“Jim, we’re gonna be way outgunned,” Rick Lewis worried as he and the Ranger galloped their horses toward the Rafter Q.
“I’m trustin’ we won’t be,” Jim replied. “I figure if we can slip up on ‘em and arrest Jeffers and Webber, we shouldn’t have too much trouble with the others. They’re mostly cowpunchers, not gunfighters or outlaws, so they’re not gonna put up much of a fight, especially once they realize Jeffers is responsible for kil-lin’ his own wife. He nodded at Lewis’ rifle and grinned, adding, “If you’re half as quick with that thing as your boss was, we won’t be outgunned in any event.”
“I sure hope you’re right,” Lewis wanly smiled.
“If it’s worryin’ you that much, I can go on alone,” Jim responded. “I’ll sure understand, and there won’t be any hard feelin’s.”
“Not a chance,” Lewis firmly stated. “I’ve got a score to settle with Jeffers too. He’s as much to blame as John for tryin’ to frame me for your killin’.”
“Thanks,” Jim answered, “And speakin’ of your boss, I’m appointin’ you actin’ sheriff of Terrell County. I’m sure that’ll be made permanent once every-thin’s settled.”
“I appreciate that. I won’t let you down, Lieutenant.”
“Best save that thanks until after we see what happens at the Rafter Q,” Jim grinned. “If you take a slug in your guts, you might change your mind.”
The two lawmen rode the rest of the way in silence, reining in their horses to check their weapons just before they reached Jeffers’ ranch.
“Settin’ here ain’t gonna finish things,” Jim said, as he took a swallow of water from his canteen. “You about ready, Rick?’
“Ready as I’m gonna be,” the deputy replied. “Let’s get those hombres.”
A few moments later, they topped the rise overlooking the Rafter Q. As they urged their horses down the slope, a bullet tore Jim’s Stetson from his head, followed by the sharp crack of a rifle. He and Lewis dove from their saddles, grabbing their rifles as they rolled into the ditches on opposite sides of the road.
“So much for slippin’ up on ‘em,” Lewis grimly shouted, “They were waitin’ on us.”
“So I noticed,” Jim yelled back. “You all right?”
“Yeah. How about you?”
“Same here.”
“How we gonna get at those hombres?” Rick yelled. “Our horses ran off.”
“No, they didn’t,” Jim answered, “At least Sam didn’t. He knows enough to get outta the way when bullets start flyin’. Your buckskin probably followed him. Sam’ll come runnin’ when I whistle him up. Meantime, let’s see what we’re up against.” He carefully lifted his head to peer over the edge of the ditch, ducking as a bullet whined just over him.
“Got ‘em spotted. Two of ‘em, anyway,” he noted. “One in the hayloft of the main barn, and another one behind a rainbarrel alongside it. You think you can cover me with that pump-gun of yours while I try’n nail the one in the loft?”
“You betcha’,” Lewis grimly replied, “Just say the word.”
“Now!” Jim shouted. As the deputy rose up, rifle blazing, Jim rolled out of the ditch and onto his belly, aimed, and fired once. The gunman in the hayloft clutched his chest, half-rose, then toppled out of the barn to land with a sodden thud in the dusty yard.
The slugs from Lewis’ rapid firing sent water spurting into the air as they tore through the rainbarrel and ripped into the rifleman behind. The gunman staggered from behind the barrel and spun to the dirt. “Two less we’ve gotta worry about, anyway,” Lewis grunted in satisfaction. “I cover you good enough?”
“Yeah, I should say so,” Jim replied, as he rolled back into the ditch, “but roustin’ the rest of those jiggers outta there won’t be quite so easy.”
“You got any particular plan in mind?” Lewis queried.
“We’ll belly up close as we can, then I’ll try’n talk Jeffers into surren-derin’.not that I expect he will.”
“I’d say that’s a pretty safe assumption,” Lewis laconically agreed. “And you can be sure Webber won’t give himself up.”
“Then if they don’t, we’ll just have to blast ‘em outta there.” Jim flatly stated.
“Or get our own guts blasted out,” Lewis retorted.
“Could happen that way,” Jim conceded. “Only one way to know for sure. We’re gonna try for that embankment along the fenceline. Not much cover, but it’s better’n nothin’. Keep low until we reach it. Now let’s move.” He started pulling himself along by his elbows, rifle shoved in front of him. Across the road, Lewis followed his lead.
The lawmen stuck to the relatively good cover of the ditches until they were within shouting distance of the ranch. “Just take it easy, Rick,” Jim ordered, “While I see if these hombres want to palaver.” He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted. “Jeffers! Mason Jeffers! This is Lieutenant Blawcyzk of the Texas Rangers! I want to talk with you!”
After a moment, Jeffers called back from the shelter of the house. “I know who you are, Blawcyzk. What do you want, Ranger? I can hazard a pretty good guess.”
