Nate Coffin's Revenge (19 page)

Snapped a quick glance at Boz out of the corner of my eye. Back of my less-than-predictable partner’s neck flamed up like something akin to the color of a burning barn in New Hampshire. He’d shifted most of his attention to the gunhand that’d moved off the porch. Knew beyond any doubt the fur was about to fly. Felt the deadly tension in a wave of prickly flesh that ran up my spine, across sweaty shoulders, and down to my fingertips. Gave the whole situation about one more second’s thought, and figured there wasn’t any need putting the dance off any longer.

Said, “Well, Coffin, guess if you know who we are, you know why we’re here.”

Toothy grin flickered at the corner of his bluish-purple tobacco-stained lips. “Oh, hell, yes. You boys is lookin’ to find ’at ’ere bitch of a whore what went and kilt my younger brother, Reuben.”

There’s just always been something about the word “bitch” when used to describe any woman I know and respect that has the instant power to send me right over the proverbial edge. Soon as it popped out of Coffin’s filthy mouth, his fate was sealed like a Mason jar of my mother’s homemade pickles.

That’s when I shot him—the first time. Had my favorite bone-gripped Colt out so fast, Coffin didn’t even have time to think another evil thought. Nearly fifty years have passed since that moment, and I can still see the flash of shock and surprise in his eyes when I ripped off the round that brought him down.

Big .45 roared, and the heavy slug caught ole Nate about a hand’s width below his collarbone. Knocked him three feet. He stumbled backward on wobbly legs. Went down like a felled cottonwood. Knew it wouldn’t kill the filthy-mouthed scum, but wanted him on his back—and helpless— while me and Boz dealt with his three henchmen.

Hammer of my pistol had barely dropped on Coffin when Boz put a murderous, thundering shot in the man who’d stepped off the porch. Noise caused Boz’s mount to spin around in a tight, terrified circle in a futile, bug-eyed effort at getting away from the violence and death-dealing racket.

Them other two bodyguards never even got an opportunity to raise their arms. Burning zip of hot lead dropped the man nearest the porch rail with a skull shot that splattered blood, brain matter, and bone all over his stunned, horrified cohort. Less than half an eyeblink later, the only gunny left got snatched into the air by Ox Turnbow’s invisible hand too. The .44-70 slug smacked the poor sucker in the chest and bounced his shattered, flopping corpse off the wall like a little girl’s favorite raggedy doll made from discarded corn shucks.

Hopped off Grizz in the midst of a thick, roiling, bluish-gray haze of spent gunpowder. Boz finally got control of his animal, climbed down, and fired a pair of fatal shots into his still-twitching target.

I jumped onto the porch. Found all Coffin’s weapons I could and threw them aside. Grabbed the bigheaded desperado by the collar. He moaned and whined as I dragged his sorry ass down the steps, and propped him against the fancy iron post that held up the hitch rail.

His head lolled from side to side. He clumsily pawed at the bloody wound in his chest. Fired a wide-eyed, accusatory glance my direction. “You shot me. Damn you. Shot me. Rode right up to my very own house and shot hell out of me—Nate Coffin. Cain’t believe it. Ain’t supposed to happen like this. I’m the most dangerous and influential man in these parts. Just cain’t assassinate a man of my vast importance this a-way.”

Refreshed my belly gun and cocked it again. “Yeah, well, your brand of pretentious self-importance don’t mean spit to me.”

“Damn you Ranger bastards,” Coffin wailed. “If’n all my boys was here, you’d both be dead right now.”

Boz strolled over and stood beside me. He flipped the loading gate of his pistol open and dumped three spent shell casings at Coffin’s feet. Blew into the empty cylinder chambers, reloaded, snapped the gate closed, and recocked the weapon.

“Go ahead, Lucius,” Boz said. “Best ask him now. He don’t come up with an answer, I’m gonna do all of west Texas a big favor and kill the son of a bitch deader’n Santa Anna.”

“Where’s the woman? Where’s Dianna Savage?” I snapped. “Tell me now and it’ll save you a wagonload of pain, Coffin.”

He tried to prop himself up a bit higher on the post, grimaced, and sneered, “Is that a fact? And what’re you hymnsingin’ pilgrims gonna do if ’n I ain’t willin’ to say one way or ’tother on that particular subject?”

Boz shot him in the foot. Damned near blew the entire sole of his lizard-skin boot off. Couple of his toes flew into the air and landed on his pants leg. Thunderous blast, and a raging case of bloodlust, spurred me to put one in the wounded brigand’s other shoulder.

