CHAPTER 8
When he returned to the livery, Ben was surprised to see Lanny still up. He had just put Keene’s mule, Sister, in the corral out back.
“Take yourself an evening ride?” Dalton said.
Lanny nodded. “I’d have asked Mr. Keene if it was okay, but he was done in bed, asleep. I had an urgent purpose that we need to talk about.”
“I’m listening,” Ben said as he eased the saddle off Dolly and led her toward a stall.
“When you left earlier, I was up in the loft watching you ride off,” Lanny said. “It appeared you were being followed by somebody. So I waited until he had distanced himself a bit, then trailed behind. After he seen you go into the hotel, he hid across the street, just watching and waiting. Stayed there, standing in the dark like a big statue, until he saw you preparing to leave.”
“Was it anybody you’ve seen before?”
“I didn’t get close enough to see his face, but the hat he was wearing looked familiar. Like one of those that farmers like my daddy favor—brownish, with a big, floppy brim that covers the back of the neck and keeps the sun off when they’re plowing. If it’s who I’m thinking it is, he works for a friend of Sheriff Langston.”
“Would that friend be a man who calls himself the Colonel?”
“Yep, that would be him.”
The following morning, Ben was dressed and Dolly saddled before Duke poured his first cup of coffee. “They finally run you out of town?” he said.
“Not yet. I’m just thinking Dolly could use herself some exercise and fresh air, so we’re going to take us a ride.”
“Heading any place in particular?”
“Know of a rancher who calls himself the Colonel?”
Duke’s eyes widened. “Whoa, what interest, may I ask, have you got in Colonel Ray Abernathy? He’s somebody I’d strongly advise you to steer clear of. I don’t even like having the man come here for me to shoe his horses.”
“I understand he’s got a big spread somewhere around here. Know where it is?”
“You right sure you want to know?” There was genuine concern in Keene’s voice. “I’d admire to know what it is you’re thinking.”
Dalton told him what Lanny had seen the previous evening. “I’m just curious to know why somebody’s tailing me,” Ben said. “Just thought I’d pay a neighborly visit.”
Duke pointed at Dalton’s belt. “If you’re planning on wearing that badge, you ain’t gonna appear very neighborly.”
“Just tell me how to get there.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, “Head out south, toward the Glen Rose Valley. It’s maybe a couple of hours if you pace your horse properly. Abernathy’s place is called the Shooting Star, don’t ask me why. Just look for a whole lot of cattle.”
Seeing that Dalton was determined to make the trip, Duke filled a canteen and handed it up to him. “I’m not making light when I say to be careful,” he said. Then he shook his head. “Just when I was finally getting you healed up.”
Dalton rode past the jail to the food stand, ordered two sandwiches for the trail, and told the cook that he’d spoken with Lanny Butler. “He’s doing fine. I’ll see that he comes to visit,” he said before heading south.
It felt good to be away from the city. The morning air was still crisp and the gentle breeze had a sweet smell. The open spaces and a quiet interrupted only by the rhythmic sound of Dolly’s hooves against the caliche soil made Dalton homesick. As he rode, he found himself thinking about his dog Poncho and wondering how things were back on the farm.
Soon after he’d stopped to eat his lunch and allow Dolly to drink from a small stream, he reached a rise that gave him his first glimpse of his destination. In the distance, cattle mingled and smoke rose from the ranch house chimney.
At the entrance to the Shooting Star he was stopped by a young man with a rifle resting on one shoulder. “I’ll ask you to state your business,” he called out as Dalton approached. When he saw the badge on the rider’s belt, no further explanation was necessary. The guard tipped his hat and pointed to the road that wound toward the ranch headquarters.
Finding Colonel Abernathy wasn’t difficult. Leaning against the rail of a holding pen where calves were being branded, he wore a pearl-handled pistol in a hand-tooled scabbard on his hip and was watching the activity intently. It was obvious that he was the man in charge as he puffed on a cigar and silently looked on while everyone else was busy with the task at hand. He only turned away when he saw Dalton walking toward him.
Flicking ashes from his cigar with one hand, he extended the other to shake the arriving visitor’s hand. “Don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he said.
Dalton introduced himself, noticing that the Colonel was also eyeing his badge. Before he asked, Ben explained that he was not there as an officer of the law. “I’ve got no jurisdiction in these parts,” he said.
“Good to know you’re not here to arrest me,” Abernathy said. As he spoke, a couple of cowhands took their position a few yards away from their boss. One wore a hat that looked much like the one Lanny had described.
“So, what is it that brings you out to the Shooting Star?” Abernathy said.
“A bit of curiosity,” said Ben, “and the need to get me some fresh air.”
