Wilfred Tuttle stood in the open door of his store and watched the two riders he could see in the distance, approaching his store. As his eyes were no longer as sharp as they used to be when he was a younger man, he squinted in an effort to identify the two men. Tuttle had operated his little store, perched on the bank of the Brazos River, for more than twenty years, and he had seen his share of good and bad men. At this particular time, he hoped the two approaching now were a better sort than the two who had left his store that morning. At least, he was sure they weren’t the same two, for those men were following the river trail down the Brazos. The riders he was looking at now were traveling from the west to intercept the river trail.
After a few moments more, his scraggly whiskers parted to make room for a grin when he recognized the familiar form of Texas Ranger Ben Savage. The fellow with him, riding one of those horses called a Palouse, was still unfamiliar to him. He walked on out to the porch to wait for them. “Howdy, Ben,” Tuttle sang out when he pulled up at the hitching rail and dismounted. He had grown to like the broad-shouldered, easygoing Ranger in the last twelve years since Ben had made his first visit to his store. “Who you got with you?” Tuttle asked.
“Howdy, Wilfred,” Ben responded. “This is Ranger Billy Turner. He’s come down from Fort Worth.” They tied their horses and stepped up on the porch.
“Howdy, Billy,” Tuttle said. “Welcome to my store.” Turning back to Ben, he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to be lookin’ fer two mangy-lookin’ saddle tramps ridin’ the down-river trail, would ya?”
“As a matter of fact,” Ben answered. “When did they leave here?”
“This mornin’,” Tuttle said. “About eight-thirty I’d say, and I was glad to see ’em go. Who are they?”
“They’re stagecoach bandits,” Ben answered. He paused before going on. “Billy, here, came down from Fort Worth to give us a hand in catchin’ up with ’em.”
“Pleased to meetcha, Mr. Tuttle,” Billy said and extended his hand.
“Same here,” Tuttle answered and shook his hand. “Who are those two? Anybody I’ve ever heard of?”
“I doubt it,” Ben replied, “Samuel ‘Big Foot Sam’ Kelly, and his partner, Jack Queen.”
“Nah, I ain’t heard of ’em. You say they robbed a stagecoach? Where was that?” He knew there was no stagecoach line out this way.
“North of Dallas,” Ben said. “They killed one of the passengers and wounded the fellow riding shotgun. We got word they were headin’ this way. Billy and I tried to see if we could head ’em off, but if we’re still half a day behind ’em, we’re gonna have to ride hard to make up that ground.”
“We’ve been ridin’ pretty hard since sunup,” Billy said, “so we’re gonna have to rest the horses here. I don’t know ’bout that dun of yours,” he said to Ben, “but my horse is tired.” He grinned at Tuttle then. “Ben told me we could buy something to eat when we got here. Said you had a Mexican woman who would cook us up some breakfast.”
Tuttle laughed and nodded to Ben. “Rosa,” he said. “He’s right about that, as long as it is breakfast, somethin’ she can cook up right away. ’Course it’s past dinnertime right now, but this ain’t no restaurant, so it’s a good thing you’re thinkin’ about some breakfast.”
“Breakfast is what I was countin’ on,” Billy assured him, “’cause I ain’t had none today.” He rubbed his belly and complained, “Ben wouldn’t wait for breakfast this mornin’.”
His comment seemed to amuse Tuttle. He chuckled and said, “Well, take care of your horses and I’ll tell Rosa to fry up some sowbelly and eggs. There’s always a pot of coffee on the stove, but I’ll tell her to make up some fresh for a couple of Rangers. Will that do?”
“That’ll do,” Billy answered.
“Wouldn’t hurt if she was to have some biscuits left over from dinner, too,” Ben suggested.
Tuttle laughed again. “I expect she’s got some left over. If she don’t, she’ll most likely bake some fresh ones when she finds out you’re here.”
“Tell her not to go to that much trouble,” Ben insisted. “I just thought if she still had some cold ones, we’d try to catch her before she throws them to the hogs.” He turned to face Billy then. “Come on, Billy, we’ll go water the horses.”
He led the way behind the store to a little grassy clearing that ran down to the water’s edge. “Rosa?” Billy asked. “Is that Tuttle’s wife?”
“No,” Ben answered. “Tuttle’s wife, Mildred, died about four years ago, after she took a fever one evenin’ and passed on the next. Rosa Cruz is a young Mexican woman that’s been cookin’ for him since then. She takes care of him, but not like a wife, more like a daughter.”
“He said she’d probably bake fresh biscuits when she found out you were here. Just tell me it ain’t none of my business, if you want to, but is there something goin’ on between you and her?”
