CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WHEN CALVIN DUNNING returned to Fort Worth, he found Baggett sitting at a corner table in his favorite saloon. There was a half-full bottle of whiskey on the table and two cutthroat-looking cowboys across from him. Dunning didn’t even wait to be offered a drink before he began telling his boss he’d located the people he’d been sent to find.
“Everybody’s there, just like you thought, living right outside of Aberdene. I can draw you directions right to their front door,” he said. “And I’ve got some additional information you might find of interest.” He glanced across the table toward the two strangers, who had not spoken a word.
“You can talk freely,” Baggett said. “These boys have just joined up with us.”
Feeling confident, Dunning took the liberty of pouring himself a drink. He told Baggett of Pate bringing an orphan home with him. “The boy looks fifteen, maybe sixteen, and he’s attending school there in Aberdene,” he said. “Way I was told, he’s thought highly of by both Pate and Breckenridge.”
“Where did he come from?”
“That I wasn’t able to learn.”
“So what’s he got to do with my money?”
It was the question Calvin was hoping to hear. “Hardheaded as Pate and Breckenridge are likely to be,” he said, “I’m betting they ain’t going to be inclined to readily discuss the location of what you’re looking for. But if they were to fear harm might come to . . .”
Baggett was way ahead of him. “We kidnap the boy,” he said, “and hold on to him until I get my money.”
From across the table, the silent strangers smiled.
THE TWO MEN were brothers named Doozy and Alvin, short and stocky, both barely in their twenties when they started robbing stagecoaches and wagon trains. They had never been much good at it and had spent several stretches in various Texas jails. Just recently released by the Callahan County sheriff, they had come to Fort Worth in hopes of starting a new and more financially rewarding career.
They had stayed drunk for several days and gotten into a few fights before they met Ben Baggett.
He could tell an outlaw when he saw one. He’d introduced himself, bought them a couple of drinks, and asked if they were looking for work.
In chorus they said, “Yessir.”
Baggett sealed the deal by buying them a bottle of cheap whiskey and said he would be back in touch in a couple of days. “I’ve got to do some thinking,” he said. “Then we’ll talk about a job I’ll need you to do.”
The following day he sent Dunning in search of Doozy and Alvin.
“Calvin here’s got directions to where you’ll be heading,” he said as they sat at the same table. This time there was no liquor since he wanted them stone-cold sober when he gave them instructions. “He’ll also describe a young’un who comes and goes from school every day. Your job will be to grab the boy without being seen and bring him back here. I’ve written out a message you’re to leave behind.”
Dunning spread a piece of paper on which he’d drawn a map that showed the directions to Aberdene. On one side he’d drawn a route to the East Texas community. On the other were the locations of the school and the ranch where Lonnie lived. He thought his role in the plot was over until Baggett had a final thought.
“Now that I think on it, it might be best if Calvin accompanies you so you don’t get lost,” Baggett said.
Dunning’s heart sank. Baggett slapped him on the shoulder and smiled. “Why don’t you go down to the café and tell them to cook us up some steaks?” he said. “Don’t want you boys riding out on empty stomachs. Me and these boys will discuss their pay, then be there shortly.”
After he’d left, Baggett placed his elbows on the table and leaned toward his new employees. “Not to worry. You’ll get paid well,” he said, “but I got some rules you’ll need to abide by. First, there’ll be no drinking until the job’s completed. Second thing, don’t do the boy no harm.
“Third, I don’t want you bringin’ Dunning back with you.”
MISS COCHRAN HAD spent most of the day teaching arithmetic, the subject that least interested Lonnie. He was glad when she dismissed the students for the day and was looking forward to stopping by the Breckenridge farm on the way home to spend a few minutes playing with Sarge.
Jonesy, seeing how much he enjoyed Clay’s dog, had already promised he’d soon have a pup of his own, so long as it didn’t interfere with his chores and studies.
At the hitching rail he pulled an apple from his lunch bucket and fed it to Maizy, then led her to the watering trough before leaving the schoolyard. Since she waited for him all day, Lonnie chose not to burden her with the discomfort of a saddle and rode bareback to and from town. As he left, he turned and waved goodbye to Ginger.
They were just a few hundred yards from the school when two riders suddenly emerged from a stand of trees and were quickly on each side of Maizy. One of the men grabbed the reins while the other pointed a pistol. A third man appeared and grabbed the lunch bucket from Lonnie, stuffed a piece of paper inside it, and tossed it to the ground.
“Climb down and get on back,” the gunman said, pointing to his partner’s horse. “We’ll not be taking yours.”
“Where are we going?” Lonnie said. There was the treble of fear in his voice.
“Just shut up and climb on,” one of the men said. “That fellow pointing the gun will be riding right behind you, in case you get thoughts of doing something foolish.”
In less than two minutes, it was done. Doozy was laughing as they galloped away. “That,” he said, “was easy.”
PATRICIA PATE WAS uneasy when Lonnie was late arriving home. She had baked gingerbread and had it cooling for him. Her concern grew to full-blown horror when Jonesy burst into the kitchen, his face ashen. “Maizy just showed up at the barn,” he said, “and Lonnie’s not with her.”
She slumped to a chair and buried her face in her hands as her husband hurried away to saddle his own horse.
He was sweating and out of breath by the time he reached Clay’s place and told him of the situation. In a matter of minutes both were riding toward town.
It was Jonesy who first saw the lunch bucket in the middle of the dusty road. He quickly reined his horse to a stop and dismounted.
“I think it’s Lonnie’s,” he said.
“See if there’s anything inside.”
Jonesy unfolded the piece of paper and read the note written on it aloud.
I got your boy. And you got my money.
Let’s make us a trade.
Though he rarely did, Clay yelled out a curse. “Ben Baggett ain’t dead,” he said.