Blood Bond 3 (11 page)

“Boys,” Josiah said, stepping into the marshal's office and startling Matt and Sam. The man moved like a damn ghost. “I got John Lee and his bunch about ten minutes behind me, all of 'em primed and cocked for trouble. So I think I'll wait 'fore I get all duded up at the barber shop. I do hate to get all cleaned up and then have to bathe again. Too much soap and water in one day is not good for the skin.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down. “What do you boys know about Pen Masters and Bam Ford?”

“I knew Pen from up north,” Matt said. “He's a fast gun, but not a killer, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. And Bam's the same way. Bam's really a pretty good ol' boy. But like a lot of young men after the war, he had a lot of violence in him and the damn Yankee reconstructionists didn't help none, struttin' around like God Almighty tellin' folks what they could and couldn't do.” He sighed. “Oh, well, that's water under the bridge. While we're waitin' for John Lee and his bunch, you boys bring me up to date on what's been happenin'. All that you can talk about, that is,” he added drily.

The brothers leveled with the man, leaving nothing out. They were just as anxious to bring this spreading range war to a halt as anyone.

Josiah Finch chuckled. “Vonny Dodge. Good Lord, boys! That man was supposed to have been killed years and years ago. He come west—according to the legends—back in thirty or thirty-five.” Josiah's eyes twinkled. “Vonny got him a Spanish woman, eh?”

“It appears that way.”

“Old goat! Did he twirl them six-shooters of his just once for you boys?”

“That he did,” Sam allowed.

“I got to see that. Is he still quick, boys?”

“You're mighty right he's quick,” Matt answered. “I wouldn't want to brace that old man,” he added.

“High compliment, comin' from you. I think I'll just hang around for a spell. See if you get into action. I been hearin' that you're faster than any man alive.”

“It isn't a reputation that I asked for,” Matt said softly.

“Don't none of us ever do, boy,” the Ranger told him. “But once it gets hung on a man, he never shakes it loose. Here comes John Lee and his bunch. Take some advice from a man who's been behind a badge for years, boys?”

“Sure,” Sam said. “We'd be fools not to.”

“Get them greeners outta them racks and load 'em up. There ain't nothin' like lookin' down the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun to take the heart out of a man huntin' trouble. Not to mention his guts and a lot of other awful-lookin' things when you pull them triggers,” he added with a savage smile.

Josiah had this to say before the brothers stepped out of the office. “I ain't here on no official business. My business is concluded. So I ain't gonna take no hand in this unless I personally see someone is breaking the law and I think you boys can't handle it. Course I will get into it if any of them hardcases out yonder lip off to me. And by the way, looks like Bam and Pen done left the crowd. They ain't among 'em.”

“What happened to those murderers you were tracking?” Sam asked.

“I thronged dirt on 'em and read over 'em from the Good Book. I carry a Bible in my saddlebags. I like to read it when I got the light, usually while supper is cookin'. The night is quiet and all is peaceful. Makes a man feel plumb humble.”

Josiah stepped out of the office and closed the door behind him.

Matt glanced at Sam. “Does it make you feel better just knowing that little man is staying around?”

“Infinitely so. That is, providing he's on our side!” He glanced out the window and counted the Broken Lance horses. “Twenty of them.”

“I can't believe that John Lee is coming here to deliberately start trouble.”

“I don't think he is. But neither do I believe he'd interfere if some of his hands wanted to mix it up.”

“I think you're right.” Matt hefted the sawed-off. “You ready?”

“Let's do it.”

The brothers stepped out of the office and sat down on a bench on the boardwalk, the greeners across their knees. Josiah was across the wide and dusty street, leaning against an awning support, building a cigarette.

John Lee stomped up on the boardwalk. The carving on it, a small boy's name, looked familiar to him. He grimaced, thinking that it should look familiar; he'd walked on it dozens of times. “What's your stand in this matter, Finch?”

“The only stand I got is law and order, Lee.” He thumb-nailed a match into flame and lighted up.

The rancher snorted his contempt and pushed past the batwings, walking into the saloon. Al stood behind the bar, polishing glasses and smiling at the customers.

“Afternoon, gents,” Al said. “What's your pleasure this fine day?” He noticed Josiah Finch slipping quietly into the bar and taking a table.

Part of a wagon tongue was nailed over the long mirror behind the bar. John Lee stared at it. “What the hell is that thing doing up there?” he demanded.

“Saved my life,” Al said, his expression serious.

“A wagon tongue?” young Childress blurted. His guns were polished to a mirror gloss and rested in black leather. Childress fancied himself a fast gun.