His question brought a laugh out of Ben. “No, ain’t nothin’ like that goin’ on. Rosa’s mother and father were murdered by a gang of outlaws led by Frank Bodine down near El Paso. Bodine rode off with the girl, who wasn’t but about nine years old at the time. I was ridin’ with almost a whole company of Rangers sent out from Austin to run him and his gang to ground. We caught up with ’em about five miles south of here. I was able to slip in and snatch Rosa away from ’em before the shootin’ started. After it was over, we were stuck with a nine-year-old little girl. I knew Tuttle and his wife, so I brought Rosa here and they took her in. It turned out to be a good fit. They didn’t have any children of their own and raised her like she was their natural daughter.”
“Well, I reckon she is glad to see you when you show up,” Billy said. “Let’s hurry back to the store and maybe she’ll roll out some more biscuits.”
His remark turned out to be an understatement, for Rosa was waiting for them in the store, and as soon as they walked in, she ran to give Ben a hug. “Papa says you’re hungry,” she said. “I’ll fix you some breakfast. Fresh coffee is already boiling. I’ll make biscuits, if you’re here long enough.”
“We’ll be here long enough to rest our horses,” Ben told her.
“Good,” Rosa said. “I got time.”
“Say howdy to Billy Turner.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Rosa said politely, then spun on her heel and returned to the kitchen, where she had already begun rolling the biscuit dough. A few minutes later, they went in the oven and she started working on the bacon and eggs.
Back in the store, Ben was asking Tuttle about Kelly and Queen. “They were two rough customers,” Tuttle said. “I told Rosa to stay outta sight. That big one, the other feller called him Sam, he kept askin’ me where my missus was. I kept tellin’ him I didn’t have one. The other one wanted whiskey, and I told him I didn’t sell no whiskey. Then they wanted some breakfast, and I told them I didn’t sell no food. That didn’t suit ’em too good, so Sam asked me how I’d like it if they tore this place to the ground. I told ’em I didn’t think I’d like that a-tall. I think he was considerin’ doin’ it, but the little one told him they’d best get goin’ ’cause there might be some Rangers after ’em, and they needed to get to Houston. So they walked out with a few things, some tobacco, some rollin’ papers, matches, some coffee. When I told ’em how much they owed me, the big one said to just put it on his bill. I told him he didn’t have no bill with me. So he said, ‘Good, I don’t owe you nothin’ then.’ And they got on their horses and rode off down the river. I figure I got off pretty cheap.”
“You might have, at that,” Ben remarked. “How much do they owe you? Maybe when we catch up with ’em, I can collect your bill for you.”
Tuttle walked over to the counter and picked up a sheet of paper. “Comes to six dollars and fifty cents,” he said and handed the paper to him. Ben folded it and stuck it in his pocket.
After a big breakfast and the horses were rested, Ben and Billy paid for the meal, even though Tuttle insisted it was not necessary. “It’s hard to show much profit if you’re gonna give your food away,” Ben declared.
“Or if a couple of outlaws take it without payin’,” Billy added.
“You take care of yourselves,” Tuttle warned. “Those two characters you’re goin’ after ain’t the kind to listen to reason.”
Ben assured him and Rosa that they would be careful, then rode back on the river trail, heading south. He was of a strong opinion they would catch up with Kelly and Queen in the little town of Navasota, which was a wide-open little pocket of lawlessness with everything to attract those seeking saloons, whorehouses, and gambling houses. It was only a twenty-mile ride from Tuttle’s. Ben didn’t tell Billy about it when they left Austin, or he would have asked why they didn’t head straight for Navasota. And Ben didn’t want to explain that he wanted to check on Tuttle and Rosa because they were in Big Foot Sam Kelly’s path to Houston. Besides, he thought, might as well go to Navasota with a good breakfast under your belt.
Located at the north end of town, the stable was the first business they came to, so they pulled up there to talk to the owner, Lem Wooten. They figured if the two outlaws they trailed planned to stop in Navasota for a night or two, they would most likely stable their horses. “Afternoon, Lem,” Ben said when Wooten walked out to meet them.
“Ben Savage,” Wooten responded. “What brings you over this way?” His tone was not unfriendly, but it was short of outright warmth. Wooten’s first thought was spoken then. “Which one of my customers are you lookin’ for?”
“Always appreciate your help, Lem,” Ben answered. “We’re lookin’ for a couple of fellows that rode into town earlier today. Thought they mighta left their horses with you.” He turned and nodded toward Billy. “This, here, is Billy Turner. He’s come down from Fort Worth to help us run ’em down. Billy said the reports they got up there was that one of ’em rides a flea-bitten gray, the other’n a paint. That sound like anybody you’ve seen today?”
