The Devil's Boneyard

Book 2: Ben Savage, Saloon Ranger

by William W. Johnstone, J.A. Johnstone

Genres: Historical Mysteries; Suspense

Synopsis

At the Lost Coyote Saloon, you can bet your bottom dollar that some lowlife will try to cheat you, beat you, or defeat you. But bar owner Ben Savage won't let a few bad customers ruin a good time. And he's got the guns to prove it . . .
 
JOHNSTONE COUNTRY. HOTTER THAN HADES.
 
DRINK WITH THE DEVIL
 
Located in the bullet-riddled heart of Texas, the Lost Coyote Saloon in the town of Wolf Creek, is a magnet for drifters, grifters, and outlaws on the run. That's why the bar's manager, the beautiful Rachel Baskin, is glad the new owner is Ben Savage. A former Texas Ranger with a fast draw and low threshold for trouble, Savage knows how to keep the peace. But when  notorious hellraiser Malcolm Hazzard is released from prison—and heading to Wolf Creek to kill the local sheriff—the whole town knows the lawman doesn't have a prayer. There's only one way to stop a devil like Hazzard. It's hard. It's mean. And it's Savage . . .

Live Free. Read Hard.
 

Release date: October 27, 2020

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 354

Sample

“It ain’t every day the warden comes down here to say good-bye to a prisoner who’s served his time,” guard Roland Thomas said. “Out the front door, too, instead of the gate where most of the other inmates walk out.” He had been inspired to comment when they saw Warden Mathew Wheeler waiting by the front door of the main prison administration building.

Malcolm Hazzard was very much aware of that fact, but he was not surprised to see the warden. He had participated in many heart-to-heart talks with Warden Wheeler about the paths in life that lead men to evil endings. Hazzard was fortunate to have been incarcerated in the Texas State Prison at a time when Wheeler was warden. “I praise the Lord that they sent me to this prison where a Christian man was in charge, a man who was dedicated to saving the souls of those who had strayed to do the work of the devil.” He looked at the guard and smiled. “I wish that you had come to some of our prayer meetings. It might have enlightened your soul. I hope you’ll consider doin’ that sometime.”

Thomas chuckled. “I don’t know about that, Hazzard. Don’t know if they’ll even keep it up after you’ve gone.” Like most of the other guards, he wasn’t totally convinced that Malcolm Hazzard had truly been saved. He had to allow, however, that Hazzard wouldn’t be the first inmate who decided to walk the straight and narrow after serving his time. In Hazzard’s case, it had resulted in an early release after serving only five years of a fifteen-year sentence. But Thomas was convinced that Hazzard had played the warden like a fiddle. For the warden’s sake, he hoped Hazzard continued to walk the straight path after he left there.

“Well, Malcolm, the big day has finally come,” the warden said as he walked to meet Hazzard, his hand outstretched. “I wanted to be here to walk out that door with you to the first day of the rest of your life. I feel like you are the perfect example of what can be accomplished to rehabilitate an inmate during his prison sentence. I think I can count on you to make our work here at Huntsville proud.”

“Thank you, sir,” Malcolm replied humbly. “I have you to thank for putting me on the right path for the rest of my life and I hope to bring the Word of the Lord to as many miserable and confused souls as I can.” He glanced down at the Bible he was carrying. “I know I have my guide to rely on. And I know, if a miserable soul like mine can be shown the true light, then there’s hope for everyone. I only hope you know how grateful I am to you for helping me see that light.”

Wheeler smiled, pleased. “We can all be beacons of light for the unsaved. I know you will be a powerful servant of the Lord.” He nodded toward Roland Thomas, and Thomas went to the door and held it open as the warden and Hazzard walked through. “God be with you, Malcolm.”

“And with you and the staff here at the prison,” Hazzard responded.

