CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I DONE TOLD you the law here is crooked as snakes,” Rankin said, “but if we take these two to jail and I explain how they’re involved in kidnapping, a killing, and anything else I can think of, they’ll be obliged to lock them up for the time being. I’ll explain that I’ll come back and take custody shortly and lock them up in Aberdene.”
“That or we can just shoot them,” Pate said.
The marshal ignored his comment. “I’ll stay here with these two while you boys find the marshal’s office and tell him I urgently need his help. He knows me, so just tell him where I am.” Under normal circumstances, Rankin would have gone himself, but he was leery of leaving Jonesy and Clay alone with two men they would have dearly loved to see dead.
“By doing it this way,” Rankin said, “we can focus all our attention on finding where Lonnie’s been taken. And why.”
“The second part ain’t hard to answer,” Clay said. “Whoever it is who has the boy is likely thinking he’ll hold him for ransom. Being a participant in Baggett’s plan, he had to know there was money involved somehow. Now I figure it’ll be him contacting us.”
Rankin shook his head. “If all this wasn’t such a serious situation, I’d have to laugh. You boys stealing money that was already stolen. Somebody kidnapping a boy already been kidnapped . . .”
“You’re right, Marshal,” Clay said, a deadpan look on his face. “This is a serious situation.”
Dodge Rankin blushed in response. “Then let’s see if we can figure out what to do.”
LONNIE’S HANDS WERE tied behind his back, making it difficult to keep his balance as his horse moved along at a steady gait. Alvin was leading it by the reins as they headed south out of Fort Worth, their destination a deserted farm near the Brazos River where he and his brother had hunted and hidden from the law in the past.
The plan was for Alvin and Lonnie to wait at an old shack on the property until Doozy arrived.
“You’re getting to do a right smart of traveling, ain’t you?” Alvin said as they reached the shack. “Nobody’s yet told me why you’re so important, but seeing as you must be, you can expect me to treat you like we were best friends.”
He had removed Lonnie’s gag but left his hands tied. “When we get inside and make ourselves at home, I’m sorry to say I’ll be needing to secure your ankles again. But I ain’t going to hurt you.”
Lonnie gave a mock laugh. “Like you didn’t hurt that man at the creek you shot in the back of the head?”
“That was different. We were told he needed killing. And Doozy said it was my turn,” Alvin said. “Ain’t nobody said nothing about doing you harm.”
Near the shack were the remnants of an old vegetable garden where watermelon vines were growing wild. Alvin selected a ripe melon and cut it in half with his pocketknife. He then sat on the floor next to Lonnie, slicing off bites to hand-feed him.
“Yep,” Alvin said as juice ran down his chin, “you and me, we’re going to be friends. And after my brother gets here and says it’s okay, I’m gonna untie you so you can head on back home.” He wiped the watermelon juice from his chin and shirt and smiled.
MARSHAL RANKIN SAT in the shade of a tree next to the jail. Clay and Jonesy were pacing. “Hardest part of my job,” the marshal said, “is waiting. I’ve always said if a fellow hopes to be a success as a lawman, he best have the patience of Job.”
Once Baggett and Doozy were jailed, they had considered their next move, only to realize they didn’t have one. “No telling where they are,” Rankin said. “We could run in every direction like chickens with our heads wrung off, but it wouldn’t do us no good.”
They needed to know where to look if they were to find Lonnie. And Rankin at least had an idea. During his lengthy career as a marshal, he had become fairly good at thinking like the criminals he was pursuing.
“I ain’t met too many folks with a high IQ who make their living rustling cattle or robbing stagecoaches,” he said. “I’m of a notion that Baggett is of no use to us. But I think Doozy and his brother have something up their sleeves. Somehow, they’re planning on using Lonnie to get some of Baggett’s money. I don’t know about his brother, but Doozy doesn’t exactly seem like a genius. Still, he and what’s-his-name must have had some kind of plan once Baggett left the hotel to come see you boys. And I bet if we can separate him from the old man, he just might give us some useful information.”
Clay and Jonesy liked what they were hearing. They had stopped pacing and were kneeling next to the marshal.
“I can probably talk the jailer into letting him out for a while,” he said, “but what occurs next will have to be up to you boys while I look the other way. I swore an oath long ago that I’d not break the law.”