Lem looked instantly relieved when he realized he wasn’t going to lose any customers. He became cooperative then. “Ain’t nobody like that come in here today,” he replied, “but I saw two fellers ride by here on horses like that. They was headin’ on into town, leadin’ packhorses.”
“Much obliged, Lem,” Ben said. He turned to leave because that told him the two outlaws weren’t planning to stay in Navasota long.
He paused when Wooten asked, “What did they do?”
“Held up a stagecoach, killed a passenger, and wounded the guard,” Ben answered.
“Anybody famous?”
“Nope. ’Preciate it, Lem.”
They wasted no more time. In the saddle again, they walked their horses down the middle of a surprisingly busy street. As Ben led them past one saloon and then another without stopping to question anyone, Billy finally had to ask if it might be a good idea to check them out. “We’ll check the Texas Rose first,” Ben answered him. “That’s at the other end of town, and it’s the likeliest place they’d stop. It seems to be the favorite for drifters and outlaws. The question is, how long did they stop there? And sometimes the folks at the Texas Rose suddenly suffer from loss of memory when a lawman asks a question.” He was hoping Kelly and Queen were in no hurry and had maybe stayed long enough to shorten the distance between them. It would depend on how much they drank and whether or not they availed themselves of the opportunity to spend some time with the soiled doves that worked the saloon. He got his answer before they reached the saloon because they saw the two horses they had described to Lem Wooten tied out in front of the saloon.
“Looks like we’re in luck,” Billy said when he saw their horses. “It ain’t that late in the afternoon. Maybe they’ve had time to get a little drunk, though. Make it easier to get the jump on ’em.”
“It’ d make it a whole lot easier if we knew what they looked like,” Ben commented. “You say you ain’t ever seen ’em, and I sure as hell ain’t, so we’re gonna have to go in and find ’em first. Let’s cover up these badges, so we don’t start a riot as soon as we walk in. We wouldn’t know which ones to chase after, if more’n two ran out the back. If we knew what they looked like, one of us could go in the front, and the other one in the back.”
“I reckon to be sure,” Billy suggested, “we could just wait ’em out and catch ’em when they come out and get on their horses.”
“There ain’t no tellin’ how long they’ll be in that saloon,” Ben said. “Why don’t we just walk on in kinda easy-like and look the room over? I’ve talked to the bartender here more than a few times, and he’s always been pretty straight with me. Maybe he’ll point ’em out for us. If that don’t work, we can just take their horses down to the stable and wait for them to come get ’em.” Billy couldn’t suggest anything better, and like Ben, he preferred not to wait for Queen and Kelly to come out, so they went in the saloon.
“Ben Savage,” the bartender stated when they walked up to the bar.
“Cal,” Ben returned. “You got a right smart crowd here for this time of day. He turned and looked over the crowded room. Back to the bartender, he said, “This is Billy Turner. He’s down from Fort Worth to find a couple of killers. Billy, meet Cal Devine.”
“Who you lookin’ for?” Cal asked.
“Big Foot Sam Kelly and Jack Queen,” Ben answered. “Just point ’em out, and we’ll try to arrest ’em with as little fuss as we can, so we don’t interrupt your business too much.”
“I don’t know anybody by those names,” Cal said at once. “Hell, Ben, you know I don’t ask every stranger his name. The only thing I ask is what they want to drink. So I’ll ask you and Billy, whaddaya want to drink?”
Ben smiled at him. “I reckon I could handle one shot of corn whiskey, even though I’m workin’. How ’bout you, Billy?”
“I’ll have the same,” Billy answered. Like Ben, he hoped if they bought a drink, Cal might feel more cooperative.
Ben watched Cal pour a couple of whiskeys, then suggested, “You don’t know anybody by those names, but maybe you can point out the two strangers that belong to that flea-bitten gray and the paint horse at the rail.”
“Damn it, Ben, I don’t look to see who’s ridin’ what when somebody walks in the door,” Cal complained, obviously feeling a certain amount of loyalty to his customers, even if they were killers.
“I was hopin’ we could do this quietly,” Ben said, “instead of closin’ down the bar while we question everybody in here.”
Cal paused to release a sigh of frustration. “All right, I still don’t know any names, but the skinny feller settin’ at that table with Eunice is one of ’em. His partner, a big feller, is upstairs with Nell.”
“What room?” Ben asked and was told her room was the second door on the right. He looked at Billy then and asked, “Up or down?”
