Читать книгу Buzzard's Bluff - William W. Johnstone - Страница 8

CHAPTER 3

“Didn’t expect to see you back this way so soon,” Wilfred Tuttle said when Ben pulled up at the hitching rail in front of his store. “Did those two you and your partner were lookin’ for give you the slip?” He glanced back toward the path leading down to his store. “Where is your partner? He ain’t with you?”

“No,” Ben answered. “Billy ain’t with me. We found Kelly and Queen and arrested ’em. Billy’s takin’ ’em back to Austin, so I decided to come back this way, so I could have another one of Rosa’s fine breakfasts and pay you for what those two took.” His answer brought a grin to Tuttle’s face. Ben didn’t volunteer the fact that Billy had shot the prisoners down like a couple of dogs with rabies. “I’ll rest my horses, then start back the way I came yesterday.”

“I expect Rosa will be tickled to see you,” Tuttle said. “I’ll tell her while you take care of your horses.”

Ben purposefully took the occasion to enjoy a leisurely breakfast visit with Wilfred and Rosa before starting back to Austin. He needed to get his mind off Billy Turner.

* * *

It was past suppertime when he rode into Pritcher’s stable in Austin and left his horses in Fred Pritcher’s care. He had kept Cousin there for several years, since the stable was convenient to the rooming house he lived in. It had been two full days since he left Tuttle’s Store and he figured Billy would have arrived early enough to report in before Captain Mitchell left for the day. Hoping that would be the case, he intended to wait and report the next morning, a meeting he was not looking forward to. Mitchell was going to want a hell of a lot of explaining to account for him and Billy arriving separately. Ben wasn’t sure he could give him a satisfactory explanation. He would have to wait and hear what Billy’s version of the arrest was.

By the time he finished talking to Fred Pritcher, it was too late to get anything to eat at the boardinghouse, so he settled for some jerky from his packs, figuring that would hold him until breakfast.

* * *

After breakfast at the boardinghouse, during which, he exchanged idle but polite conversation with the other few early risers, he walked down to the F-Company Ranger headquarters. It consisted of one small office for Randolph Mitchell in the back of an annex to the courthouse. When he walked in, he found Mitchell coaxing a coffeepot to boil on the tiny iron stove in his office. The captain turned when he heard the door open. When he saw who it was, he just stared for a long moment while he formed his question. “Ben, what in the hell happened in Navasota?”

“What did Billy Turner say happened?” Ben responded.

“That ain’t the answer to my question,” Mitchell said. “Ben, you’ve been in this business for twelve years—the last four under my command in F-Company. I’ve never known a Ranger who was any better at the job than you. And I sure as hell never heard any report of you backin’ away from a dangerous situation.”

“I’ll ask you again,” Ben said. “What did Billy say happened? He brought the bodies of Big Foot Sam Kelly and Jack Queen back yesterday, didn’t he? He didn’t need any help from me to do that.”

“He didn’t bring their bodies. He just brought their weapons and their horses. Said they didn’t have any money on ’em.” He paused then and studied Ben’s face for a moment. “How did they die?” Mitchell asked.

“I expect that was in Billy’s report, wasn’t it?”

Mitchell hesitated. He could see that Ben wasn’t going to give his version of the confrontation with the two outlaws, so he finally answered. “Billy said him and you arrested the two outlaws in the Texas Rose Saloon. You started back to Austin and made camp about ten miles from Navasota. He admitted that you both were a little careless about packing their weapons out of reach but decided to let the prisoners go ahead and eat. He said he released them and both of you had your weapons drawn to guard ’em.” Mitchell paused, watching Ben’s face carefully before he continued. “He said Queen saw the weapons on top of their pack and made a try for one, so he had to shoot him down. Kelly made a move for the weapon and got his hands on it while you just stood there like you were frozen. So he had to shoot Kelly before he shot you. He said you were still actin’ strange after he killed both of the outlaws and didn’t hang around to help bury ’em—just got on your horse and rode off.”

