CHAPTER 25
I can’t tell you how weary I am of riding this trail,” Anson Kelly said. “Seems every time I do, something bad occurs.” He, Dalton, and Sheriff Langston had decided they should scout out a place to await the arrival of Colonel Abernathy’s hands. At the meeting in Profer’s office it had been agreed that it needed to be a good distance from town.
Most of the landscape was flat or marked by gently rolling hills, offering no place a group of men and horses could hide. Only when they neared Luisa’s roadhouse did Langston have an idea. “Out back of her place,” he said, “there’s a small creek bed and its banks are cut pretty deep. I think a dozen or so men and horses could wait there with little chance of being seen. As I recall, there’s also some mesquite trees that would provide cover.
“My only concern is that if Miss Luisa gets word of our plan, she’ll alert the Colonel. She’s a powerfully mean old woman.”
“Why would she tell him?” Kelly asked.
“She’d figure he might pay for her information. Money’s all she ever thinks about, even in her sleep I expect.”
“What if we offered to pay her to stay silent, maybe even suggest she close up and take herself a brief vacation?” Dalton said.
“I fear we’d be taking a risk.”
“Well, we might have to. All we can do is go in and speak to her.”
“I’ve got to admit, she does cook up fine tamales,” the sheriff said.
He had misjudged Luisa’s utter disdain for Raymond Abernathy. Not only was he always rude and dismissive to her when he visited the roadhouse, but he’d still not paid her for her role in the kidnapping of the Rawlings boy. She also had suspicions that he or one of his men had taken her dog.
Her curses were in Spanish, but it was clear she had strong issues with the Colonel. Only after Sheriff Langston, whom she immediately recognized from his occasional meetings with Abernathy, assured her he felt the same way, did she warm to him. And then only slightly.
But by the time she delivered a heaping plate of tamales and tortillas to the table, she had agreed to keep their plan a secret in exchange for the five-dollar gold piece the sheriff placed in her hand. The men, however, failed to convince her that for her own safety it might be a good idea to visit her sister in Fort Worth for a few days.
“Por favor,” she said, “I wish to see what happens with my own eyes. The Colonel, he is a good customer, but not one I’m going to miss. I will pray he’s soon dead.”
After their meal, they walked down to look at the small ravine. Less than a hundred yards from the roadhouse, it was wide enough to provide a hiding place and the creek had dried to nothing more than a few shallow pools of water, barely enough for the horses to get drinks.
“This will work,” Kelly said, “as long as the old lady keeps her mouth shut.”
“She will,” Langston said. “I just showed her my badge and promised she’d wind up in jail if she goes back on her word. Plus, I told her I knew for certain that it was the Colonel himself who stole her dog.”
In town, Profer drove his buggy to the stockyards and began recruiting men to forgo their usual weekend visits to the Half Acre saloons and do battle with Colonel Abernathy and his hands. He was pleasantly surprised to be able to quickly hire a half-dozen bored cowboys eager to join in a fight.
“If my counting is correct,” he told Keene, “we’ll have fifteen, including those I’ve already hired as guards. In the event Mr. Dalton agrees, we can leave the sheriff and his deputies in town to watch over things in case any of Abernathy’s men were to make it this far. I want to be assured your establishment isn’t harmed, nor mine for that matter.”
“I’ll be going with Ben and them,” Duke said.
Profer smiled and rested a hand on Keene’s shoulder. “I think you’ll have a difficult time persuading them to allow it. My assumption is they would prefer that two old fools like ourselves stay out of their way.”
“I can’t just sit here,” Duke said as he brushed the lawyer’s hand away. “If you’ll recall, I need to settle up for my barn nearly getting burned down. I’m owed.”
“I suspect we can find something useful for us to do,” Profer said, “though for the time being I think we would be wise to keep it to ourselves.”
A puzzled look crossed Duke’s face. “I’m still going to invite myself,” he said.
“Then, sir, I fear you will be gravely disappointed.”
As they spoke, neither had been aware of Mandy Rawlings standing in the doorway of the livery, listening. “I want to help,” she said. “Just tell me what I can do.”
Profer smiled at Keene. “See,” he said, “our own little army is fast growing.”
As the day of the planned mission neared, Raff Bailey was increasingly nervous. The Colonel, disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm in the bunkhouse and fearing a revolt, had threatened anyone who thought of breaking ranks with a bullet to his head. “I’ll tolerate no disloyalty,” he had said during one of the endless planning meetings he conducted.
Bailey watched his boss’s grip on reality fade, then completely disappear. The Colonel had started drinking heavily again and rarely slept. If he wasn’t pacing in his office, he was standing on the porch of the ranch house, muttering to himself and staring out at something no one else could see. He had worn the same clothes for days and pushed aside any food the cook offered.
When the woman from the roadhouse arrived with a pistol on her hip, demanding the return of a dog Bailey knew nothing about, he knew all vestiges of sanity had vacated the Shooting Star.
“Tell Señor Abernathy I wish to speak to him,” she said. “Pronto.”
To get past the guards, she had explained that she was delivering tamales to the Colonel.
Abernathy staggered onto the porch and for a moment didn’t recognize the overweight woman wearing a ragged serape and a floppy black hat. When he did, he wanted to know what she was doing on his ranch.
“I’ve come for my dog,” she said, her words slightly slurred.
Bailey couldn’t decide who was more drunk, Luisa or the Colonel.
“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” Abernathy said.
“You stole my dog. First, you refuse to pay me for what I did for you, which is bad enough, then you take my dog. You are a pitiful excuse for a man.”
Abernathy’s temper exploded. “Get out of here. Go. Vamonos.”
