CHAPTER TWELVE
Time passed quickly for Deed Corrigan. Caleb Corrigan’s body was buried under a small cherry tree at the north edge of the station area; the family had planted the slender tree three years earlier. The dead Comanches were dragged away, and that night warriors returned to take away the bodies. There had been no Indian problems since. Nor was there any sign of them.
The two dead passengers were buried on the north side of the cottonwoods and identified with simple wooden head markers. Before driving away, Tade Balkins had promised to have the district agent wire their relatives about the sad event, if any could be located. Atlee planned on preserving selected fruits and vegetables in jars for the winter. A nearby farmer was happy to sell them fresh corn, beans, cucumbers, and tomatoes.
Stages came and went regularly. Passengers of all sorts stopped at the station and enjoyed Atlee’s food. Cattlemen and farmers, miners and hunters, drummers and peddlers, newspapermen and actors, gamblers and gunmen, prostitutes and soldiers, men and women from everywhere. The routine of the stagecoach operation was harder and more demanding than Deed had realized. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday departures from each end of the Hays City–Santa Fe run were operated with the same running time of four and a half days. The stage-line ran twenty-four hours a day, every day, regardless of weather. The Barlow and Sanderson Company was the line’s owner, but they sublet contracts running from Santa Fe to El Paso and Tucson to Sand and Cook’s Stage-Line, headquartered in El Paso.
All in all, the entire line covered 2,000 miles, using 1,200 animals and more than 300 regular employees. About every fifteen miles or so was a relay station waiting with fresh horses. Home stations were those with food and overnight lodging for the passengers. The Forsyths had hoped to become such a location. Of course, Wells Fargo controlled everything involving the mail, west and north. And mail delivery was always the primary objective; passengers were an afterthought.
No railroad existed west of Fort Worth, which is why the relay stations continued to be important, especially the Forsyth station since it had such a good name. Elsewhere in Texas, independent railroad companies were stretching their wings. The days of the stagecoach and relay stations as the king of transportation were ending, but feeder lines like this one continued to profit.
Billy Montez and Caleb Forsyth had done an excellent job of managing the horses, keeping them well fed and healthy, and maintaining the harnesses in top shape. Little things eventually made big differences. Deed’s mentor, Silka, the former samurai, had taught him that, and the stage operation was clear testimony to that fact. Harnesses were checked each night and whatever horses were at the station were examined for leg problems, sore backs, or broken horseshoes. From the beginning, Caleb had insisted on having an extra team of horses on hand at all times, in addition to the team being readied for the next stage. Billy had gone to a neighbor and secured horses to replace the ones killed in the raid, with the promise that the neighbor would be paid as soon as the next stage came with the money.
Work with the horses was constant. Since a horse’s stomach was small, it needed to eat a lot of small meals during each day, usually four. This was complicated by the daily arrival and departure of a team of horses. The order for feeding was important: water first, then hay, and lastly, grain. Always in small rations. And never any water after grain. Water expanded the grain and brought on colic. Billy was a stickler when it came to the quality of hay, using only good green, clean and bright. Usually timothy. Nothing dirty or dusty—and definitely not moldy. Mold was poisonous and could kill a horse. Mucking out the stalls was a daily task.
Feeding was just part of the work. All of the animals had their hooves picked daily—to remove packed manure, dirt, and small rocks—and checked for loose or cracked horseshoes, as well as stone bruises. Billy liked to say, “No foot. No mistah.” All of the horses were brushed and combed. Deed told himself they would start implementing the same kind of procedures at the ranch.
Deed and Billy had become a good team handling the horses, and Atlee worked long hours, making certain incoming passengers were well fed and the setting was bright and cheery. Olivia Beinrigt had become an excellent help inside as well; she and her husband slept in the bunks set up for employees, but rarely used. They had moved the beds into a corner and put up a bedsheet to provide privacy. Hermann Beinrigt was slowly recovering. Benjamin spent most of his time helping his mother and Olivia; Deed saw him only during meals and figured that was best. The boy was grieving and rarely spoke to him or anyone, except his mother.