Ben didn’t protest during Mitchell’s accounting of Billy’s report. He hadn’t planned to make much fuss about what happened to Kelly and Queen, as long as Billy just made a simple statement that the prisoners resisted and gave them no choice. But now that he heard the picture Billy had painted for Mitchell, depicting him as having been frozen with fear and forcing him to save his life, Ben couldn’t hold his tongue. “Sounds like Billy was havin’ trouble rememberin’ all the details of that confrontation, and I reckon I am to blame for that. I shoulda come back with him, so you could get a full report. I reckon Billy forgot the part about when he emptied the bullets out of those two handguns, then set ’em up so they’d be tempted to make a play for ’em. That was a little something he forgot to tell me until it was too late. Did he mention that Queen was shot in the back? ’Course, if he’d brought the bodies back, you coulda seen that for yourself. He was right about me standin’ there, facin’ Kelly after he got hold of that gun. I didn’t shoot him, and I kept tellin’ him the gun he had wasn’t loaded, but Billy shot him.” He paused then and studied Mitchell’s face for his reaction. “So now you’ve got two versions of what happened on that little creek bank the other night. I reckon it’s up to you to decide which one to believe. The reason I didn’t come back with him was because I just refused to ride with the lowlife.”

Mitchell was visibly relieved, having already found the charge of cowardice leveled against a man he knew to be the direct opposite of a coward hard to believe. “He wanted to make the ride back from Navasota easy, right?” was his first response. Ben nodded. “Well, rest assured I’ll take the report from a man I know as well as I know you over one I just met. So don’t worry about this thing. You might as well take a little rest, since I don’t have anything pressing right now.” He got up and extended his hand. “Sorry you got paired with Billy Turner. Oh, I almost forgot, there’s a letter that came here for you day before yesterday.”

“A letter? Who from?” Ben asked. “Does it say?”

“Yeah, there’s a name on it.” He reached into his drawer and looked at the return address before tossing it on the desk in front of Ben. “Here it is. Attorney at Law Robert T. Spencer. You know him?”

“Nope, never heard of him. Wonder what he wants?”

“You got any relatives that mighta been sick, maybe passed away or something?”

“Hell, Cap, you know I ain’t got no family a-tall,” Ben said, “least none I know about.” He opened the letter and read it, then explained to Mitchell, who was every bit as curious as he was. “Says he needs to meet with me in the settlement of a will. He’s right here in Austin.” He looked up at Mitchell and shook his head. “There wouldn’t be anybody leavin’ me anything. I think this came to the wrong person. I don’t know how he wound up with my name.”

“Go by and see if he’s really wantin’ to talk to you,” Mitchell advised. “If it ain’t you he’s lookin’ for, at least you can let him know that.”

* * *

Attorney Robert Spencer opened the door to his office, which was located in a little white frame house near the edge of town. He looked the tall, broad-shouldered man up and down before asking, “Can I help you?”

“You Mr. Spencer?” Ben asked.

“I am.”

“You sent me this letter. Said you wanted to talk to me ’bout something.” He handed the letter to Spencer.

“Of course,” Spencer said when he glanced at the envelope and saw Ben’s name. “Ben Savage. Come on in.”

Ben didn’t go in right away. “What’s this about?”

Spencer smiled. “You’ve been named as an heir in a will. Come on inside and we’ll go over it.”

“I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Spencer, I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong person. I don’t know of any relatives I’ve got anywhere.”

“You are Benjamin, no middle name, Savage, right?”

“Yes, sir, I am,” Ben answered. Then Spencer asked if he could prove it, and Ben was stuck for a moment. “No, I reckon not. I ain’t got any papers or anything that says I’m Ben Savage. I expect you could ask Captain Mitchell if I’m Ben Savage. He’s the captain of the Ranger company I work for.”

“Have you got a Ranger badge?” Spencer asked, unable to think of anything else.

Ben pulled his coat open to reveal the badge on his vest. “It ain’t got my name on it,” he said.

“Where is the Ranger headquarters?” Spencer asked and when Ben told him it was behind the courthouse, Spencer said, “Fine, when we get through here, we can walk over there and let someone identify you. Is that all right with you?” Ben shrugged and said that it was. “Do you know a man named James Howard Vickers?”