Luisa spat curses in Spanish and drew her pistol. The Colonel was laughing until she pulled the trigger. He screamed and grabbed at his thigh as blood began to run down the leg of his pants and into his boot. For a moment he stood like a statue, stunned, then weakly braced himself against the door. By the time Luisa mounted her horse and was riding away, he was writhing in pain, unable to hear her parting threat.
“Return my dog or the next time I will kill you,” she called out.
Abernathy lay on the porch, pale and delirious. “What dog?” he said. “I got no dog. Don’t even like dogs.” His last words before passing out were to demand someone bring him his bottle of tequila and get the doctor.
Bailey was already on his way to the barn to saddle his horse.
Dalton was just leaving the doctor’s office after paying Rawlings a visit when he nearly collided with the ranch hand. “I’m in a rush to speak with Doc Thorndale,” Raff said, “but when I’m done I’d like me and you to talk.”
“We’ve got coffee over at the livery,” Ben said.
It felt strange, offering such a casual invitation to one of the Colonel’s men, someone who soon might attempt to kill him. Yet the two men were sitting together on Duke’s bench as Bailey described the bizarre scene that had played out at the ranch.
“Abernathy going to be okay?”
“All I know is he was bleeding pretty bad when I left to fetch the doctor,” Bailey said. “My guess is he’s too ornery to die.”
In truth, the Colonel’s condition didn’t concern Dalton, except to make him wonder what it might do to the Saturday plan he’d been alerted to.
“Crazy, ain’t it? Poor ol’ Doc Thorndale doesn’t know which way to turn. In his office, he’s got a fellow who was beat up out at the Shooting Star. Now, he’s on his way out there to tend to the person who ordered that beating.”
“Doctors don’t swear allegiances,” Ben said. “Their only job is to heal folks, then let God decide what side to be on.”
Bailey drained the last of his coffee. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to come to town,” he said. “You know something’s about to happen, and I’m wondering if you’ve got any suggestion as to how it might be avoided.”
“It’s your boss who started all this.”
“I know. I know. And now he’s so angry and out of his mind that there’s no reasoning with him. I don’t mind telling you, he scares me flat to death.”
“Any chance him now being laid up might give him pause?”
“As long as he’s got a breath remaining, he’s going to see to it you’re a dead man. You and all who are on your side.”
“So he’s still planning to bring the fight here.” Dalton stopped short of admitting he was aware of the date Abernathy had set.
Raff nodded. “There’s not a soul out at the ranch who wants to be involved, me included, but, yes, he’s made up his mind. What little is left of it.” He also stopped short of mentioning the Colonel’s planned schedule.
“Too bad the roadhouse lady was so drunk her aim wasn’t better,” Dalton said.
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“To answer your question,” Ben said, “I see no way for this to have a peaceful ending.”
“I fear you’re right,” Raff said as he tossed the dregs from his cup. “I want you to know I’ve got no personal bad feelings toward you. I’ve thought of just hightailing it out of here—so have a lot of others—but if we were to do so the Colonel would just have us hunted down and shot. He’s said as much. We’re left with no choice in the matter.
“I best be on my way and catch up with the doctor.”
Dalton watched as he walked away, struggling with the insane thought that they might soon be shooting at one another.
Duke approached and Ben told him of the shooting that had occurred at the ranch. “I don’t reckon there’s any way things can get much crazier,” he said, chuckling for the first time in several days. “Too bad the old lady didn’t first consult Kelly and take dynamite along with her.”
Dalton briefly smiled at the suggestion, then turned serious. “As long as Abernathy’s still alive,” he said, “nothing’s changed. We’ve still got a fight on our hands.”
Keene left him sitting on the bench. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said as he headed down the street. He needed to visit with Shelby Profer.
At the ranch house, the maid had gotten Abernathy to his bed and was applying pressure to the wound when the doctor arrived. She had a pile of bloodstained pillows beneath the injured leg and was trying to convince her boss to forgo more tequila and sip water from the glass she held to his lips. His forehead was shiny with sweat and his breathing shallow. Delirious, he kept calling for a dog.
“Normally,” the doctor said, “I’d advise against it, but in these circumstances I suggest you allow him more alcohol. The less aware he is of what’s about to take place, the better.”
He cut away the bloody pants leg and removed a set of instruments from his bag as the maid washed the badly swollen thigh. “The bullet needs to come out as quickly as possible to avoid blood poisoning setting in.”
The Colonel screamed as Doc Thorndale poured alcohol into the torn flesh, then passed out.
“As much as I hate to,” the doctor said once he’d removed the bullet and stitched the wound, “I’ll stay the night to make sure he recovers.”
The maid left to find the cook and ask that she prepare a meal for the doctor.
The first hint of daylight was showing through the nearby window when Abernathy woke with a loud cough, followed by a pained grunt. He looked over at the doctor who was dozing in a chair and called his name. “I assume I’ll live,” he said.
Dr. Thorndale rubbed sleep from his eyes, stood, and stretched without replying.
As the maid arrived and began fussing with his pillows, the Colonel eased himself into a sitting position. “Has anybody found that crazy old woman and killed her yet?”
The doctor made little attempt to hide his disdain as he gathered his equipment into his bag to leave. “You’ll be fine,” he said, “since no arteries were damaged. I would suggest you remain in bed and keep the leg elevated for a week or so. Attempting to walk before that might very well tear away the stitches and cause more bleeding. I’ve instructed your maid about regularly changing the dressing. Unless you have questions, I’ll be on my way.” Without waiting for a reply, he was out the door.
No sooner was he gone than Abernathy was yelling at the maid, telling her to find Raff Bailey and bring him to his bedside.
“If I was a praying man,” Bailey told one of the cowhands as he left the bunkhouse, “I’d be asking that the Colonel’s going to tell me he’s decided to call things off until he’s feeling better.”
Such would not be the case.