Atlee never talked of losing her husband, but Deed heard her sobbing late one night when he was unable to sleep and was walking past the cabin to make certain she and her kids were okay. The next day, he asked if she needed to talk and her response was negative, swift, and brittle. He never asked again. Blue would be returning from El Paso soon with their new stallion, and they would ride to their ranch together. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Midday brought two hard-looking riders headed from the direction of Wilkon. Deed told Billy to get his shotgun and stay out of sight, but close by. The one-eyed Mexican laid the hammer beside his anvil and hurried the horse he was shoeing into the barn. Deed was positive he didn’t know the men. Something about their easy lope in the open made him think these weren’t outlaws, but he couldn’t be certain in this wild land. A survey of the surrounding land convinced him they were alone.
He walked over to the corral and picked up the Spencer carbine resting there along with a box of reloading tubes. He had kept both handy since the Comanche attack. Cocking the big gun, he slid into the shadows. No sense in making a target of himself until he knew who they were.
“There are only two, Billy. No others behind,” Deed whispered.
“Sí. That is ’nuff.”
“Yeah.”
Even at this distance, Deed was impressed with the appearance of their horses. Powerfully built and long legged, they were animals made for speed and endurance. Definitely not ranch horses; the kind outlaws rode—or lawmen. The advancing riders’ hands were empty, except for the reins they held. He was now sure they were alone and not looking for trouble.
At the outskirts of the station area, the two men reined up near the cottonwoods. One of them reached into his coat pocket, produced a badge, and pinned it on his vest. The stouter of the two did the same. Rangers, Deed thought. Texas Rangers.
Deed stepped out of the shadows and hailed their arrival.
“Afternoon, men. How can we help you?”
His movement into the sunlight surprised them. Their first reactions were movements toward their holstered guns. Seeing the cocked Spencer in Deed’s hands stopped that idea before it was too late. They walked their horses closer and stopped a few yards away.
“Howdy. We’re Rangers,” the lawman in front announced, moving his hands slowly to his saddle horn.
“I can see that by your badges. Welcome. Climb down and water your horses.”
“Many thanks,” he said, swinging easily from the saddle.
Both lawmen wore knee-length boots, heavy Mexican-roweled spurs, buttoned vests, and long black trail coats. Double-rowed cartridge belts carried a six-gun and a Bowie knife, holstered on the left side with the gun butt forward. Even their thick mustaches looked alike. The only differences between them were their heights and their hats. The man who had spoken was taller and wore a flat-brimmed hat that the wind had permanently pushed up in front. The shorter, stockier lawman wore a weathered hat with a tripointed crown and wide brims curled up on the sides and gathered in the front.
The taller Ranger took off his hat and swatted at the trail dust clinging to his coat and clothes.
“Just came from Wilkon.” He squinted and crow’s feet rushed into the corners of his gray eyes. “You look familiar, mister. Do we know you?”
Uncocking his carbine, Deed chuckled. “Now that’s a question a fellow doesn’t want to hear from a lawman. I’m Deed Corrigan.”
The second Ranger, now dismounted as well, stomped his heavy boots making the spurs sing and said, “Thought so. Holt’s your brother, right?”
“He is.”
“Easy now, I wasn’t pushing. My own brother rode owlhoot for three years.”
“Sorry to hear it. Haven’t seen Holt since the war.”
“We talked with your wife. Bina, right?” He pulled the glove off his right hand and held it out.
“No, that’s my brother’s wife, Bina. Blue’s in El Paso on business.”
“Oh sure. She told us you were helping here till things got settled from the Indian attack.” He nodded toward the station. “I’m Hendel Rice. And this here long-legged galoot is Revel Williams. We’re part of Captain Waters’s company.”
“Glad to meet both of you.” Deed shook hands with the two Rangers and called out for Billy. The Mexican eased from the barn door, laid his shotgun against its weathered side, and walked over. Deed introduced him to the Rangers.