As soon as they stepped outside, Hazzard was hailed by two men waiting in the street in front of the prison building. They were holding the reins of three saddled horses, as well as lead ropes for two packhorses. Malcolm returned their greetings and briefly explained to Wheeler that one of them, the heavyset man with the dark beard and the ill-fitting morning coat, was his brother, Ormond. The man with him was a family friend by the name of Pete Russell. When he read the question in the warden’s eyes, he said, “I know they’re rough-lookin’ men, but that’s just because they’re hardworking men of the soil. But rest assured they’re God-fearin’ men who have encouraged me to keep my faith durin’ these years I’ve spent inside these walls.”

Wheeler hesitated but decided there was no point in having second thoughts based on the appearance of the men who came to meet Malcolm. “It’s not important what we look like on the outside,” he declared. “It’s what’s written in a man’s heart that counts.”

“Amen, Warden,” Malcolm replied, turned and walked down the steps to the street where he was greeted in rugged fashion, with a hug from his brother and some backslapping from Pete Russell.

“Come on, Reverend,” brother Ormond japed. “I brought you a gray geldin’, just like the one they shot out from under you five years ago.” He stood back and grinned while he watched Malcolm climb up into the saddle. “I swear, I gotta admit, I didn’t think you’d pull it off.”

“Well, it sure as hell weren’t easy,” Malcolm remarked, “but I’da done it for another five years, if it didn’t get me out but one day short of my sentence.” He jerked the gray’s head around and gave it a kick of his heels. “Come on, let’s get the hell outta here before they change their minds.” Feeling his freedom, he kicked the gray into a gallop on the Madisonville road until well out of sight of Huntsville before he slowed the horse down to a walk. Then he threw his Bible as far as he could sling it into the woods beside the road.

“Yee haw!” Ormond responded when he saw the Bible flying into the bushes. In like fashion, he pulled the morning coat off and threw it as well. Unable to fling the coat as far as Malcolm threw the Bible, he settled for a throw that left it hanging on a tree branch right beside the road. “I stole that coat just so I’d look like a preacher when we picked you up,” he told Malcolm. “It was about two sizes too small.”

“I’m gonna need to go somewhere to get some clothes,” Malcolm said, “boots, hat, ridin’ clothes, a weapon, too. Did you bring me money for everything I need?”

“Like I told you when I came to see you last month,” Ormond answered. “I’ve been saving you a share outta every job we’ve done. Your money’s in the saddlebags of that saddle you’re settin’ on. It oughta be enough to fix you up. We can ride over to Bryan. It’s a good-sized town now and it ain’t but about forty miles from here.”

“Bryan?” Malcolm repeated. “I’ve heard the guards talk about Madisonville and it’s only twenty miles from here. Let’s go there.”

Ormond looked at Pete and they both grinned. “Rather not,” Ormond said. “That’s where I stole the coat. Better off goin’ to Bryan. We ain’t had no dealin’s with anybody there, but the saloon. And there weren’t no trouble there. We’ve been kinda layin’ low for the last six months around this part of Texas, waitin’ for you to get out.”

When they came to a crossroad, Ormond pulled his horse to a stop. “This here is the trail to Bryan.” He looked at Malcolm to see if he was going to insist on continuing to Madisonville. When he did not, Ormond turned onto the trail heading west. They rode on for a few minutes before Ormond commented. “Reckon you’re wantin’ to head on down to Giddings after you get fixed up with some clothes.”

“I reckon,” Malcolm said. Giddings was the town where their younger brother, William, was killed by a deputy sheriff. The determination to seek vengeance for his brother’s death was the driving force that enabled him to maintain his religious charade for so long. During the long dreary days, locked in a two-man cell, it was all he would think about, a chance to see that deputy sheriff beyond the front sight of his. 44. William was only fifteen when he was gunned down in the middle of the street in their foiled attempt to rob the Houston & Texas Central Railroad in Giddings.