Billy answered him with a sly smile. “I’ll let you take the big one upstairs, since you’re more likely his size. I’ll take the skinny one.”
“I shoulda said we’d flip a coin,” Ben replied. “But at least, you can pay for the whiskey.”
“My pleasure,” Billy said with another grin. They tossed the whiskey shots down and Billy paid Cal while Ben headed for the stairs and the rooms on the second floor.
After paying for their drinks, Billy walked casually back past a couple of card games in progress to a table next to the one where Eunice and the skinny outlaw were sitting. He took a seat and waited for what he expected to happen upstairs. Ben, meanwhile, went to the second door from the top of the stairs and quietly tried the doorknob. It was locked, so he politely tapped on the door. There was a long pause with no response, so he tapped on the door again, this time a little bit harder. Again, there was a pause until finally, the woman called out. “Who is it?”
“Fellow downstairs sent up a bottle of whiskey, Nell,” Ben answered.
He could hear some conversation between Nell and her customer, then finally, he heard the key turning in the lock. A moment later, the door opened just enough to allow a bottle of whiskey to pass through and a curious woman’s face to peer out. It was obvious she didn’t recognize the voice. “Who the hell are you?” she asked when she didn’t see a bottle, only moments before Ben pushed the door wide, moving her backward in the process.
“Best sit yourself down on that chair in the corner, Miss,” Ben ordered. “Your lover, here, is under arrest.” Her eyes opened wide when she saw the Colt six-gun in his hand and she backed quickly out of the way.
“What tha...” was as much as Big Foot Sam got out before he started to reach for his gun hanging on the back of a chair close to the bed.
“That would be your last and biggest mistake,” Ben warned him and cocked the hammer back on the Colt. “You’re under arrest for the murder of a passenger on the stage you and your partner robbed.” He pulled his coat aside far enough to let him see the star he wore on his vest. Kelly hesitated, half off the bed, still weighing his chances. “It’s up to you,” Ben urged. “You’ll be a helluva lot more trouble to take to jail than it would be to bury you, so it don’t make any difference to me.”
Convinced that the Ranger meant what he said, Kelly sat back down on the bed. “You ain’t lookin’ for me,” he claimed. “That was Jack that shot that feller.”
“That right?” Ben asked, knowing now that the man he was arresting was, in fact, Big Foot Sam Kelly. “How ’bout the fellow ridin’ shotgun on that stage? Did Queen shoot him, too, or was that you?”
Kelly didn’t answer right away, still weighing his odds. “I ain’t shot nobody. You got the wrong person,” he said after another long moment.
“Samuel ‘Big Foot Sam’ Kelly is who I’m pretty sure I’ve got. So pull your trousers back up and grab your hat. Let’s go.” He started toward the chair to get Kelly’s gun and holster, but at that moment, Nell decided she might not get paid for services rendered. So she suddenly jumped out of her chair and bolted toward the dresser and Kelly’s wallet. Ben automatically reacted to meet any threat from her. It was no more than a quick turn in her direction, but it was enough to cause Kelly to lunge toward his gun. Ben turned back in time to fire a shot that struck the gun belt hanging on the chair and knocked the chair over backward before Kelly could reach it. “That was a warning shot,” Ben said. “I don’t give but one. The next one will save you a trip to jail.”
“All right! All right!” Kelly exclaimed and sank back on the bed again. “I was just tryin’ to keep her from stealin’ my money.”
“He owes me for lettin’ him wallow all over me!” Nell blurted.
“I suppose he does,” Ben said. “How much do you charge for a trip up here?”
“Fifteen dollars,” Nell answered.
“You lyin’ bitch!” Kelly spat. “Five dollars is what I agreed to, and that’s more’n she’s worth.”
“Take five dollars,” Ben said, “and put the rest back on the dresser.”
“You believe his word over mine?” Nell cried.
“I reckon I do,” Ben told her. “I expect that money will be goin’ back to the stage company.”
She did as he said, took five dollars, and put the rest back on the dresser. “It’d take more’n that to do it again,” she pouted. “Big Foot Sam, hah! Maybe his foot’s big, I don’t know. I wouldn’t let him take his boots off, but I’ve seen the rest of him.”
“Sit down over there and shut up,” Ben said, afraid if she didn’t, he might have to shoot Kelly to keep him from going after her. “Come on, Kelly, let’s get movin’.”