“Sure did,” Al said. “When the big blow come up, I grabbed hold of that wagon tongue and held on. I tell you boys, it was a wild ride, a-flyin' through the air, miles high, holdin' on for dear life. I was talking to God, boys, let me tell you I was. But when the wind died down and I stopped spinnin', I was standing right in front of this very establishment, the wagon tongue lodged 'tween the awnin' and the second floor. Why, I just stepped off and walked down the stairs and grabbed me a broom and started sweepin' up. Yep. That's the way it was, all right.”

“Gimmie a bottle,” John Lee said wearily, shaking his head. “Good whiskey.”

“Certainly!” Al said. He looked at Josiah. “And you, sir?”

“Beer. After you serve them others. They was here first. I wouldn't want no one to get their feelin's hurt.”

“Coming right up.”

John Lee looked out of the window. Bodine and Two Wolves were sitting on the bench, sawed-off shotguns across their knees. His gaze cut to Childress. The young gunny was drinking shots of whiskey and chasing them down with great gulps of beer. Maybe, John Lee thought. Just maybe he could at that. He walked over to Childress, Josiah's eyes following him.

“Just between you and me, Childress, and I wouldn't want the others to hear this,” John said, whispering “I think you could take Matt Bodine.”

“I know I could,” Childress returned the low tones. “There ain't nothin' to him.”

“Five hundred dollars is yours if you do. Just between us, now.”

“When do you want me to brace him?”

“Anytime. But you better go easy on the hooch.”

“Yeah. You're right.” He pushed shot glass and beer mug away from him. “No time like right now, is there?”

“If you're ready.”

“I'm ready,” the punk said. “I owe him for that deal back by the Pecos, anyways.”

“That's right,” John rubbed it in, speaking in low tones. “I guess that was pretty damned humiliating, wasn't it?”

“He just got the drop on us, was all.”

“But this time will be different, won't it?”

“Damn right, boss. Five minutes from now, you can think about buryin' Matt Bodine.”

“Go get him, boy.”

Josiah sat at his table by the window and watched John Lee speaking in low tones to the punk-lookin' young man. Josiah pegged the punk as maybe twenty-one or two. If John Lee was settin' up what the Ranger figured he was, the punk would never see another birthday.

But it ain't my show, Josiah thought, lifting his mug and taking a sip. Josiah watched as John Lee turned to a big, rough-lookin' fellow and winked. The big man—probably his foreman—nodded his head minutely and smiled.

Here it comes, Josiah thought.

The punk walked away from the bar and out onto the boardwalk, working his guns in and out of leather before he hit the batwings with his shoulder.

He leaned against a post and stared across the street at Bodine and Two Wolves.

“I believe that young man over there is looking for trouble, brother,” Sam said.

“Sure looks that way, doesn't it?”

“You intend on obliging him?”

“If he pushes it, what choice do I have?”

“You have a very bad habit of answering a question with a question, are you aware of that?”

“Does it annoy you?” Matt said with a grin.

Sam muttered a very ugly phrase in Flathead.

“I speak Flathead, too, brother,” Matt reminded him.

“Bodine!” Childress yelled. “I say you're yellow. I say you're afraid to face me without that express gun. And I say you're the son of a whore!”

The punk could have said a lot of things that Matt would have ignored. But not that last bit. No Western man would ignore that. Matt laid the shotgun aside and stood up, slipping off the hammer thongs from his guns.

In the saloon, Josiah pulled out a long-barreled Peacemaker and slowly spun the cylinder. He opened the loading gate and filled it up full with six. His message was silent but very loud: Interfere and someone dies in the saloon.

The town lay north to south. Matt stepped out into the street and put his back to the sun. Josiah smiled, watching him. The young man knew his business, all right. “If you can muzzle your dog, John Lee,” Josiah said, “you better do it now. 'Cause if you don't, he's soon dead.”

“I'm not his nursemaid,” John Lee replied.

“Suit yourself,” the Ranger told him, “but I hope you got enough money in your britches to bury him.”

“Don't you worry about it, Ranger. You just mind your own affairs and stay out of mine.”

Josiah drained his beer mug and set it down on the table. “And don't you tell me what to do, big mouth,” Josiah said softly but with a deadly tinge to his words. “When it comes to law and order, I can damn well make it my affair.”

Max, the big foreman, stepped in. He knew his boss's volatile temper. “There ain't no law about two men facin' each other in the street, Finch.”

“That's right. Yet,” he added.

John Lee turned his side to the Ranger and stared out over the batwings at the life-and-death scene building in quiet intensity in the hot street.

Childress had left the boardwalk and was walking to the center of the street, his boot heels kicking up dust, his fancy spurs jingling, cussing Bodine as he walked, both hands hovering over the butts of his guns.

Sam sat in his chair, watching, his face impassive.

“Now I'm gonna get to see what you're made of, Bodine,” Childress sneered. “And I don't think you're made of very much.”

