at Jake he snapped out a series of questions in
his high-pitched voice.

"Who have you got there, mister? Is he dead
or alive? Need any help?"

"He’s wounded pretty badly, but he isn’t
dead," Jake replied. "He’s a tough kid if you ask me. I come upon
him and a whole passel of other cowboys at Rattlesnake Pass. They’d
been shot up and their whole herd stolen. Some coyote had been left
behind and was trying to finish them all off when I came along. He
threw some lead at me but wandered off when I played possum. The
kid here told me his moniker was Johnnie Parker of some spread
called the Rocking H. That was afore he passed out." He shook his
head. "And that was about a whole day ago, so I’m mighty keen to
get him to a doctor."

The grizzled oldster who was hovering at
Deputy McCaid’s shoulder piped up again. "I told you, mister. We
ain’t got a doctor."

Deputy McCaid peered at the old loafer.
"That you, Bart Rumgay?" Then before the other could reply, he
peered up at Jake Scudder. "He’s right there, stranger. We have no
doctor, but Matt Brooks the town marshal knows something of
doctoring. He’s dug out enough bullets in his time."

"I’ve already dug one bullet out of Johnnie
Parker here," replied Jake, "but I’d sure like another opinion on
what we can best do for him."

"Follow me then, Mister – "

"Scudder. Jake Scudder."

Deputy McCaid coughed. "Okay, Mr. Scudder,
follow me to the jailhouse and we’ll bed Johnnie Parker down in the
spare cell. What did you say you did about the others?"

"The bodies are in a gulley. Eight of them.
I covered them up until you can go and recover them, then you can
get after those murdering dogs."

McCaid walked ahead while Jake and the
assembled crowd of onlookers followed. "We’ll bring the bodies
back, I reckon," he said. "But I don’t know what Matt Brooks will
say about going after those cattle thieves."

Jake Scudder’s impression of Marshal Matt
Brooks was initially favorable. Clearly, the man had a strong
physical presence and engendered confidence. He was tall, well
groomed, and looked capable with both his fists and his sidearm. As
soon as he saw the wounded man he showed his ability to organize by
booming out a string of clipped orders.

"You two," he barked to a couple of the
surrounding loafers, "go into the back of the jailhouse and get
some water boiling." Then to Deputy McCaid, "Samuel, go over to Joe
Metcalf’s Emporium and get a couple of fresh blankets and some
linen for bandages. Tell Joe the town will reimburse him." And then
to Scudder: ‘If you’ll help me in with the victim there, then I’ll
do what I can for him."

Together they eased Johnnie Parker onto the
wooden bunk in the spare cell. Then as they had made him as
comfortable as possible, Jake gave an account of how he had found
the young man.

Matt Brooks stood up, a troubled frown upon
his brow. "It all leaves a bad taste in your mouth, right enough.
And the poor kid has been unconscious for a whole day, you say.
That’s not a good sign."

"But he seems a tough kid. I half suspected
that he wouldn’t make the journey back here. Do you know him,
Marshal?"

Matt Brooks nodded. "He’s one of the Rocking
H crew. I’ll send a rider over to the ranch right away. It’ll take
a few hours."

Jake nodded. "And I guess you’ll be sending
a posse after the rustlers?"

To his surprise Matt Brooks shook his head.
"That is out of my jurisdiction, mister." Then when he saw Jake’s
jaw drop in disbelief he continued, "Oh, I’ll send some boys out
with the undertaker and his wagon to bring back the bodies, if
you’ll just give me a full description of exactly where in
Rattlesnake Pass you found them. But as for going after rustlers,
my hands are tied. My jurisdiction goes no further than the town
boundary. I'm a town marshal, not the county sheriff."

"But there’s been a massacre out there!"
Jake exclaimed. He was about to launch into a tirade towards the
marshal when Johnnie Parker stirred. Then he coughed and spluttered
and his eyes flickered as he struggled back to consciousness.

Despite the marshal’s protestations about it
not being necessary, Jake insisted on staying to help look after
the wounded Johnnie Parker as he drifted in and out of
consciousness.

Samuel McCaid the deputy was ever ready to
fetch meals and coffee and take his stint at mopping the
perspiration from Johnnie’s brow, and in so doing endeared himself
to Jake. It seemed clear that he was a genuinely caring man who was
something of an object of ridicule within the town, on account of
his visual limitations and his resultant clumsiness.

When Matt Brooks was out on some business
the deputy confided in Jake. "I told you Matt wouldn’t be too keen
on chasing rustlers through Rattlesnake Pass."

"Is the town marshal a tad scared?" Jake
ventured.

McCaid’s eyes seemed to grow to three times
their normal size behind his pebble-glass spectacles. "Matt Brooks
- scared? Hell no, Mr. Scudder. He’s just kind of – rigid. He won’t
do anything against the law. He lives for the letter of the law and
the law says that his jurisdiction stops at the town’s
boundaries."

