Texas Ranger Clay Taggart reined his black and white overo to a halt atop a low hill. The view took in the settlement a short distance south. Taggart swung out of the saddle and pulled off his Stetson. He lifted his canteen from the saddlehorn, opened it, and poured most of the contents into the hat. He placed the hat in front of his horse’s muzzle. The gelding drank greedily.
“That’ll be Uvalde just ahead, Mike,” he told the horse. “We’re headin’ into Travis Burnham’s home grounds. Mebbe we’ll finally catch up with him. Boy howdy, he’s led us a chase for fair.”
Taggart had been trailing the renegade for almost two months, from San Marcos, where Burnham had robbed and killed two cattle buyers, through Boerne, where he’d robbed the bank, badly wounding the clerk, to Kerrville. Taggart had missed finding the outlaw in that town by
two days. Word had reached Burnham a Ranger was on his trail, so he left town on the run.
From Kerrville, Burnham had headed almost due south to Bandera, where he’d robbed another bank, this time killing a deputy. When Taggart reached Bandera, he was informed Burnham was evidently continuing south toward Uvalde, where he had kin.
Taggart allowed his pinto to finish drinking, then took a swallow from the canteen for himself. He climbed back into the saddle.
“Let’s go, boy.”
He kicked the horse into a lope.
Twenty minutes later, Taggart rode into Uvalde. He drew abreast of the school just as a group of boys boiled out from behind the building, several of them yelling encouragement to a pair of ten year olds, who were fighting. One landed a blow to his opponent’s chin, knocking him backwards. He wrapped his arms around his adversary’s waist and drove his head into his stomach. The two boys rolled in the dirt, fists flailing.
Taggart spun Mike and leapt from the saddle. He reached the combatants in two strides, grabbed them by the shoulders, and pulled them to their feet.
“Whoa, take it easy. You’re stirrin’ up quite a commotion. Settle down,” he ordered.
“Lemme go, Mister!” the smaller boy, towheaded, with light blue eyes, ordered.
“Not until you quiet down!” Taggart reiterated. “That goes for both of you,” he added, when the other boy tried to twist out of his grasp.
Realizing the futility of further attempts to break free of Taggart’s grip, the boys quit their squirming. They gazed up sullenly at the Ranger.
“Now, what’s this all about?” Taggart asked.
“Nothin’,” one muttered.
“It didn’t look like nothin’ to me,” Taggart responded. “In fact, it appeared you two were tryin’ your darndest to kill each other. Let’s try this again. If I let you loose, will you behave?”
“I reckon,” the towhead replied.
“Same here,” the second, lankier, with dark brown hair and eyes, conceded.
“That’s more like it.”
Taggart released the pair.
“What’s your names?”
“Bobby. Bobby Madison,” the taller boy answered.
“Jesse Collins,” the towhead responded.
“Good. Now we’re gettin’ somewhere. So what was that ruckus all about?”
“Bobby claims Freckles is no good!” Jesse exclaimed.
“You’d better make that a mite clearer,” Taggart urged. “Who’s Freckles?”
“My horse. That’s him over there.”
Jesse pointed to a scrubby bay pinto cowpony tied to the school’s hitchrail.
“Bobby said Freckles isn’t good for anything just because he’s spotted. I couldn’t let him say that about my horse!”
“I’m tellin’ the truth,” Bobby insisted. “My dad’s the smartest rancher in these parts, and he says pintos ain’t good for nothin’! Only Indians think they’re worth anything.”
“That’s not true! You take that back, Bobby!” Jesse demanded.
“Just simmer down,” Taggart ordered. He turned to Bobby.
“You claim pintos are worthless, Bobby?”
“That’s right. Everyone know it,” Bobby retorted.
“You’re wrong, son. I’ll show you,” Taggart answered. He gave a soft whistle. Mike trotted up to him and nuzzled his hand.
“You see this pinto? This is my horse, Mike. He and I’ve been trail pards a long time. He’s one of the smartest broncs you’ll ever meet. Watch. Give Bobby a kiss, Mike.”
The big gelding lowered his head and licked the boy’s face.
“Yuck!” Bobby exclaimed, wiping his cheek. The other boys laughed.
“Now give Jesse a hug, Mike.”
Mike twisted his head to the side, then laid it on Jesse’s shoulder.
“Good boy, Mike,” Taggart praised. He dug in his pocket for a peppermint, which he gave to the horse.
“Mike’ll also shake hands,” Taggart added.
“Almost any cayuse can learn tricks, but that doesn’t mean he’s worth much, Mister,” one of the other boys objected.