“I’m here to place you and Gordon Robert Webber under arrest for the murders of Ranger Mike Thompson and your wife, Rebecca, and with conspiracy to commit several more killin’s, along with various other charges. I’ve got no quarrel with the rest of your men. If you and Webber surrender peaceably, I’ll guarantee the others are free to go. What d’ya say?”
“I say you can go to blazes Ranger!” Jeffers screamed. As he did, a veritable hail of lead ripped through the air. “You think you can take me, Lieutenant?” Jeffers challenged.
“Guess we’ll just have to find out,” Jim shouted back, leaping to his feet and racing for the dubious cover of the fenceline. He levered and fired his rifle as he ran, his first shot missing its target, the second plowing into the chest of “Liver” Wurst, knocking him backwards over the verandah rail. Jim ducked behind a fencepost, dropping to his knees to reload his Winchester.
As Lewis took aim at another outlaw, a thick-bodied, sluggish vaquero called Banshee Ortiz, his Lightning jammed. The deputy dropped his rifle, yanked the knife at his belt from its sheath, and threw it before the slow-moving Ortiz could bring his gun into play. The long-bladed skinning knife took Ortiz just below his breastbone, plunging deep into the renegade’s upper abdomen. Ortiz screeched in agony as he grabbed futilely at the knife in his gut, then pitched to his face. His screech gave way to a final grunt as the impact with the ground drove Lewis’ knife even deeper into Ortiz’s body. Lewis dove behind a woodpile, frantically working to free his rifle.
Several Rafter Q hands were on the ranchhouse verandah, shooting at the two lawmen. As Al Cady took aim at Blawcyzk’s chest, Lewis finally managed to clear the jammed Lightning and swept the verandah with .44-40 slugs. Cady was slammed against the wall with a bullet in his chest, and men yelped in pain and dove for cover as lead bit their hides. When several others concentrated their fire on the stack of wood, Lewis raced away, zig-zagging across the yard and diving behind a trough to reload.
Lewis had barely finished reloading when a lanky, sallow-faced outlaw known only as Domingo emerged from the bunkhouse. “Got you at last, deputy,” Domingo declared as he leveled a .44 Remington at Lewis’ stomach. “I’ve been waitin’ a long time for this.” He and Lewis pulled triggers at the same moment, Domingo’s slug tearing a path along Lewis’ left ribs. Working his rifle as fast as possible, Lewis put three slugs into Domingo’s belly. The outlaw doubled over, hands clamped to his middle as he stumbled toward the deputy, then sagged to his knees and toppled onto his side.
Jim had made the ranchhouse verandah, and as Greg Saez leaned from a window to gun him down Jim fired twice, both bullets tearing through Saez’s right shoulder. As Saez sagged, Jim dove under the sill as more bullets from inside the house searched him out. As he rolled onto his back, he saw Rick Lewis stagger when a bullet from Matt Barton’s gun tore through the back of his leg. Lewis half spun as his leg gave way and he started to crumple. Barton put a second bullet in the deputy’s chest, slamming him backwards. The deputy managed to level his rifle and fire as he fell, putting two bullets into Barton’s chest.
Jim threw his empty Winchester aside, yanking his Colt from its holster as he rose to a crouch, then burst through the door of the house. Waiting for him, framed in the kitchen doorway, was Gordy Bob Webber. Webber’s right hand rested on his belt buckle, ready to jerk the bird’s-head grip Colt from the cross-draw holster on his left hip as he snarled, “I said I was gonna put my slugs in your guts the next time we met, Ranger. Get ready to die real slow and painful.”
“Not today,” Jim growled, thumbing back the hammer of his Colt as, with blinding swiftness, Webber pulled his gun from its holster. Jim lifted his thumb and sent a bullet into the center of Webber’s chest. Webber reflexively sent one bullet into the floor, then Jim fired again, this shot taking the outlaw in his left breast pocket, spinning him around to smash face-first into the wall. Webber slowly slid to the floor, his blood leaving a scarlet trail on the wallpaper.
“Don’t…don’t shoot, Ranger,” Mason Jeffers quavered from the parlor. “I know when I’m licked.”
“Then raise your hands over your head, right now!” Jim ordered.
“Yessir, Ranger.” As the Rafter Q’s owner began to comply, he snaked a hand inside his shirt, coming up with a short-barreled Smith and Wesson. Jim fired as Jeffers brought the gun around, his bullet slamming hard into the rancher’s hip. Jeffers dropped back onto the sofa, moaning in pain.
As Jim walked up to the wounded Jeffers, a small caliber pistol barked and the Ranger arched in agony, grabbing his back as a bullet tore into it and sliced along his ribs. He whirled, aiming his Colt at Leah Collins just as she readied to send another slug into his back.
“I’d drop that gun if I were you, lady,” he warned.
“You wouldn’t shoot a woman,” Leah replied, holding her gun aimed shakily at his chest.