Downstairs in the saloon, all conversation stopped suddenly when the shot was heard overhead. Everybody waited to hear if there would be more, all except Jack Queen. At once concerned about his partner up there with the prostitute, he got up from his chair, intending to find out. “Just hold it right there, and I won’t have to shoot you,” Billy Turner said, standing behind him now. “I wanna see both your hands in the air,” Billy told him, and when Queen did so, Billy slipped the .44 up out of his holster. “I’m a Texas Ranger, and I’m placin’ you under arrest for shootin’ two people in a stagecoach holdup.”
Queen was about to claim that Billy had the wrong man but saved his breath when he saw Kelly coming down the stairs with Ben behind him with a drawn six-gun. Sam had made no more attempts to jump the lawman, hoping that Ben was alone, leaving a possibility that Jack would shoot him down when he tried to escort him out the door. His hopes sank when he saw there were two Rangers, and the other one had already arrested Jack. “Heard a shot,” Billy said. “Any trouble?”
“No,” Ben replied, “just a warnin’. Let’s get some bracelets on these boys.” While Ben held his gun on the prisoners, Billy clamped their hands together behind their backs and they marched them out the front door. “Sorry to interrupt your afternoon entertainment, folks,” Ben said to the spectators as they escorted the two out.
Outside the saloon, they helped their prisoners up into their saddles. Once they were settled on their horses, Ben and Billy had to decide how they were going to handle them. They had to transport them to Austin, which was a hundred miles due west. They now had two prisoners and two extra packhorses to contend with. Their own horses had already gone forty miles that day. They didn’t know how long the prisoners’ horses had rested. On top of all that, it was getting close to suppertime, not a good time to start on a hundred-mile trip. They decided to water their horses, then start out for Austin, but planned to stop and make camp after only ten miles or so. Ben had traveled the old trail between Navasota and Austin many times before and he had a spot in mind to camp. They agreed it was best to get the prisoners out of Navasota. So they rigged up a line for all the packhorses and departed Navasota in the late afternoon. Their plan was to start out early the next morning and make Austin in two days’ time.
Evening was fast approaching when they reached the bank of the creek Ben had in mind. So after handcuffing their prisoners’ hands around a couple of small trees, the Rangers unloaded the horses and left them to water. Only after the horses were taken care of did they think about starting a fire and cooking something for their prisoners and themselves to eat.
“Hey, Ranger,” Sam called out, “you gonna cook us somethin’ to eat, too?” The two oaks he and Jack Queen were embracing were close enough for the prisoners to talk to each other. They were the only two trees in that spot small enough to lock their arms around comfortably. Otherwise, Ben would have parked them on opposite sides of the campfire, so they couldn’t talk quietly to each other. That often led to plans to escape.
Billy didn’t bother to answer Sam’s question, so after a minute or two, Ben answered. “Yeah, we’ll feed you, but don’t expect a fancy supper. It’ll be the same thing we’re eatin’, so any complaints will just be wasted breath.”
“We’re goin’ to a helluva lot of trouble carryin’ these two back to jail,” Billy commented, his words too low to be heard by the prisoners on the other side of the fire. “Too bad we jumped ’em before they had a chance to fight. Be a lot easier to shoot the devils.
“Yeah, I reckon it woulda,” Ben replied, “but our orders are to bring ’em in for trial, if possible. So I reckon that’s what we’d best do.”
Billy still saw no sense in it. “The boys in my company in Fort Worth pretty much think we’re just bringin’ fellers like these two in for a rope necktie that’s waitin’ for ’em. So what’s the sense in goin’ to the trouble to transport ’em all that long way?” When he saw the skeptical look he got from Ben, he was quick to explain. “Hell, I ain’t talkin’ about horse thieves and bank robbers that ain’t shot nobody. We carry them back to trial. But when you’re haulin’ a couple of murderers like these two, that’s liable to kill you if you was to get careless, it makes sense to save the hangman the trouble.”
Ben took a long pause before he responded. “Well,” he finally said, “I reckon that is one way of lookin’ at it. I expect it depends on the company you’re in. F-company has always been one to see a prisoner get his day in court and let the executioner do his job.”
Billy was clearly disappointed, and not looking forward to a hard two-day ride, hauling the two prisoners. He was sorry to hear Ben’s reluctance to eliminate the possibility of trouble, as well. He reached over and picked up a couple of small limbs and stuck them on the fire. He bit his lip and shook his head and sighed as he watched them catch fire, “It’s gonna be a long ride from here to Austin.”
“Reckon so,” Ben replied, “always is.” His opinion of Billy Turner had dropped considerably in the last few minutes. There were often times when a Ranger was given no choice in the question of life or death. There were lots of times when you transported a corpse back from an arrest attempt. But to outright execute a bound prisoner to save yourself some trouble couldn’t be classified as anything short of murder, which made you no . . .
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