Twenty minutes later he was walking down the steps of the jail, Doozy at his side, handcuffed and not looking at all happy.
WE BEEN HAVING us an argument over who gets the pleasure of killing you,” Clay said as he shoved his hands into Doozy’s chest. They had taken him into a shed on a nearby vacant lot. A rat scurried over Doozy’s boot. “Whoever gets to do it, this here would be a good place to leave you. Let the rats eat your eyes out, then crawl inside your mouth. . . .”
“What is it you want with me?” Doozy said. There was panic in his voice. “The old man back there in the jail is who you need to be killing.”
“We’ll get around to that soon enough,” Jonesy said. “But for now we wanted to give you a chance to keep breathing.”
“Where’s the boy?” Clay said as he drove a fist hard into Doozy’s stomach. “Tell us where we can find him and your brother, and we’ll be done here.”
“You’ll let me go?”
“Might give it some consideration.”
“This ain’t our fault, me and Alvin. It’s Mr. Baggett who made us do it. And he ain’t even paid us.”
Clay delivered another gut punch. “Was it his idea for your brother to run off with the boy while we were in the Longhorn?”
“Well, no, that was our plan so we could get our money for the work we done.”
Jonesy was getting impatient and drew his pistol. “We’re wasting our time. He ain’t going to cooperate,” he said. “Let’s end this and get on with our business.”
Doozy’s eyes widened as Pate cocked the hammer. “We ain’t hurt him,” he said. “We were just planning to keep him until we could get some money from Baggett. My brother’s got no idea I’ve been put in jail.”
“So he’s somewhere waiting for you, not aware you’re not coming?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Where? That’s the last time I’m asking.” Clay’s fist crushed into Doozy’s face. There was a crunching sound that indicated his nose had been broken; then he began choking on the blood that flowed into his mouth. Breckenridge stepped back and let him sink to his knees. Jonesy stepped up and delivered a kick to his stomach.
“Okay, okay, enough,” Doozy said, putting his handcuffed hands to his face. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
His voice was weak as he gave directions to the shack. “That’s where they’re waiting. It’ll take you no more’n a two-hour ride to get there. You going to let me go now?”
They lifted him to his feet and led him out of the shed. “Rats are gonna be mighty disappointed,” Jonesy said.
Across the street, Marshal Rankin waited, sitting on the edge of a watering trough, puffing on his corncob pipe.
“We had us a good conversation,” Clay said. “You can take him back to jail now.”
IT WAS ALMOST sundown when they reached the deserted farm. They dismounted and approached the shack on foot. “They’re likely inside,” Clay whispered, “and probably the brother’s keeping watch. Best we wait until it gets dark before we make our move.”
“I ain’t sure I can wait,” Jonesy said.
“Remember what I told you about patience,” Rankin said. “It won’t be much longer.”
Waiting for darkness, they huddled in a thicket, no more than a hundred yards from where they knew Lonnie was being held. Clay was rubbing his swollen fist.
“Too bad that fellow took such a bad fall back there,” Rankin said, attempting to ease the tension.
Soon, the glow of a lantern lit the inside of the shack. They could see a shadow of movement.
“Here’s our plan,” the marshal said. “Jonesy, you make your way around to the back side of the place and wait until you hear me call out. Me and Clay, we’ll approach from the front. Don’t get rambunctious and make yourself an easy target.”
Moving in a crouch, Pate was on his way before Rankin finished his sentence.
They gave him a few minutes to get in place, then slowly approached the shack. “Hello the house,” the marshal called out.
“That you, Doozy?”
“Nope, this is Marshal Dodge Rankin from Aberdene. I’ve come for the boy and to place you under arrest. Step outside with your hands raised and you can avoid getting hurt.”
There was a moment’s silence, then a shot from the window. “Get on back,” Alvin yelled, “or I’ll have to shoot the kid, which I don’t want to do.”
Clay was on his feet, his pistol drawn. “I’m going,” he said as he rushed toward the house.
“Don’t be shooting blind,” the marshal said as he followed. “Don’t want the boy getting hurt.” Another wild shot came from the shack.
“We got the advantage that he can’t see us,” Rankin said, “so let’s do this quick.”