“What might your name be, son?” Taggart asked him.
“Joe Perkins.”
“You’re right, Joe,” Taggart agreed. “But anyone who says the color or pattern of a horse’s coat determines whether he’s a good mount is dead wrong. Mike’s the finest horse I’ve ever owned. He’s saved my life more
than once. Besides, a Texas Ranger has to ride the best horse he can possibly find.”
“You’re a Texas Ranger, Mister?” Jesse echoed.
“That’s right. Ranger Clay Taggart. Been a Ranger for quite a few years. Mike’s been with me for most of them. He’s taught me the color of a horse’s hide doesn’t matter. It’s the heart and guts under that hide which counts, just like with men. Mike’s got both. And a Ranger sure needs that, since his life often depends on his horse.”
“Well, mebbe I was wrong about all pintos,” Bobby admitted, “But that still doesn’t mean Jesse’s horse is a good one.”
“We’ll have to see about that,” Taggart replied. “Jess, bring your horse over here.”
“Sure thing, Mister Taggart!”
Jesse hurried to his horse, untied him, and brought him to the Ranger.
“Let me take a look at him,” Taggart said.
Taggart circled the small horse, studying him from every angle, picking up Freckles’ feet to examine his hooves, all the while speaking soothingly to the gelding. He stroked the horse’s neck, then looked into his eyes.
“Well, Mister Taggart?” Jesse demanded.
“Call me Clay, Jess. Or Ranger Clay. That goes for all of you.”
“But what about Freckles?” Jesse insisted.
“Yeah. Is he any good?” Bobby added. “Sure don’t look like much.”
“Freckles isn’t the best lookin’ bronc in Texas, that’s for certain,” Taggart answered. “But he’s got good legs and feet. Pretty deep chest, too. Most of all, he’s got a kindly eye. To me, that’s the most important thing in a horse. Jess, Freckles is a mount you can depend on. I’d bet my hat on it.”
“Gee, thanks, Ranger Clay. See, Bobby. I told you.”
“I guess I was wrong,” Bobby conceded. “Reckon I own you an apology, Jess, for what I said about your horse, and the fight.”
“Heck, I started that fight,” Jesse admitted. “Wasn’t all your fault, Bobby.”
He retied Freckles to the rail.
“I’d say neither of you needs to apologize,” Taggart told them. “Men disagree about horses all the time. Long as you shake hands you can put this behind you. How about it?”
“I reckon we can,” Jesse answered. “Friends again, Bobby?”
“Sure. Friends again.”
The boys shook hands.
“That’s settled. Now, I noticed a general store just up the road. Why don’t all of you skedaddle down there for some licorice? I’m buyin’,” Taggart grinned.
“You bet, Ranger Clay! Bobby exclaimed. “Let’s go!”
The boys headed for the store on the run.
“You handled that situation quite well, sir.”
Taggart looked around at the sound of that feminine voice. For the first time he noticed the schoolmarm. She was standing on the school’s porch, gazing with admiration at the Ranger.
“Why, thank you, ma’am,” Clay replied. “I was just tryin’ to break up that fight.”
“I appreciate what you did. That’s why I didn’t interfere. You had everything under control. And they’re not really bad boys. It’s just that Jesse’s family doesn’t have much, except their hardscrabble ranch, while Bobby’s family is fairly well-off. They own a large spread just outside town. But despite the impression you might have gotten from that fight, Bobby and Jesse are best friends.”
“Well, I was a boy myself once,” Taggart answered.
“I would imagine you were,” the teacher laughed.
“I guess that did sound pretty silly,” Taggart admitted. Without realizing it, he was staring at the pretty young woman. She was petite and blonde, with blue eyes the shade of cornflowers, her complexion the color of cream.
The conservative dark gray dress she wore couldn’t quite managed to conceal the curves of her well-formed figure. Her appearance contrasted with, yet perfectly complemented, the tall, brown-eyed, brown haired Taggart’s rugged looks.
“Are you going to introduce yourself, or stand there staring all afternoon?” she asked.
“I… I’m sorry, ma’am,” Taggart stammered, flushing with embarrassment. “I’m Texas Ranger Clay Taggart.”
“So I heard you tell the boys. I just wanted to hear your name again,” she teased. “My name is Lucy Squires.”
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Squires.”
“Please. Call me Lucy. Would you mind if I take a closer look at your horse? He’s quite beautiful.”
“Not at all. I’ll get him.”
Taggart picked up Mike’s reins and led his pinto to the teacher.
