Gideon pulled his pipe out of his vest. “I still don’t get it, Charlie.” He got a pouch of tobacco and emptied the right amount into the bowl. “How is hitting ’em gonna help us learn anything?”

  “Because one of us is gonna move in and join the gang,” Charlie announced.

  Gideon shrugged. “Hell, I can’t do that. I’m knowed as a lawman. Particular as a U.S. deputy marshal.”

  Charlie nodded. “And I’m knowed as a Texas Ranger.”

  Guy listened for the conversation to continue. Then he noticed them both staring at him. At first he was confused. But after a minute, he exclaimed. “Hey!”

  “That’s right,” Charlie said. “I want you to join the gang.”

  “Good idea,” Gideon said. “Guy’s been bouncing around on both sides of the law. Nobody knows for sure if he’s packing a star or not.”

  “And when he does, it’s always in some town,” Charlie said. “He’s never been a Ranger or U.S. marshal before.”

  “Sure,” Gideon said. “Even if he run into some feller he throwed in jail, they wouldn’t be suspicious. They’d just figger he wandered off the straight and narrow again.”

  Guy nervously scratched his chin. “Just what the hell’s going on?”

  “It’s real simple,” Charlie said. “All you gotta do is join the gang and keep in touch with us to let us know what’s going on. Little by little, well whittle away at ’em until it’s time for a big move against Ace Erickson in Stavanger.”

  “I ain’t real fond o’ riding the owlhoot trail,” Guy protested. “You don’t eat good and don’t change clothes too often.”

  “You don’t change much now,” Gideon pointed out.

  “At least I can when I want to!” Guy snapped.

  “You’ll be moving around all over the countryside and we’ll be following,” Charlie explained. “You can send telegraphs to the Windsor Hotel telling us the gang’s plans. My contact there knows how to get ahold of me. And we’ll pick out some places where you can leave messages under rocks or in trees or anywhere else if you can’t get to a telegraph office.” He pointed to a large cottonwood nearby. “See that rock at the base o’ that tree? You can even stick notes to us in there. We’ll camp a ways to the north.”

  “You’re lucky I can write,” Guy said sullenly.

  “Well, we still got to take T. J. Grogan and his boys to find out the ins and outs of their setup,” Charlie said. “I can’t let Guy just go on down there and throw in with ’em if we don’t have any information to make plans on.”

  “What do you want us to do, Charlie?” Gideon asked.

  “Let Guy ride on down there,” Charlie said. “You and me will come in from the other side.” He turned to Guy. “Guy, you get them fellers outside as quick as you can.”

  “How?” Guy demanded to know.

  “Pick a fight with one of ’em,” Gideon suggested. “That shouldn’t be hard.”

  “Yeah,” Guy agreed. “Me and Jack Blunt don’t get along. Fact is, he owes me some money from a card game.”

  “There it is,” Charlie said. “You can start a ruckus over that.”

  “How soon do you want me to go in there?” Guy asked.

  “Right now,” Charlie said. “I’d like to get this all over with before dark.”

  Guy stood up. He sighed, “For God’s sake!” Then he shrugged. “What the hell? I’ll be looking for you boys about the time me and Jack go outside to settle up on that money.”

  “Sure,” Charlie said. “We’ll see you soon.”

  Guy walked to his horse and raised himself up into the saddle. He pulled the Texas Ranger badge out of his vest pocket and tossed it to Charlie. “I’d feel real dumb if that fell out during the fight.”

  “You wouldn’t feel dumb long,” Gideon said. “They’d plug you quick.”

  Guy only waved as he rode away from the creek and headed for the ranch house. He skirted a hill, then went directly toward the rustic building. He approached the place slowly, being careful to keep his hands in full view.

  “Hold it!” The voice came from the house.

  Guy stopped. “Yeah?” he shouted.

  “You got no business here,” the voice informed him.

  “I’m looking for a place to spend the night,” Guy said.

  “It’s early yet,” the man inside informed him.

  “I been traveling since sunrise this morning,” Guy explained.

  A different voice now sounded. “Is that you, Guy Tyrone?”

  “Sure is,” Guy said, keeping his tone friendly. “Who’s that?”

  A man stepped outside. “It’s me, Jack Blunt.”

  “Howdy, Jack,” Guy said. “It’s been a while.” He urged his horse into a slow walk toward the house. “Since when are you a ranch hand?”

  Blunt laughed. “This ain’t no ranch, you jackass.”

  “Can I spend the night?” Guy said, riding up. “I been sleeping under the stars for a while now.” He dismounted as another man came out. Guy recognized him. “Howdy, Ned.”

  Ned Williams nodded without smiling. “Howdy, Guy.”

  “You fellers don’t mind if I just stay ’til morning, do you?” Guy asked.

  “Get down and come on in,” Blunt invited.

  “I’m obliged,” Guy said. He dismounted and led his horse up to the hitching rail. He wrapped the reins around it, and followed the two men into the house.

  T. J. Grogan looked at him. “Well, I ain’t seen you in a spell.”

  “Howdy, T.J.,” Guy said.

  Grogan asked, “What’re you up to, Guy?”

  “Just moving around,” Guy said with a grin. “I got a little problem that keeps me on the dodge.”

  “Warrants following you around?” Grogan inquired.

  “Sure. But it’s better’n having some paper ’stead of a lawman after me,” Guy said. He knew he had to waste some time to give Charlie and Gideon a chance to move in on the house. “What’re all you fellers doing here?”

  “Keeping a running iron hot,” Jack Blunt said, laughing.