Clay burst through the door and saw Lonnie, tied to a chair. Standing behind him, a gun pointed at the youth’s head, was his captor.
“You boys come a step closer, and I’m gonna do what I promised not to,” Alvin said. He was nervous, the gun shaking in his hand. “Where’s Doozy? He was supposed to be here.”
“If you don’t want to get killed where you stand,” Clay said, “you’ll holster your gun and put this to an end.”
“Doozy told me he’d be here.” It sounded as if he was crying.
“He ain’t right in the head,” Rankin whispered. “Be careful what you do.”
Terrified, Lonnie called out to Breckenridge, and Alvin delivered a hard slap to the back of his head. Rankin grabbed Clay’s arm to prevent him from rushing forward.
There was a loud noise as Jonesy burst through the back door, raced across the room, and flung himself at the surprised Alvin, knocking him to the floor. Lonnie’s chair toppled as Breckenridge and Rankin rushed to apprehend his abductor. Alvin, dazed and lying on his back, pointed his pistol at the oncoming men. “No,” Lonnie yelled.
Then the room filled with smoke as a shot was fired. The gun fell from Alvin’s hand and his eyes widened, then slowly closed. Back on his feet, Jonesy fired a second shot to make sure he was dead. Then he rushed to Lonnie and began freeing him from his bindings.
Both were in tears as they embraced. “You okay, son?” Pate asked. All Lonnie could do was nod.
“Come on, let’s go home.”
Rankin and Breckenridge were smiling. As they walked into the night, a breeze rustled in the trees and the rush of water in the nearby Brazos could be heard. Somewhere, an owl hooted.
Clay turned and looked back toward the shack. Through the doorway he could see Alvin’s body lying on the floor. “What are we going to do about him?”
“Not my concern,” Rankin said. “This ain’t my jurisdiction.”
PATRICIA WAS ALREADY halfway down the pathway as they approached the ranch house. Running just behind her was Madge. The men had ridden straight through, stopping only to occasionally give the horses a rest and a drink of water. They were exhausted but all smiles.
The women almost pulled Lonnie from his horse. They didn’t know whether to hug or kiss him first. “How I’ve been praying for this,” Patricia said. She and Madge were both crying.
“I’m all right,” Lonnie assured the women. “Just a little hungry.”
Everyone was laughing as they stepped onto the porch. “We’re going to fix you boys a breakfast like you’ve never seen before,” Patricia said. She had turned her affection from Lonnie to her weary husband. “I don’t know what all you had to do to bring Lonnie home,” she said, “but I’m so proud. Of all of you.”
Only then did she notice that Marshal Rankin wasn’t with them.
“He had some business to tend to at the Fort Worth jail,” Jonesy explained. “He’ll be along shortly. He was a mighty big help to us.”
“I’ll have him a pie baked by the time he returns,” she said. “Maybe two.”
Clay led the horses to the barn with Madge close at his side. He removed the saddles and filled buckets of oats as she talked nonstop. He’d never seen his wife so giddy. “I about worried myself sick while you were gone,” she said. “It’s a relief to have my husband back safe.”
He knew to what she was referring. “I hope you’ve not worried yourself on that matter,” he said. “I’m now the only husband you’ve got. Or gonna have from now on.”
She put her arms around him and kissed him. “This,” she said, “is a glorious day if I ever saw one.”
In the kitchen, the men marveled at a table filled with eggs, bacon, redeye gravy, biscuits, and two huge stacks of flapjacks. Patricia couldn’t take her eyes off of Lonnie as he filled his plate for a second time. “Once you’ve had your fill,” she said, “I want you to get cleaned up, then sleep for two solid days.”
“What about school?” he said.
“It’ll still be there after you’re properly rested.”
“Before I take a bath,” he said as he got up from the table, “I’d like to go check on Maizy.”
It was almost dark when Marshal Rankin arrived at the ranch. He, too, received a hero’s welcome from the women. Patricia insisted he come in and have some supper.
“The boy’s already gone to bed, or he’d be thanking you again,” Jonesy said.
“Sometimes things just have a way of working out,” Clay said as he handed the marshal a bottle of beer.
“Not everything,” Rankin said. “When I went to the jail to check on our friends, they wasn’t there. Somehow they managed to escape, I was told.”