His mind raced back to that day. Unknown to Malcolm, his two brothers, and Pete Russell, they picked the very day a big money shipment was on the train, meant for a bank in Houston. There were half a dozen guards escorting that money shipment to Houston. When Malcolm and the others saw the reception awaiting them in the mail car, they made a run for it, and all four of them might have gotten away but for a local deputy sheriff. He had no connections with the railroad. He was just a deputy sheriff who happened to be in a position to take a shot at the fleeing outlaws. The image was still vivid in Malcolm’s mind, of the four of them galloping hell-bent-for-leather away from the railroad station, the angry snap of bullets passing all around them. Pete Russell was in the lead, with Malcolm and Ormond right behind him. His younger brother, William, was bringing up the rear.

They were clear of the railroad agents’ fire when they reached the main street. It was then that he heard the shot that knocked William out of the saddle. He couldn’t see where the shot had come from, but he pulled his horse to a stop, with not much time to pick up his brother. Wheeling the gray gelding around, Malcolm looked down at his brother, just long enough to know William was dead. He gave the gray his heels again at the same instant the willing horse was cut down by rifle fire from a shopkeeper. When his horse stumbled, Malcolm was thrown from the saddle to land on his back, the wind knocked out of him. The thoughts burned bitter in his mind when he remembered lying helpless in the street, covered by two of the merchants wielding shotguns. Ormond and Pete were already out the end of the street. And had it not been for one lucky shot from the deputy sheriff, he and William would have been with them.

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, he responded to Ormond’s question. “Yeah, goin’ back to Giddings is my number one priority. A feller I talked to in prison is from Giddings and he told me that deputy’s name is Mack Bragg. And I’ve been seein’ that name in my sleep at night.” He felt both Ormond and Pete staring at him, so he turned to look at them. “First, I’m gonna need to get acquainted with a six-gun again. I don’t wanna take any chances. I wanna be ready when I find that lowdown backshooter.” A question that had often come to his mind came to him again at this point. Looking at his brother, he asked, “How come you ain’t tellin’ me that Mack Bragg is already dead?”

“Because he ain’t in Giddings no more.” Ormond was quick to defend his lack of retaliation against his brother’s killer. “We sure as hell couldn’t go near the town for over a year in case somebody recognized us, even if we did have our bandannas tied over our faces.” He looked at Pete for confirmation.

“That’s a fact, Malcolm,” Pete backed him up. “But we did go back into town one night and asked the bartender at the Cotton Gin Saloon if he’d seen that deputy in there lately.”

Ormond interrupted. “He told us he weren’t a deputy in Giddings no more. Said he’d moved on, but he didn’t know where he mighta lit.”

“Damn,” Malcolm uttered. This was news he hadn’t expected to hear, and he had to take a few moments to decide what to do. The killing of Mack Bragg was something that had to be taken care of. It was almost all he had thought about for the last five years. “An eye for an eye,” he recited from his prison Bible sessions. William had not even participated in the actual robbery attempt. He only held the horses for his older brothers and Pete. “We’ll go to Giddings, anyway,” he decided. “That’s the only place we’ve got to start from. Somebody there might know where Bragg went after he left there. We’ll just have to be careful who we talk to and make sure nobody recognizes us.” Then it occurred to him. “You two are gonna have to make sure nobody gets a good look at you. I don’t have to hide. I’ve served my sentence.”

“Like I just told you,” Ormond said, “nobody recognized me and Pete when we came back here. As long as we stay away from the train depot, we ought not have to worry.” So, with that decision made, they continued on the road to Bryan, some forty miles away.

After one stop to rest their horses, the three men rode into Bryan and went straight to Riker’s Saloon to get a bite to eat as well as to satisfy Malcolm’s powerful urge for a drink of whiskey, after doin’ without for so long. “Ain’t seen you boys in here in a while,” the bartender said, talking to Ormond. As far as he could recall, he had never seen Malcolm.

“That’s a fact,” Ormond replied. “We’ve been workin’ over toward San Antone. You still got a cook workin’ here?”