“You boys look like you were expecting trouble,” Revel Williams said and motioned toward Billy’s shotgun and Deed’s Spencer.
“Better safe than sorry, the saying goes.” Deed patted Billy on his shoulder. “Had a bad time with Comanches a week back. Killed the station manager and two passengers.”
“You didn’t think we were Indians, did you?” Revel asked with a hint of humor in his eyes.
“No, but men riding horses like these aren’t cowhands or farmers.” Deed rubbed the nose of the closest bay.
The Rangers explained they had come to the region because of the Bar 3 massacre, Agon Bordner taking control of the ranch because of the overdue loan, and the killings of the two other ranch families.
“All the killings Comanches?” Deed glanced at Billy.
“Appears so.”
“You’re sure?” Deed rubbed his chin with his left hand; his right held his carbine at his side.
“Now look. We don’t like this either, but there’s nothing illegal we can see. Nothing we can prove anyway. Agon Bordner wasn’t even close by. Lives in El Paso, you know, living grand. We’ve seen his place.” Rice looked Deed in the eyes. “Has a good reputation there. Strong churchgoing fella. Hear he’s generous to the church an’ all.”
Deed studied both men. They were typical Rangers. Hard but fair. Naturally inclined to be suspicious.
From the station doorway, Atlee appeared. “Deed? Do we have visitors?”
He turned toward her, smiling. “Yes, Mrs. Forsyth. Rangers. They were investigating trouble nearby.” He hadn’t told her about the Bar 3.
A frown slid across her face, but was followed by a warm smile. “Please tell them to come in for coffee and something to eat. You and Billy, too.”
Cooper came to the door, wagging his tail.
“Yes, boss.” He had deliberately not used her first name—and called her boss—wanting to reinforce the fact she was in charge. Turning back to the Rangers, he said, “I’d suggest you take her up on that. Best food anywhere around.”
“Heard that. You don’t have to ask me twice.” Rice chuckled. “Neither one o’ us are much for trail cookin’. We get by, but it’s nothin’ to crow about.”
Deed pushed his hat back on his forehead. “We had heard that the bank was holding a big loan. How about their trail-drive money? That was a big herd they brought in. At least three thousand head. Saw it myself when we were headed back. I was a week or so ahead with our herd but was still in town.”
“The bank has no record of any deposit,” Williams responded. “No one’s found any money at the ranch either.”
“What about the money Bordner paid for those two small ranches?”
“Don’t know if anybody’s said anything about it,” Williams said. “Guess they had it with them when the Indians hit ’em.”
“Comanches don’t take money.”
“No, I reckon they don’t.”
Without speaking, Billy Montez took the reins of their horses and led them away while Deed walked with the Rangers towards the station door. Atlee and Cooper had already disappeared inside.
“Sometimes bad things happen to good folks,” Rice observed, watching Billy take the horses to the big watering trough. “It’s going to take a few years to get rid of the Comanches, but we’ll get it done.”
“I wasn’t talking about Comanches.”
Changing the subject, Williams asked Deed what had happened here a week ago. Deed told them about the Comanche attack, about Caleb Forsyth and two passengers being killed, and that Mrs. Forsyth had assumed the responsibilities of running the station. The Rangers were surprised to hear a woman was in charge, but Deed assured them that she was managing quite well and he was only helping out until she could hire someone permanent.
“You mentioned meeting my brother’s wife,” Deed said and pulled his hat back down on his forehead as he went ahead up the steps and opened the door. Cooper came out and waited in the doorway to greet everyone.
“Yeah, and the Regan kid,” Williams added. “A hard-lookin’ Chinese fella was there, too. She said he was a longtime family friend.”
“Japanese. He is. The best. Nakashima Silka. He’s also our partner.” Deed leaned over to pet Cooper.
“We had heard about the kid’s survival. In Wilkon, folks are pretty upset about what’s happened,” Williams said, studying the station as they approached. “The boy told us it wasn’t Indians. It was white men.” He bit his upper lip beneath his mustache. “But he was real scared and didn’t see much. Hid in a cooling shack. Gosh, he’s only six, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. My brother and some friends found him.”
