The Red River Ring (5 page)

Reese held up his mount and stared hard at his brother. “At least we got his memory to be proud of. At least we know that he came into this country and made it a place worth holding on to. At least we know he would have fought rather than be rolled over.”

“Are you so sure of that?”

“Yes, and so are you. Damn it, Temple, you listen too much to Mom and John and not enough to what you know is right. Until we make a fight of it, they're going to slowly wear us down until there's nothing left.”

Temple listened silently. He spurred his horse forward without answering. Reese watched for a moment then followed, shaking his head.

Chapter VI

I

Red Meadows stepped down from his horse, squatted and stirred the dust of the track with his finger. He looked up toward the lone mesa to the south and shook his head.

“What do you think?” Burt Blake asked.

“Two hours maybe three. Can't tell for sure. He speeded up here. I think he made for the mesa.”

“Why would he? He don't know we're after him.”

Three more riders circled Meadows as he unslung his canteen and took a drink.

“He speeded up when he broke the crest of this hill. The only thing to draw him is that mesa. It would be a perfect position to take a stand,” Meadows said as he retied his canteen.

Blake dismounted and tightened the cinch on his saddle. “Bartello, you got a jug of that cactus whiskey with you?”

“Si, patron. You want a little.”

“Sure, why the hell not? We can take a break while Meadows gets up his nerve.”

The men laughed and dismounted. Meadows ignored them and stepped forward, studying the top of the mesa.

Blake took a swig and passed it to the others. “I wonder how you got hired into this outfit Meadows. You're as jumpy as a whore in church.”

“You tell me this guy just waltzed into Colredge's office and got the drop on both of you. You tell me he's an old hand on the range. Then you tell me his name. Hell, I've heard stories about Pommel McMurphy from the old days. Now you tell me he don't know we're after him. Why wouldn't he know?”

Bartello carried the crock jug to Meadows and set it at his feet. “Have a drink, Senor Red. It will do you good.”

As Bartello stepped away, the jug exploded, throwing a shower of whiskey on the Mexican and Meadows. An instant later the roar of gunfire echoed off the Mesa.

Every rider dove for cover, their horses scattering over the ridge top like husks in the wind.

“Gott-damn it! Where's he at?” Blake cursed.

“Somewhere on the mesa,” Meadows answered as he crawled closer toward the mesquite tree he was trying to use for cover.”

“The hell you say. That's a good four hundred yards away,” Blake said.

“Nearer five, and that jug ain't no bigger than your hat,” Meadows said.

“He was aiming at you.”

“The hell he was. He hit exactly where he was aiming. You don't hit a half-gallon jug from that distance by accident.”

“Gamble, get to my horse and fetch my Winchester,” Blake ordered.

Gamble, a short stocky blond shook his head. “You fetch it your own self. It's a good twenty-five feet in the open to that horse.”

“We'll cover you.”

“With what? Them handguns? You might as well throw rocks at this distance.”

“I'll get it for you,” Cad Autry shouted from his rock cover. “I can make it in a jump or two.”

Autry stepped from the rock then hesitated. No shot was fired. He took another step into the open.

“What are you doing?” Meadows asked.

“I think he left. I think he lit out for the high lonesome,” Autry answered as he tried another step, and another. After a few moments he cursed and walked boldly to the horse drawing Blake's Winchester from the scabbard. “Shit, there's nothing to worry about.”

As Autry turned dust rose from the left pocket of his shirt and he fell backward into the dirt. A gush of blood flowed through the pocket and another roar of gunfire echoed from the mesa.

“I kind of liked old Cad,” Gamble said. “Too bad he was so damned stupid.”

“Shut up, I'm thinking,” Blake said.

“Don't hurt yourself,” Meadows said softly to himself.

“If we all move at once, some of us ought to make it to the horses,” Blake said.

“That's a hell of a plan,” Meadows said as he gave Blake a disgusted look. “You going first?”

“No damn it, we all go at once. I'll count to three.” No one objected so Blake counted. “One, Two, Three, go!”

No one moved.

“Well, go on, Blake. Lead the way,” Meadows said.

Bartello laughed and rolled deeper into the depression he took for cover.