“That I do,” the bartender said, “and it’s beef stew and biscuits tonight.”

“That suits my taste,” Pete responded, quickly seconded by the Hazzard brothers.

“Curly!” the bartender yelled. “You got three plates of stew out here.” Back to them, he said, “He’ll fix you up in a minute or two. You want coffee with that?” Getting three nods from them, he yelled again. “They’re wantin’ coffee with that.” Back to them again, he said, “My name’s Sid. I swear, I can’t remember your names.”

“Good,” Malcolm responded. “We was hopin’ we’d run into a friend of ours. Mack Bragg, has he been in lately?” He had no particular reason to think Bragg was in Bryan, but he figured he might as well ask.

“Can’t say,” Sid answered. “If he has, he didn’t give his name.” When Malcolm nodded, Sid said, “’Course, we ain’t the only saloon in town.”

After supper, they rode out of town but stopped as soon as they came to a creek. They made camp for the night there, since Malcolm wanted to buy some new clothes before going on to Giddings. With only a little bit of daylight remaining, he used it to practice with the Colt .44 Ormond had brought him. Pete and Ormond stood by watching as Malcolm sought to become closely acquainted with the handgun. After a box of cartridges was emptied into trees at various distances, Malcolm declared himself ready. Accuracy was his goal with his new firearm as opposed to fast-draw expertise, for he had no thoughts toward a fast-draw showdown. He planned to simply catch Bragg by surprise and assassinate him without warning. But it was important to him that Bragg should know who it was that killed him and why.

The next morning, they were at the general merchandise store when it opened for business. Malcolm was soon fitted out with pants and shirt, plus a vest, and a hat. He could not find boots to fit, so he had to continue to wear his prison work shoes and hope to find boots in another town. Feeling more comfortable to be out of prison issue, he started breaking in his new clothes on the fifty-mile trip to Giddings.

Unique among Texas towns for its extra wide streets, Giddings served to impress Malcolm with its obvious growth since he had last been there. When they rode into town late in the afternoon, he saw nearly double the number of shops and businesses. One in particular caught his eye, the newly opened Bank of Lee County. “When we’re finished here,” he said to Ormond, “I expect we’d do well to stop by the bank and draw out some money. We need to get back in business.”

“Glad to hear you say that,” Ormond replied, “cause we’ll be runnin’ outta money.”

“We got enough to stay in the hotel and stable the horses for a couple of nights,” Malcolm said. “I wanna watch that bank for a day or two, so we can decide what’s the best time to open our accounts.”

His remarks brought a chuckle from Pete, and Ormond commented. “Looks to me like the best place to watch it is from the Texas Rose Saloon. It’s right across the street from the bank.”

“Might as well make that our first stop,” Malcolm said. “I could use a little drink to cut the dust.” They guided their horses to the Texas Rose and tied them at the rail.

“Howdy, gents,” Saul Morris greeted them. “What’s your pleasure?” They ordered a shot of rye each and tossed them back before engaging the bartender in conversation. “Don’t recall seein’ you boys in the Texas Rose before. Just passin’ through?”

“That’s right,” Malcolm answered. “Ain’t been here in a long time. Thought it was time to take a look and see how the town is growin’. So, I reckon we’ll take a room in the hotel for a couple of nights, so we can take a good look.”

“Hell,” Saul asked, “why go to the hotel? We got rooms here that are just as nice as the hotel and cheaper, too. And you’re a helluva lot closer to the whiskey and the women.”

“I don’t know,” Malcolm replied. “Whaddaya think, boys? Wanna take him up on it?”

“All right with me,” Ormond said. Pete just shrugged, not really caring.

“We’ll take a look at the rooms,” Malcolm said.

“Sadie!” Saul yelled, and in a few minutes, a tired-looking woman of uncertain age stuck her head out the kitchen door. “These fellers wanna take a look at the rooms upstairs.”