“This doesn't have to be,” Matt called, his voice carrying the distance between the men. “Just apologize for that remark about my mother.”

“Hell with you, Bodine. And yeah, it has to be.”

“Why?”

The question seemed to confuse Childress. He cocked his head to one side, a puzzled look on his face. “ 'Cause of who you is, Bodine.”

“What am I?”

“Dammit, you're a gunfighter!” Childress yelled.

“I'm a rancher,” Matt replied.

“You're yellow!”

Matt stopped about forty feet from the young punk, his hands by his side. He could see the sweat forming on Childress's face. John Lee, Matt thought, you are one low-down person; you put this punk up to this. His death is going to be on your hands.

“Did you hear me?” Childress yelled.

“I heard you.”

“Then draw, you yellow bastard!”

Matt waited.

“Drag iron!” Childress screamed.

Matt's hands did not move.

Cool, Josiah thought, watching Matt from his table. Very cool. He's a natural.

“You're gonna die!” Childress shouted. “I'll be known as the man who killed Matt Bodine.”

“No,” Matt spoke the words softly, but with enough force behind them to reach Childress. “All you'll have is an unmarked grave. Give this up.”

In the saloon, everyone had left the bar to gather at the windows and the batwings, watching in silence. The hired guns were anxious to see what speed Bodine had, what accuracy. They knew their time with Bodine would soon come.

“Cool,” Lightfoot said, his eyes on Bodine.

“The kid is losin' it,” Pukey Stagg remarked.

Dusty Jordan said, “I think Bodine is scared of him.”

“Then you're a fool,” Trest told him.

Mark Hazard said, “Matt Bodine ain't scared. He knows he'll be standin' when it's over.”

“Shut up.” John Lee put an end to it.

“I said
draw,
damn you!” Childress yelled. “Come on, Bodine. Do it.”

“I didn't start this, Childress. Just walk off and we'll forget it.”

The punk cussed him. He cussed Matt, he cussed Two Wolves, he cussed Matt's mother and father, any sisters and brothers and ended up by calling his horse names. Still Bodine did not move. He waited.

Childress's hands flashed to his guns. Matt's draw was so quick the eye could not follow it. He drew, cocked, and fired all in one blindingly fast motion.

“Jesus,” Lew Hagen breathed.

Matt's slug hit Childress in the belly and knocked him sideways, still on his boots. The kid had not fully cleared leather. One of the punk's guns fell to the ground. He managed to lift the other six-shooter and cock it. Matt shot him again, the .44 slug taking him in the chest. Childress sat down hard on the hot dirt of the street.

“Now we know.” Dean Waters spoke the words softly.

The six-shooter fell from Childress's hand. It landed on the dirt and went off, the slug plowing up dust.

In the saloon, Leo Grand slipped his .45 from leather. He froze at the sound of Josiah cocking his Peacemaker. “Go ahead, hombre,” Josiah said.

“I think I'll pass this round,” Leo said.

“You ain't altogether stupid,” the Ranger told him. “Just ugly.”

Matt walked to where Childress had fallen, and rolled him on his back, his eyes staring up at the brilliant blue of the cloudless Texas sky.

Matt holstered his .44. “Anybody know where to write your kin?”

“You beat me!” the punk gasped, his hands clutching at his .44-slug-punctured belly.

“Where's your parents?” Matt persisted.

“You beat me!”

“Listen to me,” Matt said, squatting down beside the young man. He wasn't worried about any of the other gunslicks. Josiah was in the saloon and Sam was watching his back. “You're dying, Childress. Your mama would want to know.”

“I killed five men,” Childress gasped. “I filed five notches in my guns. This ain't real.” Then the pain hit him and he screamed, realizing then it was very real.

Matt stood up and turned, looking at the saloon. His eyes met those of John Lee. And John Lee's expression was one of shock. John was good with a gun, but he was not in Matt Bodine's class.

“Oh, God, it hurts!” Childress screamed. He tried to move but that only made the pain worse.

Men and women and kids began leaving their houses and tents and places of business. They gathered on the boardwalk and on the edge of the street, wide-eyed and watching.

“Somebody help me!” Childress screamed, blood leaking through his fingers. “Somebody give me somethin' for the pain. Please help me.”

“You happy now, John Lee?” Matt called.

John Lee did not change his expression nor move from the batwings.

“Answer me, you sorry son!” Matt yelled.

Josiah smiled, thinking he knew what Matt was going to do next. And if one didn't work, the other would. This, he thought, was going to get real interesting, real soon.

The cries of Childress were growing louder.

“Somebody help that boy,” a woman said.

“Why?” a man asked her. “He started it.”

“I don't think I like it out here,” the woman said. “This wouldn't have happened in Pennsylvania.”