“After you just plugged me in the back?” Jim answered. “I wouldn’t bet a hat on it. Now drop that gun!”
Leah started to squeeze the trigger of her pistol, then, with a sigh of frustration, lowered her weapon. Jim lunged and ripped the gun from her grasp. “Get over there on the couch next to Jeffers where I can keep an eye on the both of you,” he ordered. He leveled his Colt at the kitchen doorway as two Rafter Q hands appeared there, hands in the air.
“Don’t shoot, Ranger,” one of the men pleaded. “I’m Jeff Pardee, and my pard here’s Hoyt Brandon. We didn’t want any part of this. Neither did the rest of the boys that are still out there. They sent us to tell you we’re surrenderin’. You can see we’re unarmed.” Neither man had a gunbelt buckled around his hips. “Looks like you can use a little help here,” Pardee added.
“Reckon I can at that,” Jim conceded, his gun still pointed at the men, “Brandon, keep an eye on these two while I check on my pardner. “Pardee, come with me. Just remember, either of you try double-crossin’ me and I’ll put a slug in your guts.”
“We won’t,” Brandon promised. “Is it true what you said out there? The boss really did kill Mrs. Jeffers?”
“Not himself, but he had it done,” Jim explained. “I don’t have time to get into that now. Be right back.”
Wincing against the pain shooting through his back, blood running down his side and over his hip, Jim stumbled down the porch steps and across the yard to where Rick Lewis lay on his back, a crimson stain slowly spreading across his light tan shirt. To the Ranger’s relief, Lewis’ eyes flickered open. The deputy weakly gasped, “We get ‘em…all, Jim? Who warned ‘em we were comin’?”
“The ones that count,” Blawcyzk wearily replied, as he knelt alongside the deputy, took his bandanna from his neck, folded it, and stuffed it inside Lewis’ shirt to hopefully staunch the flow of blood. “Rest of ‘em are out of the fight. And Leah Collins beat us out here to let Jeffers know we were comin’. That’s enough questions. You just take it easy. Hold that bandanna in place if you can. I’ll get you patched up and to the doc’s muy pronto.”
“Sure. I’ll do just that,” Lewis whispered as his eyes closed and his chin dropped to his chest.
“Anybody around here know doctorin’?” Jim demanded of Pardee.
“Yeah. The cook,” the cowboy replied.
“Then get her fast. And get a couple of buckboards ready quick as you can. Mrs. Collins’ buggy is around here somewhere. We can use that too.”
“Sure, Ranger,” Pardee agreed. “Say, you mean that about us bein’ free to go?”
“Once I get everythin’ cleared up, yeah,” Jim promised. “Now get movin’.”
As Jim stepped back into the parlor, he found Brandon had taken some curtain cords from the parlor drapes and used them to tie Jeffers and Leah Collins hand and foot. “Figured if you saw I’d hogtied these two you’d know I wasn’t gonna try and pull anythin’ on you, Ranger,” he grinned.
“I appreciate that,” Jim replied. “Brandon, there’s several wounded men out there, as well as the dead ones. Pardee needs some help gettin’ the injured into wagons so they can get to the doctor. Get the rest of the men and give him a hand. The dead we’ll just have to put in the barn for now, and cover ‘em best we can. Let me know as soon as you’re ready.”
“What about these two?” Brandon nodded toward Jeffers and Collins. “And it appears you could use a mite of patchin’ up yourself, Ranger.”
“I’ll be just fine,” Jim assured him, “And Jeffers can wait until the others are cared for.”
“Gotta agree with you, seein’ what he did to poor Mrs. Jeffers. She was a fine woman. Mace, you should be strung up!” Brandon snapped.
“Don’t get any ideas about a lynchin’,” Jim warned. “Remember what happened the last time that was tried. Now hurry up so we can get movin’.”
“We’ll be ready to roll right quick,” Brandon promised. “Won’t take long at all.”
As Brandon pushed open the door, Mace Jeffers complained, “Lieutenant, I’m bleedin’ to death here.”
“I can’t have much sympathy for you, Jeffers,” Jim answered. “But I’ll make sure you live to stand trial.” He pulled a heavy drape from a window, ripped it in two, and tied it across the rancher’s hip. “There, that’ll hold you until we get to town.” he stated.
“What about me?” Leah whimpered.
“You’re not hurt,” Jim snapped. “So keep still unless you want me to gag you.”
“That’s no way to talk to a lady,” Jeffers said. “Leah, once this is all cleared up, I promise we’ll be together. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Of course, Mace darling,” Leah purred assuringly. “That’s what I’ve always wanted.”
“I wouldn’t count on that, Jeffers,” Jim broke in. “Seein’ as she fed John Crowe the same line of bull.” Jeffers stiffened visibly, eyes wide with surprise at this revelation. As the banker’s widow burst out with a string of most unladylike oaths, Jim concluded, “She was playin’ the both of you for fools.”