“He’s everything you said he is. He’s magnificent,” Lucy praised.
Mike stuck his nose in the middle of Clay’s back and shoved hard, knocking the Ranger off balance. Struggling to keep his feet, Taggart toppled against the schoolmarm, wrapping his arms around her to maintain
his equilibrium. He remained leaning against her a moment longer than necessary.
“I’m sorry again,” Taggart apologized, when he pulled himself back. “I don’t know what got into Mike. He knows better’n that.”
“He was just being fresh. I don’t mind,” Lucy smiled.
“He still needs to apologize. Tell the lady you’re sorry, Mike.”
Mike snorted.
“I mean it, boy.”
Mike nuzzled the teacher’s cheek.
“Thank you, Michael. I know you didn’t intend any harm. You’re a gentleman.”
Lucy patted the horse’s nose.
“He seems to like you,” Taggart observed. “But his name’s Mike.”
“I prefer to call him Michael. It fits him better. And the feeling is mutual. I like him a lot. I think I also like his owner,” Lucy answered. She gave Clay a smile which warmed his insides.
Taggart flushed, and changed the subject.
“I. figure I’d better get down to the store before those boys get in trouble.”
“Yes, you probably should,” Lucy agreed. “But perhaps we can visit again. Will you be in Uvalde long?”
“That depends on how long it takes to find the hombre I’m after. I’ll be here as long as it takes to corral him.”
“Who is that?”
“Travis Burnham.”
Lucy gasped.
“Travis Burnham?”
“Yes. Do you know him? He has kin in this area.”
“I’ve never met him, but I know his family. His mother died some time ago. His father and younger brother have a place south of here. They’re decent people. Travis supposedly isn’t anything like his relatives. I understand he’s an outlaw and killer. Please be careful, Clay.”
“Always am,” Taggart grinned. “Besides, I would like to have that visit you mentioned. Wouldn’t do to get my hide punctured before we can.”
Clay lingered for a moment.
“You should get to the store,” Lucy urged. “Those boys are expecting their licorice.”
“You’re right,” Taggart conceded. “I’ll be on my way.”
“Just remember that invitation stands. I expect to see you again, Ranger Clay Taggart.”
“You can count on that, Miss Lucy Squires,” Taggart promised. He swung into the saddle and heeled Mike into a slow jogtrot.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“I wonder what’s taking that Ranger so long?” Tad Martin questioned. “Bet he’s not gonna buy us any licorice after all.”
“He’ll be along,” Bobby assured him. “Appears to me he’s makin’ calf eyes at Miss Squires.”
“Don’t be dumb, Bobby,” Tad objected. “Rangers ain’t interested in gals. They’re too busy chasin’ renegades and Comanches.”
“You’re wrong about that,” Bobby retorted. “Rangers like gals as well as the next man. And Miss Squires sure is pretty. We’ve all said that. I reckon she caught Ranger Clay’s eye, all right.”
“Don’t matter,” Jesse said. “He’s comin’ now.”
Taggart walked Mike up to the store, dismounted, and looped the gelding’s reins over the hitchrail. He gave his horse another peppermint.
“You boys still waitin’ on that licorice?” he grinned.
“You bet’cha!” they exclaimed, in unison.
“Let’s go.”
Taggart led the group into the establishment. The storekeeper fixed him with a steady gaze.
“Howdy, stranger. I was about to chase these ruffians from in front of my store, but they told me a Texas Ranger was in town and had promised them some candy. I wasn’t sure whether to believe them, but I reckon you’re him. I’m Ezekiel Haskins, at your service.”
The sparkle in his hazel eyes and the broad smile on his face belied his harsh words.
“That’s right. I’m Ranger Clay Taggart. Howdy yourself.”
“Pleased to meet you. What type of candy would these boys like?”
“Licorice. Give me two sticks apiece for them, and two for myself. I’d also like about half that jar of peppermints for Mike.”
“Sure thing. Mike’s your pardner?” Haskins queried.
“I guess you could say that. Mike’s my horse,” Taggart explained. “He loves peppermints.”
“He’s not the first cayuse I’ve heard of who likes ‘em,” Haskins smiled. “I would imagine a Ranger’s horse is as much a partner to him as any human.”
“You’d be right,” Taggart agreed.
Haskins handed two licorice sticks to each of the boys and the Ranger, then filled a paper sack with peppermints.
“That will be sixteen cents for the licorice, and five cents for the peppermints. You owe me twenty-one cents, Ranger.”
“That’s fair.”