“Listen, you sons-a-bitches. He can't be that good,” Blake cursed.

“You don't believe he's that good, you lead the way,” Meadows answered.

Gamble crawled quickly over the ridge and down the other side. “I made it. I'm out of his line of fire.”

“Good,” Blake said. “Fetch those horses before they go any further.”

“Then what?” Meadows asked.

“We get the horses and charge the mesa. We'll ride him down from the jump,” Blake answered.

“Have you looked at that country. It's as bare as my granny's butt. You get your tactical skills from General Pickett?”

Again, Bartello laughed.

“Then what do you think we should do?” Blake finally asked.

“We get our horses and we go back to Pampa. We have a drink and wait for someone who's bullet proof to take that mesa.”

“Si, Amigo. This plan I like,” Bartello laughed.

“Colredge isn't going to like it,” Blake said after a pause.

“Colredge can ride up here and take the hill. Hell, I'll ride with him and show him the best position to charge from,” Meadows said.

“Si,” Bartello laughed. “I'll come too.”

“I don't like crawling out of here on my belly,” Blake said in disgust.

“I'll crawl. That's a hell of a lot better than Autry's method.”

“I got the horses,” Gamble called from the other side of the ridge. “What now?”

“Why don't you bring them up here for us to mount up?” Bartello called.

There was silence, then. “I think I'll wait for you guys here.”

Bartello again broke out in laughter.

Meadows smiled and watched the mesa top. He hadn't seen shooting like that since the war. “You suppose he's been buffalo hunting all these years?” he asked.

“I guess I should have took him at his word when he told us he was good at his work,” Blake conceded.

“I guess so,” Meadows said softly.

Pommel sat back from his rifle and studied the crawling forms among the mesquite. He levered a fresh round into the chamber, closed the dust cover at the top of the ejection port, and gathered the brass cartridge hulls scattered in the dust. He hadn't wanted to kill the one but figured he had to or they would have charged him. They would have had a hell of a time making the mesa without having their horses shot out from under them but a few might have made it if they rode smart using the lay of the land to their favor. He smiled. Any of Bent's riders would think twice before riding openly south of the Red. He had been lucky with his shots and it would pay off.

II

When Temple stepped from the house he was surprised to see his mother and Fritz Blomberg waiting in the buggy. They normally did not come to the ranch and never together.

“We just ate. I'm sure there's plenty left for you,” Temple said with a smile as he took his mother's hand and helped her down from the seat.

“Thank you, sir,” Blomberg said as he stepped to the ground, stretched and examined the surrounding corrals and buildings. “It's been a while since I've been out here. You've made a number of improvements.”

“Where's Pac?” Mary asked.

Temple looked Fritz in the eye before answering, telegraphing his lie. “He's out on the range checking cattle.”

“I hope he's not alone. It's too dangerous for him to ride alone.”

“Mom, Pac does what he wants to. He won't listen to me or anyone else. He rides where he wants when he wants.”

“You're not still arguing with him, are you?” Mary asked as she climbed the porch steps.

“Pac and I haven't argued for several days, now,” Temple answered.

“Good, I saw Reese driving wagons out of town yesterday morning. I suppose he's going to Brownswood.”

“Were they loaded?”

“It looked like they were carrying bagged grain,” Blomberg said as he followed them into the house.

“Good, that'll pay better than deadheading clear to Brownswood,” Temple said as he offered a chair at the table for his mother.

Cap Morgan, the ranch cook, brought in plates and cups as well as a skillet of beans and basket of cornbread.

“Is your cornbread still as good as I remember?” Mary asked with a smile.

“Yes um, I don't get much complaints,” Cap answered. “Is there anything else you would like, Mrs. Fellows?”

“We need some time to talk alone, Cap. Thank you.”

“Yes um, I'll clear out for a spell.”

Temple thought it was odd that his mother was so abrupt. Normally she would spend several minutes talking and joking with Cap.

“We need to talk to you, Temple. We don't want anyone else to hear. Not even your brothers,” Fritz said as he spooned some beans from the pot.

“Is it bank problems? I thought we were pretty square,” Temple asked.