“I can’t say as I do,” Ben declared, then caught himself. “Wait a minute, are you talkin’ about Jim Vickers?” Spencer nodded. “Of course, I know Jim Vickers,” Ben said. “Jim’s an old friend of mine. He was a Ranger. We rode many a trail together till he got a little too long in the tooth to keep at it.” He had to chuckle when he thought about it. “James Howard Vickers,” he announced grandly. “I never knew him by any name but Jim—ain’t seen him in years, and now you’re tellin’ me Jim’s dead?”

“That’s right, he’s passed on, and without any family or other heirs, you were the only one he named in his will.”

“Jim’s gone,” Ben stated. “That’s sad news, I reckon, but knowin’ Jim, I expect he’s more’n ready for whatever was waitin’ for him. So you say this letter was what this was all about? Jim left me something in his will?” He paused to wonder what it could be. “I used to admire a saddle he used to have pretty much, maybe he remembered that. What did he leave me?”

“A saloon,” Spencer said.

Ben hesitated, not sure he had heard correctly. A long moment passed while he waited for Spencer to explain. “I thought you said a saloon,” he said.

“I did,” Spencer replied. “You are the new owner of the Lost Coyote Saloon in Buzzard’s Bluff, Texas. I’ve got the deed right here to prove you are the owner. Do you know where Buzzard’s Bluff is?”

“Well, sure, I know where Buzzard’s Bluff is, but I ain’t been there since they grew up a town there. It’s right where Buzzard’s Bluff strikes the Navasota River. The last time I was there, there wasn’t nothin’ but a tradin’ post and a fellow with a blacksmith shop.” He paused while he pictured it. “But that was four, maybe five years ago.”

“Evidently, it’s a lot bigger than that now,” Spencer said, as he pulled a legal folder from a desk drawer. It contained some papers for Ben to sign. “According to what I’ve seen, the saloon is operating at a profit.”

Just beginning to realize what was about to transpire, Ben balked. “I don’t know anything about runnin’ a saloon. I’m ridin’ with a Ranger company. That’s what I know how to do. Can I sell it, if I want to?”

“You can do whatever you want with it,” Spencer answered. “It’s yours. But if you want my advice, you might want to take a ride to Buzzard’s Bluff to see what you’ve got. I know that Mr. Vickers had been ill for quite some time, and the saloon is still doing well. So there’s evidently someone managing it.”

“I don’t know.” Ben was still very much against owning a saloon. “Maybe whoever that is that’s managing it would wanna buy it.”

“You do yourself a favor, go there, and look it over. Then decide. We’ll just sign these papers and you’ll be all set.”

“You want me to sign before we go over and let Captain Mitchell tell you I’m Ben Savage?”

“Yes,” Spencer said. “Hell, I believe you’re Ben Savage.”

* * *

It was going to take a while before he could realize that he had just walked into a lawyer’s office and a saloon literally fell on him. When he left Spencer’s office, he felt the need to visit just such an establishment as the one he had inherited. He thought about Jim Vickers, an older, experienced Ranger who had taken raw recruit Ben Savage under his wing. He had no idea that Jim had built a saloon after he retired from the Rangers. Now, he felt remiss for not keeping in touch. He had always thought a lot of Jim, but he was astonished to find that Jim thought so much of him that he would leave him an operating business. As soon as that thought entered his mind, another one struck him. How in the world could I manage a business? He stopped in the first saloon he came to.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked when Ben stepped up to the bar, while looking the barroom over. It was a small saloon and empty except for one customer sitting slumped over at a table.

His attention returning to the bartender then, Ben ordered a shot of corn whiskey. Nodding toward the man slumped in the chair, he said to the bartender, “Looks like you ain’t too busy this time of day.”

“We never are,” the bartender said. “Ol’ Charlie, there, is the only customer I’ve had before you this mornin’. He’s got a couple of pals that usually show up, but I ain’t seen ’em today. It’s got to where it don’t take but three or four shots before Charlie passes out. He’s had three this mornin’ and his head’s almost down all the way. When his chin rests on his chest, I usually wake him up and tell him it’s time to go home.”

“Don’t seem like you can make much money with business as slow as this,” Ben speculated aloud.

“I reckon not, if it was like this all day long,” the bartender replied, “but it’ll soon start in about an hour or so. You gonna have another’n?”

“I believe I will,” Ben answered. “Just one more. I ain’t much for drinkin’ in the mornin’, but this mornin’ I’m in the mood for a couple of shots of whiskey.”