Fast as a good horse could travel, Ox was hoofin’ it our direction. Said later he heard Coffin squeal from near two hundred yards away. Swore the man sounded like a panther with a red-hot fire poker up its butt. Coffin yelped and puked a bucketful all over his fancy leopard-skin vest. Wallowed in the pukey dirt for a good two minutes while me and Boz stood by and watched. Swear ’fore Jesus, the man rolled around like a stomped-on rattler.

’Bout the time Ox reined up and hopped down, I bent over Coffin, propped him up again, and said, “Look at me, you woman-stealin’ son of a bitch.” Those flat, dead, now-bloodshot eyes wobbled around in a sweat-drenched skull as he glared back at me. “This dance could go on for a spell. We’ve used this particular method of interrogation before. Have it refined down to an art. Me and my partner can take as much time as necessary to get what we want out of you.”

Boz pulled a second pistol and cocked it. “Damned right. Best get to jackin’ them jaws, Nate. Otherwise, in about twenty minutes ain’t gonna be much left of either of your legs. Gonna shoot you to itty-bitty pieces, one sorry-assed inch at a time. Get through with them legs, gonna start on your arms.”

Coffin’s words came out slurred, bloody, and pukey-smelling. “Cain’t treat an important man this a-way. I own every politician, sheriff, and marshal within a hundred miles. You boys is lawmen. Ain’t no justice in killin’ any man like this.”

Ox Turnbow stood with the Sharps lying across his arm. Shook his head and said, “Damnation, Nate. Where in the blue-eyed hell does a skunk like you get off thinkin’ he’s entitled to anything like civilized justice? You’ve robbed, raped, killed, and plundered all over these parts for more’n twenty years. Know of at least a dozen fine folk you personally put in the ground before the Good Lord even expected them. Time’s done arrived to pay up for all your vicious past deeds. We’re here to collect.”

Ole Nate moaned and tried to roll onto his stomach. I grabbed him by the collar and got him sitting up again. “Never heard of no Rangers what shot a man to bits over the fate of a woman,” he said.

Snatched up a handful of his hair and yanked him close. “You’ve already had your revenge on the lady. Men under your command came to that poor woman’s home. Murdered her beautiful, young son. Now you’ll tell me where she is or I swear ’fore a benevolent Jesus, you’re gonna suffer the tortures of the damned right here on earth. Gonna start the next round of unbelievable pain right here.”

Pressed my pistol muzzle against his elbow. Already perforated outlaw made a sound like a pig being slaughtered with a penknife. “Wait, oh, God, please wait,” he screeched. “Just give me a second. Please.”

Backed away and pulled out my pocket watch. “Gonna give you sixty of ’em. Startin’ right now. No answer to my question
before
your time runs out, and I’ll turn your elbow into bloody bone splinters and stringy mush.”

“Jesus. Oh, sweet Jesus, save me.”

Boz got a chuckle out of the outlaw’s entreaty to the Son of God. “Think you mighta waited a bit late to get on a first-name basis with the Lord’s Only Begotten Son, Nate. Best get to directin’ what energy you’ve got left to answerin’ my compadre’s question.”

“Alfonso. Alfonso Bejarano.”

“Who’s Alfonso Bejarano?” I asked.

“Sent the Savage woman to Alfonso.”

“Who the hell is he?” Boz yelled.

“Owns a whorehouse down in Nuevo Laredo. La Flor Amarilla.”

Blind rage swarmed all over me. Stomped on Coffin’s shot-through foot as hard as I could. Heard all them broken bones in his bloody boot crunch and grind. Son of a bitch screamed like a little girl, sat bolt upright, then flopped over, rolled to his side again, and oozed more of his life into the dirt.

Bent down close to his ear, jerked him back up, and snapped, “You did what?”

Have to admit, ole Nate had grit. Man was haughty and stupid, but he did have grit. Turned a snotty nose and gore-dripping mouth right into my face and snarled, “Sent the woman to Bejarano. Figured that’d show her, and anybody related to ’er, just how dangerous it is to mess with any member of the Coffin family.”

He’d said more than enough, but just couldn’t keep his filthy mouth shut. Still don’t know to this very second why he felt it necessary to add, “Even if she’s still alive, Dodge, woman ain’t never gonna forget us Coffins. Them Messicans’ll ride that murderin’ slut like a kid’s go-round at a travelin’ carnival.”