“Everything's fine at the bank,” Blomberg said as he looked to Mary, wanting her to do the explanation.

“Your father is back,” Mary said bluntly.

Temple was silent for a moment. “Alright. What does that mean?”

“I sent for him.”

Again Temple was silent while he considered the news. “You sent for him? How did you ever find him?”

“I've kept track of your father for several years,” Blomberg answered.

“What's he been doing?” Temple asked.

“He been trail bossing for most of those years. Now he owns a small ranch near Dallas,” Blomberg answered.

“So, where is he, now?”

“He's ridden up to Pampa. He shot Soap Withers when he tried to ambush you last week. Now he's ridden to get Black Tom.”

“Whoa there, Mom. When did Soap Withers try to shoot me and why the hell wasn't I told that my father was riding to Pampa alone?” Temple rose from his chair trying to control his surprise and disappointment. “And why the hell did you send for him without asking my opinion?”

Mary was upset to see Temple so excited. He was the calm son and usually did not anger easily nor raise his voice. “I honestly didn't know if he would come or not. When he did show up, he had already shot Withers and had decided to ride for Pampa. I have no way of controlling him. When he heard what was going on, he just took over.”

“Why didn't he come by to see me? He couldn't have stopped for a moment at least?”

Mary was again surprised. He sounded like Temple wanted to see his father and was more upset about that than anything else. “He said he didn't want to upset you.”

Temple stared out the window and spoke quietly to himself. “What difference would it make now?”

“I didn't hear you,” Mary said.

“Nothing. What are you going to tell Reese and Pac?”

“They believe he's dead. For all I know he might be, after going to Pampa alone.”

“I think Reese has a right to see his father and know that he's alive,” Temple said.

Mary was hurt. There was no mention of Pac and she knew why. She had worked for years, sacrificing to raise her sons alone. Yet, at that moment, nothing else seemed to matter to Temple except seeing and talking to him. She felt that he didn't deserve that privilege. She was jealous of a man she hadn't seen or spoken to for twenty years. She wondered why she had been so foolish to have written him.

“If I know your father, a lot is going to shake loose in short time. He has a way of making things happen,” Blomberg said.

“No plan, no warning. Mom writes him and he just comes riding in with guns a blazing. To hell with any of the rest of us, right, Mom?”

Her anger finally took control. “And why not? So what if he kills Tom Bent or gets killed himself? It's better than any of you dying. I hoped he would be able to…”

“Die for us? Is that what you wanted, Mom?”

She shook with anger. “Yes.”

Temple saw the defiance and anger in her. He decided that nothing else could be said without causing more heartache. They stared at each other in silence.

“Temple's right about one thing for sure. We need a plan,” Blomberg said uncomfortably.

Temple nodded. “We need to find him and bring him in. Then we can plan.”

“He could be a valuable asset. Your father has experience in such matters,” Blomberg said.

“This isn't his fight. He walked away from all of us years ago. I don't care how much experience he's got. He shouldn't have been brought into this,” Temple said as he walked back to the window.

“I think he owes it to you,” she said angrily. “If I were a man, I would.”

“You might have asked,” Temple said.

“I would have had to tell Reese and Pac the truth.”

“It was your decision to tell them that he was dead. How do you think you could get around it without telling them?”

“No one else needs to know. That's why we're talking to you.”

Temple stared out the window for a few moments then leaned against the table beneath it. “I'm tired, Mom. I'm tired of fighting the Ring. I'm tired of the responsibility of managing everyone's life. I'm tired of trying to make a man of Pac and I'm tired of hiding the truth from Reese.”

“We know you're tired,” Blomberg said quietly. “That's why she sent for your father.”

She fought off tears and tried to control the sadness in her voice. “You have always been the strong one, Temple. I know I've asked more of you than I should have. I asked you to help raise your brothers, run a ranch and help me manage my life. I knew I was asking a lot when you were just a boy and I know how I've burdened you as a man. Now I'm trying to get you some help. I had nowhere else to turn. No one I could really trust.”

Temple smiled and nodded. “No one you could trust.”

“Not with my blood. All that matters is saving my sons.”