“Well, tell ’em to go on upstairs and look,” Sadie responded. “Ain’t nobody in ’em.” She paused to take a look at the three. “The empty rooms ain’t locked.” She took a harder look at Pete. “I can take you upstairs and show you my room, but it’ll cost you three dollars,” she added with a sly smile.

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Malcolm spoke for Pete. As Sadie suggested, they went upstairs and checked out the rooms and decided they were better than they expected. The price was reasonable enough, so they got their saddlebags and war bags off the horses and carried them upstairs. When Saul was giving them their room keys, Malcolm asked casually, “You know, there is a feller I’d like to see, come to think of it. Mack Bragg used to be a deputy sheriff here. Is he still in town?”

“Nah,” Saul replied. “He left here more than four years ago.”

“Is that a fact?” Malcolm responded. “Well, that’s a shame. Where’d he go?”

“I swear, I don’t have no idea,” Saul answered. “He just moved on somewhere.” He failed to notice the frown on Malcolm’s face when he gave Ormond a quick look.

“I need to buy some boots,” Malcolm said. “Where’s the best place for that?

“Well, there’s a couple of stores in town that sell shoes and boots,” Saul said. “If it was me, though, I’d take a look in Bill Tilton’s saddle and harness shop. He makes a fine pair of boots. I got on a pair of ’em, myself.” He pulled up a trouser leg to show him. “’Course, he’s got ridin’ boots, too, which I reckon is what you’re lookin’ for.”

“Much obliged,” Malcolm said. “That’s where I’ll go in the mornin’. Right now, I expect we’d best get our horses to the stable, then we’ll see about some supper.”

After supper in the hotel dining room, the three drifters returned to the Texas Rose to take advantage of whatever pleasures were available. They were encouraged when they discovered that poor, tired old Sadie was not the only woman in the entertainment department. When these ladies compared notes the following morning, they could have easily identified which one of the three had been in prison for five years.

Breakfast in the hotel was followed by a visit to the harness shop to look at Bill Tilton’s handmade boots. As luck would have it, he had a pair that were Malcolm’s size, and Malcolm tried them on. Ormond and Pete grinned as he walked around Tilton’s shop for a couple of minutes to get the feel of the boots. “How much you want for these boots?” Malcolm asked. “’Cause I ain’t takin’ ’em off.” When Tilton told him the asking price, Malcolm came back. “Fifty dollars? Hell, I can buy a good pair of boots at the store for half that price.”

“Not like those boots, you can’t,” Tilton said. “I have to charge for all the work I did on that fancy desert cactus design and the handwork on that leather.” He glanced down at the work boots Malcolm had just taken off. In addition to the obviously new clothes, Tilton formed a picture of a newly released prison inmate. He had to wonder if they were planning to take the boots without paying a cent.

“He’s right,” Ormond remarked. “That really ain’t too bad a price. Things have gone up since you’ve been away.”

To Tilton’s surprise, Malcolm pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket and counted out fifty dollars. “I used to know a feller here who was the deputy sheriff, name of Mack Bragg, but he’s gone from here now.”

“Mack Bragg,” Tilton repeated. “He ain’t a deputy no more. He’s the sheriff in a little town called Buzzard’s Bluff.” He blurted it out before he thought better of giving out that information.

Malcolm sensed Tilton’s sudden wariness. “Yeah, that’s right. He wrote me a letter and told me he was in Buzzard’s Bluff and said to come see him. Only problem is, I don’t have no idea where Buzzard’s Bluff is and the son of a gun forgot to tell me that in the letter.” He looked over at Ormond and shook his head. “That’s just like ol’ Mack, ain’t it?” Both Ormond and Pete laughed with him. “I swear, I’d like to see him again, but I ain’t got time to hunt all over Texas for a little town I never heard of.”

“Buzzard’s Bluff’s on the Navasota River, west of Madisonville,” Tilton said, having been paid for the boots and no longer afraid he might be betraying Mack Bragg.