Well, that ripped the rag off the bush, for sure. ’Fore I even knew what happened, my right hand came up and pushed the pistol muzzle against his temple. Boz reached over and grabbed at my shirtsleeve just as I pulled the trigger and blasted most of Nate Coffin’s brains all over the landing outside his imposing glass door. Made one hell of a mess. Corpse went over on its side like all the bones had been snatched out of the body at the same time.

Still shook all over as I stood. Holstered the still-smoking pistol and heard Ox say, “Damnation, Dodge. Thought I’d known some hard cases in my time. Acquainted with a few rumored to be about two shades meaner than the devil hisself. Good men not to mess with. But I’d swear ’fore a resurrected Jesus, ain’t never seen one to match you, boy. Yep, be willin’ to place my hand on the Good Book and testify as how I personally know that Lucius ‘By God’ Dodge is meaner’n hell with the hide off.”

Boz just shook his head and said, “Mighta got a bit more out of ’im if’n you’d of put off killin’ him just a mite longer, Lucius.”

“You boys can just lay it to rest. Ain’t nobody gonna make me feel bad about this killin’, no matter what gets said. Any man bold enough, and lawless enough, to sanction the murder of children, then kidnap women and send them into service in a Mexican bordello, don’t deserve to breathe the same air as God-fearin’, law-abidin’ folk.”

Boz scratched his chin. “Figured on killin’ him myself, Lucius. All I’m sayin’ is, we might’ve got more in the way of helpful information if’n you’d of waited just a few more minutes.”

I turned to Ox. “You know where the place he mentioned is? The Yellow Flower?”

He shifted the Sharps to his shoulder and held it by the butt like a foot soldier on parade. “I’d be willin’ to bet damned every man inside a hundred miles of Nuevo Laredo knows how to find that place blindfolded and in his sleep.”

“Good. Let’s get saddled up and be on our way.” Headed for Grizz and snatched up his reins.

Stepped into the stirrup as Boz said, “Nuevo Laredo’s one helluva rough place, Lucius. Sure you wanna do this right now? Might be better to wait until we can raise some help. Maybe bring in a few more Rangers.”

Boz and Ox stood together. Turnbow had moved the heavy rifle again. It rested across both shoulders. He held the piece in place with one hand on the barrel and the other on the stock. I urged Grizz up close so there wouldn’t be any doubt about what I said.

“There’s no time left, fellers. We gotta get down to Nuevo Laredo as fast as these animals can carry us. With the Good Lord as my witness, Dianna Savage won’t stay in that rat’s nest a minute longer’n it’ll take me to get there. I’ve sworn an oath in my own heart. She won’t suffer any longer’n it’s gonna take me to find her.”

’Bout a second before we put the spur to our animals, I added, “God help the man who gets in the way of me making good on that promise, ’cause I ain’t gonna have no mercy on ’im.”

15

“. . . COULD BE CARRYIN’ FIVE PISTOLS AND PRIMED TO DO MURDER.”

MY AGITATION AND profoundly felt guilt over Dianna’s abduction prodded me into a rump burner of a hundred-mile forced ride between Coffin’s ranch and the lush, green banks of the Rio Grande. Under a cloudless, slate-blue sky that covered a windswept world baked bone-dry by a searing sun, we spent most of two long, hot, grimy days on the trail before arriving just about twilight.

Covered in a thick coat of sweaty grit and near wrung out, we sat our thirsty mounts on a gentle, grass-covered slope that overlooked the sluggish river. While barely four feet deep, the water appeared clear, cool, and inviting. Eventually we allowed the horses to drink, but with great care.

Punishing trip across some of the most inhospitable desert country imaginable had done nothing to alleviate the feelings of anxious dread I harbored for Dianna’s prospects. In fact, an ever-growing litany of dire thoughts, punctuated by horrible dreams, had plagued me since the day she vanished. As time dragged on, seemed to me I became more tense, uneasy, and, in the process, more dangerous.

Actually believed, when the chase began, that Nate Coffin’s blood would satisfy my unfettered rage. I couldn’t have been more wrong in my assessment. Seemed to me that not finding her at the outlaw leader’s ranch had simply made matters worse.

Ox loafed in his saddle and said, “You can sit your animal right here and see for fifty miles in any direction. Put a few clouds in the air and the sunsets are damned near glorious.”

“Beautiful spot,” I said.

“Right peaceful,” Boz added.

“Well, it’s all those things now,” Ox said. “But the Comanche used this crossing into Mexico for thousands of years of bloody raids and reprisals not so long ago. Poor Mexican peons damned sure suffered somethin’ awful till us Texicans subdued them red devils. ’Course, I doubt they would ever admit such.”