“Well, you’re welcome to all the fresh air we’ve got. The Good Lord has supplied us with plenty to spare. What is it you’re curious about?”
Dalton turned from the Colonel and focused his attention on the cowhands. “Mostly, I’m wondering why it is I’ve been so tormented since I got to Fort Worth. Folks have been downright inhospitable. I’ve been attacked, beat up, and had my hat stomped. The place I’m staying was set on fire, I’ve been told to go back where I came from, and last night somebody—who’s not too good at his job—wasted a good deal of time following me.”
“Seems you’ve been having an unfortunate run of bad luck,” the Colonel said.
“Ain’t that the truth.”
In the corral, a calf bawled as an SS branding iron burned into its hindquarter. “Always like hearing that sound,” Abernathy said as he watched the young animal struggle to its feet and hurry away. “It tells me that little fella there now officially belongs to me.”
The colonel again looked at Dalton’s badge. “What is it brings you this way? Chasing down some outlaw on the run?”
“Nope, just seeing what I can do to help a friend.”
“From what you’re saying, it sounds like this friend of yours might be more trouble than he’s worth.”
Dalton tipped his hat and turned to walk away. “I best be on my way and leave you fellas to get on with your business,” he said. Stopping after a few steps, he turned to the cowhand who had moved to stand at the Colonel’s side. He was a big man, towering over his boss, with broad shoulders and menacing, coal-black eyes.
“Nice hat,” Dalton said.
As he rode away, Ben patted Dolly’s neck and bent to whisper in her ear. “Ol’ girl,” he said, “I think we got our message delivered. Now, let’s hope we can make it back to the livery without getting me shot.”
At the corral, Colonel Abernathy waited until Dalton was out of earshot before he spoke. “That’s the last I ever want to see of that man,” he said. He was glaring at the cowhands. “And if I can’t depend on you boys to see to it, I’ll find someone who can.” He angrily tossed his cigar to the ground and crushed it with his boot.
From behind him came the plaintive bawling of another branded calf.
Sheriff Langston was standing in front of the dimly lit jail cell, hatless, his arms folded across his chest. He tried to ignore the stench as he watched John Rawlings sleep, inhaling and exhaling in short, quick breaths. The mind-numbing weeks of being locked up had taken their toll.
The stubble on his face was fast growing into an unkempt beard and as he lay shirtless, the outline of his ribs had begun to show. Even from a distance, his body odor was repellent.
“Time to wake up, Mr. Rawlings,” the sheriff said. “We need to talk.”
Rawlings jumped at the sound, coughed, then slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. He squinted toward the dark hallway at the form that had called his name. It took him a minute to recognize the sheriff. Though weak and ill, he remained defiant.
“Come to shoot me?” he said. “Or just beat on me some more?”
Langston ignored him, offering only a long silence. Finally, he shook his head and said, “I’m just here to see how you’re doing, John. Want to be sure you’re comfortable.”
Rawlings lay back down, turning his face to the wall. “Go away,” he mumbled.
“Not before we have us a conversation. I won’t bother you for long. I’ve just got a question I need to ask.”
When he got no reply, he continued. “I need you to tell me about this fellow Dalton. He’s become a bother of late, snooping around, asking about things that ain’t none of his business. Says he’s here because of his concern for you. That sound right? You got a friend who carries a badge and sticks his nose in other folks’ business?”
Rawlings turned back to face the sheriff. “I didn’t ask him to come.”
“Somebody did.”
“I got no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Okay, John, I just felt the need to ask. I’ll let you get back to your sleeping,” Langston said as he turned to leave. “Oh, I meant to mention that your wife recently came by, asking to see you. I’m sorry to say that I had to inform her no visiting is allowed with murderers.”
Rawlings spat across the cell toward the sheriff.
“Now, that ain’t hardly polite,” Langston said. “For acting out, I guess you’ll be doing without your supper.” His laughter echoed along the narrow hallway as he walked away.
In Langston’s office, his newly hired deputy sat on the corner of his desk.
Dexter Wilson had been surprised when Colonel Abernathy informed him he would be taking a break from his duties at the Shooting Star. Instead, he was told to ride to Fort Worth and report to Sheriff Langston and be sworn in.
As Wilson had gathered up his belongings and was leaving the bunkhouse, Abernathy waited outside for him. “This won’t be for long,” the Colonel said. “Just until a certain matter gets taken care of.” He slapped the cowboy on the back and broke into a wide grin. “I ’spect you’ll find it fun to be wearing a badge.
“You’re to do whatever the sheriff tells you. But bear in mind, I’m still your boss.”
The chain of command had already been made clear to Langston. So had the job Deputy Wilson was to carry out.