Taggart dug in his pocket, came up with a quarter, and handed it to the storekeeper. He received a pair of two cent pieces as change.
“Thank you. And please come again,” Haskins said.
“I’ll be by later for some supplies,” Taggart promised.
After the candies were paid for, Taggart herded the boys onto the porch. They gathered around him, gnawing on licorice.
“You’re a real Texas Ranger, right Clay?” Bobby asked.
“I sure am,” Taggart confirmed.
“Then you must’ve killed a whole lotta owlhoots.”
“Not that many,” Taggart replied. “I don’t like killin’ a man unless he forces my hand.”
“Bet you’ve got a real fast draw, too,” Bobby continued.
“Yeah. You’ve gotta be real fast with a sixgun to be a Ranger,” Jesse added. “I’ll wager you’ve outdrawn a lot of gunslingers, Ranger Clay.”
“Not at all,” Taggart demurred. “I’ve never drawn on a man yet.”
“You must’ve,” Jesse persisted. “Lawmen have to face down gunfighters all the time.”
“Jesse’s right,” Joe agreed. “So tell us how many, Clay.”
“Not one,” Taggart reiterated.
“You’re joshin’ us,” Bobby complained.
“I’m not joshin’ at all. You boys have been readin’ too many dime novels,” Taggart answered. “Gunfights like you’re talkin’ about mostly take place in the pages of cheap fiction. Sure, there’s been a few of them, but nowhere near as many as folks believe. As for me, when I’m attemptin’ to arrest a man I’ve already got my gun out and aimed at him. I’m sure not gonna chance a killer getting the drop on me and puttin’ a slug through my guts. That goes for all of the Rangers.”
“You mean you’ve never killed an outlaw or Indian?” Jesse asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Taggart clarified. “I’ve had to shoot raidin’ Indians, and I’ve had to kill some white desperadoes too. But I don’t like doin’ it. Most of the
hombres I’ve plugged I shot in self defense, when they wouldn’t surrender.”
“I don’t care what you claim, I say you’re real quick,” Jesse insisted. “Please show us how fast.”
“Yeah,” Bobby added, “Let’s see how fast you are, Ranger Clay. I’d bet if we were outlaws you could outdraw and shoot down the whole bunch of us.”
“I doubt that,” Taggart chuckled. “Think about it.”
“What do you mean?” Jesse asked.
“Well, there’s seven of you, and I’m only wearin’ a sixgun, so I’d be one bullet short. One of you’d be certain to plug me. Besides, there ain’t a man anywhere who could outdraw and shoot more’n two or three men before he took a bullet.”
“I guess you’re right,” Jesse conceded.
“We’d still like to see how fast you are,” Bobby said. “How about it? Bet you can’t outdraw me!”
“I wouldn’t even try,” Taggart grinned. “I wouldn’t have a chance against a dead shot like you.”
“C’mon, try me,” Bobby pleaded.
“Nah. Wouldn’t want to have you gut-shoot me, kid.”
“What’s the matter, Ranger? You scared of me?”
Bobby dropped his hands to his sides and settled into a half-crouch.
“Nope. But I know when I’m up against a faster gun,” Taggart answered.
“Show him you’re faster’n he is, Clay,” Tad urged.
Taggart gave in.
“All right. Reckon you’re givin’ me no choice.”
The Ranger dropped his right hand to his hip and nodded.
“Whenever you’re ready, kid!”
“Now, Ranger!”
Bobby and Taggart jerked their hands upward, index fingers and thumbs forming “pistols”. Bobby aimed and “fired”. Taggart grabbed his middle, spun, and toppled across the porch rail.
“Said I was faster than that Ranger!” Bobby shouted triumphantly. “Got him in the belly!”
“You nailed him all right,” Tad exclaimed.
“Right in the guts!” Jake Slocomb added.
Jesse nudged Taggart’s ribs.
“Clay? Was Bobby really faster’n you?”
Taggart pulled himself upright.
“He sure was,” he confirmed. “If we’d been facin’ each other for real I’d be dead right now. Nice shootin’, Bobby. The Rangers’ll sign you on whenever you’re ready. That goes for all of you jaspers.”
“Thanks,” Bobby replied. “Since I plugged you doesn’t that mean I get your last licorice stick?”
“I reckon it does, long as you share it with your pards,” Taggart laughed. He handed Bobby the candy. “By the way, don’t ever point a real gun at another man, less’n you mean it. Guns aren’t toys.”
“Ranger, how about telling us some stories about the outlaws you’ve faced?” Tad requested.