“As far as we can tell, this Bordner fella just happened to be in the right place at the right time to pick up the ranch. It adds to the other two he just bought,” Rice added as stepped onto the front porch of the station.
“Again, there’s nothing wrong with the deal. Just good business. Best we can tell he was only taking advantage of a bad situation, one that wasn’t his doing.” Williams waved his arms as they reached the porch. “County sheriff agrees. So did the Wilkon marshal.”
Deed didn’t respond, but watched Cooper waiting at the door.
Removing his second glove, Williams paused over a large bowl of water resting on the porch railing, and laid both gloves beside it. “Could’ve been Comancheros riding with the redskins, you know.” He washed his hands and doused his face, then dried himself with the clean towel resting nearby.
After tying the Rangers’ horses to the corral rail, Billy hurried and caught up with them as Rice took his turn washing up. Elizabeth came rushing through the door and held up her arms for Deed to hold her, which he was happy to do. Cooper changed his mind about going inside and spun around to be next to the two of them.
“I got flowers from our garden,” she said, smiling into his face. “You’ll see them when you come in.”
“Well, I can hardly wait.”
He introduced her to the Rangers and Elizabeth greeted them enthusiastically and asked if they had met Cooper. Both Rangers smiled and said they hadn’t had the pleasure.
“This is Cooper. Cooper Forsyth,” she said and motioned toward the dog.
“Glad to know you, Cooper,” Rice responded and doffed his hat in an exaggerated motion.
Elizabeth giggled.
Williams also tipped his hat and knelt to scratch Cooper’s head.
Inside Atlee greeted the Rangers warmly and directed them to the table, covered with a red-and-white checkered tablecloth. What remained of the flowers Elizabeth picked from the Forsyth garden had been gathered into a bright bouquet in the center. Behind the sheet, Hermann Beinrigt was sleeping soundly on the farthest cot. Even Deed was impressed with the appearance of the entire room. Cooper took a position near the fireplace, stretched out comfortably to watch everything. The planked floor had been swept clean and the station looked cheery.
To himself, Deed thought the coach line would be foolish not to let her run the station; Atlee Forsyth was the consummate host. He put Elizabeth in the chair beside him and sat down. She smiled at him and asked if all the horses were well. He assured her they were.
Smiling, Atlee brought in a plate piled high with thick beef sandwiches; Olivia brought bowls of pickles, baked beans, and scalloped corn. Both women quickly filled the men’s coffee cups and returned to the kitchen. Minutes later, Atlee and Olivia joined them with plates of their own. Atlee was eager for conversation of happenings outside of her world. So was Olivia. Rangers Williams and Rice were happy to oblige with stories from their travels throughout Texas.
Benjamin wandered into the room, looking sad, but determined to find out if the Rangers were here to take them away from the station. Atlee introduced him and he became defensive.
“If you had been here a week ago, my pa wouldn’t have been killed,” he declared.
“That’s enough, Benjamin. These men have many responsibilities. Not just this corner of Texas,” Atlee snapped.
Benjamin folded his arms. Elizabeth began to cry, and Deed leaned over to whisper to her. She wiped her eyes and sat up straight. Williams responded that he was sorry about what had happened and added that a ranch west of the station had been raided two months ago and everyone on it had been killed; two other families had been killed leaving the area; and that they were sorry not to have been able to get to the station in time to save Benjamin’s father.
“Sounds like you messed up some more,” Benjamin said and marched out the door, slamming it hard.
Flushed with embarrassment, Atlee said, “I’m so sorry, gentlemen. My son has taken the loss of his father very hard. But that is no excuse for such rudeness.”
Williams finished his coffee. “Think nothing of it, Mrs. Forsyth. We wish we’d been here, too. Now we need to get riding. Our captain is expecting us in Waco.”
“Certainly, gentlemen. It was my honor to serve you.”