“Is that right? What happened? Did your wife tell you she’s leavin’ or something?”

Ben chuckled and replied, “Nope, I ain’t got that kinda trouble. I just found out I own a saloon, and I don’t know the first damn thing about runnin’ one.”

“No foolin’?” the bartender asked. “Here in town?”

“Nope. Buzzard’s Bluff,” Ben answered.

“Buzzard’s Bluff? Where the hell is that?”

“About ninety miles northwest of here on the Navasota River, and I just made up my mind that I’m gonna head out that way this mornin’.” That said, he paid for his whiskey and left his second shot untouched. The bartender shook his head, amazed when Ben walked out the door, so he picked up the drink and downed it himself.

With his mind made up to ride to Buzzard’s Bluff right away, Ben went back by Randolph Mitchell’s office and told him he was going to take some time off to have a look at a piece of property he had been left in an old friend’s will. He didn’t tell him the property had a saloon on it that was his, as well. Mitchell was agreeable, “Take all the time you need,” he said. “I’ve been working you pretty hard for the last few weeks, so just come on back when you’re ready.”

“I ’preciate it, Capt’n,” Ben said. When he left Mitchell’s office, he got his horses and possibles ready to leave before noon. He planned to arrive in Buzzard’s Bluff at noon, two days later.

* * *

He had expected to ride forty-five miles a day, but both Cousin and his packhorse seemed to be willing to go farther. So he traveled about fifty-two miles, as close as he could figure, the first day. It shaved a little off the distance for the second day, so he crossed the river and arrived at the town of Buzzard’s Bluff a little before noon. Entering the south end of the town, built where Wolf Creek emptied into the Navasota, he pulled Cousin to a halt and took a look up the main street. It was hard to believe his eyes when he thought of the last time he had been there. In the length of the street, there were three two-story buildings. The first one was a hotel. He rode past to the next one which was obviously a saloon. However, when he stopped in front of it, he read THE GOLDEN RAIL on the sign. Competition, he thought. He didn’t linger for more than a few moments there, anxious to see his new property. He nudged Cousin and the big dun gelding walked him slowly up the main street while Ben looked at the stores and shops as he passed. When he came to the last two-story building in the center of the businesses, he stopped to read the sign, LOST COYOTE SALOON. Two large windows framed the batwing front door, and a porch ran the width of the front façade that was in need of some carpentry repairs at one end. While he watched, a couple of men that looked like ranch hands passed on either side of him and tied their horses up at the rail. Well, there’s some business, he thought, and urged Cousin to continue on up to the north end where he could see a stable.

“How do?” Henry Barnes greeted Ben when he pulled up to the stable. From habit, he made an obvious appraisal of the man, the horses, and his gear. “You wantin’ to leave them horses here?”

“That’s what I had in mind, if you don’t charge too much,” Ben answered.

“That depends on whether you’re thinkin’ about leavin’ ’em here for a month or just for the night,” Henry said.

“Let’s start out with overnight.”

“Fifty cents a horse,” Henry quoted. “That’s water and a stall. Portion of grain is twenty-five cents extra.”

“That adds up to a dollar and a half,” Ben said. “That’s kinda steep, ain’t it?”

“I can give you a lot better rate if you were boardin’ ’em here longer.” He waited for Ben to consider it, then said, “I won’t charge you for the oats. All right?”

“All right,” Ben said and started pulling the saddle off Cousin. They turned his horses out in the corral and Henry helped him stow his packs and saddle in a corner of a stall. “How much if I wanna sleep in the stall with him?”

“A quarter, I reckon, but you have to be here when I lock up at seven o’clock,” Henry said.

“Fair enough. Where can I get something to eat?”

“The hotel’s the best place to get you a good dinner or supper,” Henry said. “If you’ll settle for a slice of ham in a biscuit, you can get that at the saloon.” He waited for Ben to think that over, then asked, “What’s your name, mister?—so’s I’ll know whose horses I’m boardin’.”

“Ben Savage. What’s yours?”

“Henry Barnes. Hope you find what you’re lookin’ for in Buzzard’s Bluff.”

“Obliged,” Ben said and walked out to take a walking tour of the town before he made his inspection of the Lost Coyote Saloon.