“Mebbe another time. Right now I’ve got to get Mike stabled and head for the sheriff’s office. I need to check in with him. You boys better head on home.”
Taggart checked the bruise which had risen on Jesse’s chin.
“Dunno how you’re gonna explain that. Your mom sure won’t be happy when she sees it.”
“Aw, she won’t mind that much,” Jesse said. “This isn’t the first lump I’ve got scrappin’, and it won’t be the last.”
“Are we gonna see you again, Ranger Clay?” Bobby asked.
“I’ll be around for awhile,” Taggart answered. “I reckon our paths will cross. Now scoot, all of you. Get on home.”
“Yes sir, Ranger!” Jesse answered. “G’night.”
“’Night, boys. And no more fightin’!”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^
After the boys departed, Taggart settled Mike at the livery stable, with instructions to the hostler to make sure the pinto had a thorough rubdown and hearty feeding. Assured his horse would receive the best of care, Taggart headed for the sheriff’s office. When he entered, the man behind the desk looked up from the stack of wanted notices he was perusing.
“Can I help you, Mister?” he asked.
“Maybe. I’m Texas Ranger Clay Taggart.”
“A Ranger?” The sheriff leapt to his feet.
“We haven’t had a Ranger around here for way too long. I’m Bill Moran, Uvalde County Sheriff. What can I do for the Rangers?”
Moran was over fifty, but still had the look of a man who could hold his own in any brawl or gunfight.
“I’m trailin’ a killer who headed this way. He’s originally from these parts.”
“You don’t have to give me a name,” Moran answered. “Bet he’s the man named on this wanted dodger.”
He took the notice and handed it to Taggart. It carried a description of Travis Burnham, and offered a one thousand dollar reward for his capture.
“That’s the hombre I want. You have any idea where he might be holed up?”
“He’d be a fool to show his face around Uvalde,” Moran declared. “Too many people know him. I think you’re on the wrong track, Ranger.”
“I’ve gotta disagree with you, Sheriff,” Taggart replied. “I’ve been trailin’ Burnham for nearly two months. I know he’s got folks around here. After he robbed the Bandera bank and killed a deputy there, he headed due south. He’s probably makin’ for Mexico, but figures on stopping by his home place for supplies and rest before continuing on. Probably countin’ on pickin’ up a fresh horse there, too.”
Moran shoved back his Stetson and scratched his head.
“You might be right at that. But it wouldn’t be likely he’d get any help from his pa or kid brother,” he observed. “Troy Burnham’s a real decent sort. His boy Tom’s the same. Neither of ‘em hold much truck with Travis. That boy was never anythin’ but trouble.”
“I understand Mrs. Burnham died a few years back. Did that have something to do with Travis becoming an outlaw?”
“Not a thing. Travis left home three years before his ma died. In fact, everybody feels Travis’s goin’ bad is what killed Molly. She and Troy did everything they could to raise their boys right, but it just didn’t stick with Travis. You know how it is. Some kids just turn out mean, no matter how good they’re raised. A few of them learn their lessons and change their ways, but most don’t. Travis is one of those.”
“I know,” Taggart concurred. “But kin is still kin. Burnham is probably countin’ on that. His folks might not give him any help, but they’d most likely never turn him in. And if he decided to only take some supplies from ‘em they sure wouldn’t object.”
“I guess that could be,” Moran agreed. “So you’ll be needin’ directions to the Burnham place.”
“That’s right.”
“It’s not hard to find. It’s fifteen miles south of town. Take the south road until you come to a fork marked by a rock cairn. Take the left fork, and the Rocking B’s two miles down that road. There’s a signpost nailed to a big mesquite that marks the place. Take a right there and go another quarter mile. The Burnham cabin’s at the end of that lane.”
“Bueno. I appreciate your help, Sheriff.”
“You gonna head out tonight? And you want me to ride along with you?” Moran asked.
“No on both counts,” Taggart replied. “It’s gettin’ late. It’d be after dark before I could reach the Burnham ranch. Besides, I need a rest, and more importantly so does my horse. I’ll get a room at the hotel, grab supper, and get a good night’s sleep, then leave at first light. Travis Burnham is only one man. I can handle him.”
“He’s probably already ridden on to Mexico by now,” Moran pointed out.
“Possibly,” Taggart agreed. “But I’ll keep on his trail until I run him down.”
“Even if it means crossin’ the border?”
“Even if it means crossin’ the border.”
“Well, I wish you luck,” Moran said. “You’ll need it.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that, Sheriff. Adios.”
“Vaya con Dios, Ranger.”