“Well, I’ll be . . .” Malcolm started, then just shook his head as he looked at Ormond in disbelief. They must have been no more than half a day’s ride from Buzzard’s Bluff when they left Huntsville. He knew Pete and Ormond were thinking the same thing.

Outside the saddle and harness shop, they stood on the side of the street and discussed their situation. Frustrated at first to think they had traveled this far south of Buzzard’s Bluff, Malcolm soon saw the positive aspects of the mistake. “We had to come here to find out where that son of a gun was, so it was worth it for that. But we also found a prime-lookin’ bank that’s just waitin’ for us to call. And it’s far enough away from where we’re headin’ to discourage any posse they raise to come after us. After the way the railroad treated us here, the bank oughta be willin’ to make it worth our while.” He almost laughed when he thought of Warden Wheeler and what he would think of his model prisoner now. Everything’s working out to make sure Mack Bragg is a dead man, he thought. “Yes, sir,” he boasted, “we had to come down here to find Mack Bragg.”

“That’s right,” Pete said, “and we had to come down here to get them fancy boots you got on.” That brought a laugh from all three.

“Let’s go back to the Texas Rose and set in them chairs out front, so we can watch the goings-on at that bank,” Malcolm said.

The rest of the morning and a part of the afternoon was spent watching the activity at the bank. Satisfied with the peaceful setting of the town, they decided to strike the bank that afternoon. They settled on where they would tie the horses for the best possible route of escape, remembering the rifle fire from one of the stores that killed his horse. Malcolm and Ormond would enter the bank, Pete would stand with the horses and provide cover fire when the brothers came out of the bank. “Let one of them do-gooder storekeepers stick his head out this time. He’s gonna get a little surprise,” Malcolm declared.

“One of these mornings I’m gonna come in here and find my stove cold and no coffee ready,” Annie Grey remarked to the big man seated at the kitchen table, holding a cup of coffee between his hands. “And when I do, I’m gonna come roust you outta the bed for sure.”

“It’s the only way I can be sure I get a decent cup of coffee to start the day,” Ben Savage joked. “Besides, I have to make sure you get cranked up proper.” The good-natured bantering between the cook and her employer didn’t vary much day after day. The very first morning Ben had awakened in the saloon he had inherited from his old Ranger friend, Jim Vickers, found him wide awake at five-thirty. His long years of waking up before sunup, while on the trail of some wanted individual, had ingrained the habit in his mind. It had now become a ritual that he looked forward to each morning. First, Annie would arrive at six, or a little before, and he usually had the fire going in her stove and a fresh pot of coffee made. Then about the time she had her stove hot enough to bake biscuits, her husband, Johnny, showed up for breakfast. It would be closer to seven when Ben’s partner in the business, Rachel Baskin, would join the morning meeting. It would be later, still, before Tiny Davis, the bartender, and Clarice and Ruby showed up.

There wasn’t much to discuss at the Lost Coyote on this Sunday morning. Things were pretty peaceful in the little town of Buzzard’s Bluff and had been for quite some time. The only thing new to discuss was the first worship service of the new Methodist Church, scheduled for this day. The early arrivals at Annie Grey’s breakfast table were unaware of the occasion until Rachel appeared in the kitchen and reminded them. “I’m thinking about attending the town’s first church service,” she announced. “I think it would be nice to try to show a little welcome to Reverend Gillespie and his wife. Anybody wanna go with me?” She concentrated her gaze on Ben’s face. The broad smile on her face was wicked enough to give away the reaction she anticipated.

“I was just thinkin’ about that, myself,” he japed. “And I’m mighty pleased to know you’re goin’ to represent the Coyote. But I’m afraid I’ll have to stay and watch the saloon. Our hired help is liable to steal us blind if both owners are away. If you need somebody to escort you, I expect Tuck Tucker wi. . .