Jake nodded and sipped his coffee. "Then I
reckon the law is some kind of an ass. Eight men were slaughtered
out there in Rattlesnake Pass and the law surely has a duty to make
sure the killers are brought to justice."

Deputy McCaid hung his head. "I see that,
and I truly wish I could do something about it." Then he looked up,
steely grit in his voice. "But if those mongrels ever find their
way into Tucksville, you can be sure that Matt Brooks will see that
justice is done, and no mistake!"

Light was fading outside and Deputy McCaid
had lit the oil lamps in the jailhouse before heading off for some
food. Matt Brooks was writing reports at his desk and Jake was
dozing beside the patient’s bunk when he was startled awake by the
sound of a buckboard being drawn to an abrupt halt outside the
jailhouse. Stifling a yawn, Jake was rubbing the sleep from his
eyes when the door burst open and a vision of determined
loveliness, with long corn colored hair, dressed in men’s range
clothes, her hat hanging down her back, bustled into the marshal’s
office. She was followed a step later by a tall man who moved with
the grace of a puma, and whose Mexican clothes belied, in Jake’s
opinion, at least partial Apache ancestry.

"Miss Horrocks!" said Matt Brooks, rising
swiftly from behind his desk. "I thought that someone would be
coming from the Rocking H, but not you. And not so quick."

"El . . . Elly! Is that – you?" sighed
Johnnie Parker, weakly raising himself on his elbows.

Before Matt Brooks could do anything, she
was through the open door and clasping the wounded man’s hands in
hers. Jake immediately recognized the love that flowed between
them. Awkwardly, he rose and backed out of the cell to give them
some privacy.

He and the marshal were drinking coffee and
smoking quirlies while Yucatan stood impassively by the door when
Elly Horrocks came into the office a few minutes later.

"I am taking Johnnie home now," she
announced in a no-nonsense manner. "Yucatan will drive us
back."

"But – " began Matt Brooks.

"I reckon maybe I better come with you,
ma’am," Jake interjected. He gave the marshal a brief, cold glance.
"Your ranch lost eight men. I guess your menfolk back at the ranch
maybe want to talk to me."

Elly Horrocks fixed him with a look that
seemed a curious mix of amusement and pique, although Jake could
not place which. But before he could say anything she nodded.
"Johnnie told me something of you, Mister Scudder. I and the
menfolk would be very pleased for you to come back with us."

On the way back to the Rocking H ranch Jake
had little opportunity to discuss what had happened. Elly Horrocks
rode in the buckboard with Johnnie Parker, who had been provided
with a makeshift mattress, courtesy of Joe Metcalf’s Emporium,
while the taciturn Yucatan sat up front. The tall Mexican had, by
his body language, made it clear that Jake was not welcome to sit
on the buckboard bench alongside him. Accordingly, Jake trotted
behind on his big black stallion.

Upon arriving at the Rocking H, however,
Jake quickly realized that it was a ranch beset with the deepest
troubles. His initial assessment was found to be an underestimation
of just how bad things were when he sat with Ely and Saul after
they had settled Johnnie Parker into the guest bedroom at the back
of the ranch-house. For one thing he had not realized that the
remaining menfolk of the ranch consisted of Saul and Yucatan. He
certainly had been surprised to find that Saul was confined to a
wheelchair, having been shot in the same bushwhacking that had
killed their father.

"I surely am sorry about the men that have
all been killed," he said, as he accepted a glass of whiskey from
the reserved yet ever present Yucatan. "But surely they weren’t the
entire crew of the Rocking H?"

"They were more than that," replied Saul
Horrocks as he sat nursing his own whiskey glass. "We had hired
more men for the drive. Now all that remains of the Rocking H is
right here in this room – and Johnnie Parker through there." He
tossed back the remains of his drink, then gestured Yucatan to
replenish it from the decanter atop the roll-top desk.

"Then you truly are in trouble," mused Jake.
He covered his glass as Yucatan made to refill it. "So it looks as
if you need all the help that you can get. Do you mind telling me
how things got this way? Clearly, there’s got to be some history to
this tragedy."

Between them, Elly and Saul filled Jake
in.

"It is Elly that matters most to me," Saul
said, after they had described the run of bad luck that they'd had
over the last few years. "I was a drinker, a waster, and a bit of a
wild thing. I feel bad about it now, but I took off and had me more
adventures than I care to think about." He grinned boyishly for a
moment. "And a good thing that I met my friend Yucatan there,
during those wild days, or else I wouldn’t be alive today. Anyway,
my pa took me back in, welcomed me like the prodigal that I was –
and now I am head of a ranch with no crew and only half a herd and
a colossal debt to the bank. What hope have we got, Scudder? All
that’s left of us is me, a cripple, my little sister there, a half
dead wrangler, and Yucatan."

Elly Horrocks took a sip from her glass of
lemonade. "We will be all right, Saul," she said, reassuringly.