  “You ain’t never been a cowboy, have you, Guy?” Grogan asked.

  “I don’t like that kind o’ work,” Guy said.

  “Too bad,” Grogan said. “We could use another hand in our operation here.”

  “Are you rustling, T.J.?” Guy asked.

  “Naw!” Williams said with a loud laugh. “We borry ’em, then forget where we got ’em. So we put on our own brand and get on with it.”

  “I ain’t looking for work,” Guy said.

  “This here’s Ozzie Young and Bob Orley,” Williams said, introducing the two men Guy didn’t know. He pointed to Guy. “This feller works as a town sheriff now and then.”

  “Howdy,” Guy said. He looked at Grogan. “You don’t mind me staying ’til morning, do you?”

  “Suit yourself,” Grogan said.

  “I’ll unsaddle my horse,” Guy said. He went back outside and got the animal, leading it into the corral. As he pulled the saddle off, he glanced around. Finally he spotted Charlie waving at him from the brush. He returned to the house carrying his saddlebags.

  “Got anything to throw into the pot for supper?” Blunt asked.

  “Sure,” Guy said. He steeled himself. “But first. What about that money you owe me?”

  “What money?” Blunt asked.

  “Five dollars from that poker game in Balmorhea,” Guy said.

  Blunt laughed. “Say! That’s right.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a gold piece. He flipped it over.

  Guy looked at it. It was indeed worth five dollars. He grinned weakly. His plans to start a fight were over before they’d begun. “It looks like we’re even.”

  T. J. Grogan smiled. “Too bad you ain’t got no cowboy skills, Guy. You’d have money in your pockets like Jack. You oughta stop being so damned lazy and join up with us. An extry hand would mean extry money.”

  “I reckon I could use the money, but it ain’t worth it to me,” Guy said, He thought quickly as he tried to come up with a way to start a ruckus. He said, “Besides, in my book only a low-life son of a bitch rustles cattle.”

  Grogan laughed. “Ain’t that the truth!”

  But Bob Orley didn’t care for the remark. “Just what do you mean by that?”

  Guy knew he had a bite. He had to yank the line hard to reel that particular fish in. “Just what I said, you dumb bastard. Anybody that has to steal cattle to make money is a no-good, turd-eating, lizard-faced donkey. For all the trouble you got to go to, you might as well just sign on as a hand at a ranch somewheres.”

  All five of the rustlers looked at him with cold, hard faces. Grogan seemed disappointed. “What’s got into you, Guy?”

  “If you don’t like the truth o’ what I’m saying, just get off your asses and step outside. Ill accommodate you,” Guy said.

  “Are you loco all of a sudden?” Grogan asked.

  “Be careful!” Jack Blunt warned the others. “He carries a club on his belt.”

  “Are you blind too?” Guy asked. “I ain’t got my billy with me.”

  Ned Williams drew his pistol. “I don’t know what you’re up to. But if you’re pulling something, I swear I’ll put a bullet in you, Guy Tyrone!”

  “You won’t be able to shoot him, Ned,” Orley said. “On account I’m gonna amuse myself by tom-turkey tromping the shit outta this son of a bitch.”

  “C’mon, then!” Guy exclaimed. “I never heard son of a bitches that liked to talk so damned much. Let’s get this over with.”

  He turned and walked toward the door. He glanced back to see all five following him. Now T. J. Grogan and Jack Blunt also had drawn their irons. Ozzie Young noticed the pistols and did likewise. Guy knew that Charlie and Gideon weren’t counting on almost the entire group coming out with their leather cleared.

  When he walked through the door, Guy kept moving to get some distance from the house. He turned and made ready to fight. Orley rushed forward.

  “Hold it!” Charlie’s voice sounded as he stepped from around the house.

  The rustlers, armed and mean, whirled around and stared at the unexpected sight.

  “Oh, shit!” Charlie said when he noticed the others had pistols in their hands.

  Shooting broke out in an instant. Bullets splattered around Charlie. Suddenly appearing with a spitting Colt, Gideon now stepped into view.

  Guy drew his pistol with his right hand and fired at almost the same instant, hitting Orley, who had forgotten about fist fighting as he struggled to get his own Colt out for the gunplay.

  Now knowing this was some kind of a trap, Williams, Blunt, and Young cut loose in uncoordinated volleys that threw out a swarm of bullets.

  But the shots were inaccurate.

  Guy had backstepped for more space. He fired in a deliberate cold-blooded manner as did Charlie and Gideon. Within the space of a few explosive seconds, the other three rustlers had joined Bob Orley in death. The four bodies were sprawled close together. T. J. Grogan, dazed by the surprise of the unexpected gunfight, threw down his iron and put up his hands. “I ain’t in this!” he cried out.

  Guy swung the muzzle of his pistol on him. “We want to talk to you, T.J.”

  Grogan gave the three lawmen a careful scrutiny. He swung his glare to Guy. “You’re packing a star, ain’t you?”

  “Texas Rangers,” Guy said proudly.

  “You son of a bitch!” Grogan said, now more mad than scared. “You sneaked in here on us like a damn coyote.”

  “I kept my purpose to myself, if that’s what you mean,” Guy admitted.

  “I wish you’d make up your mind whether you’re gonna be a lawman or not,” T.J. complained. “It’s hard to see where you stand on things.”

  Charlie stepped forward. “The only thing you got to worry about is answering a few questions about Ace Erickson’s boys that hang out here.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” T.J. mumbled angrily.

  “We just killed four cattle-rustling son of a bitches, Grogan,” Charlie said. “And if you give us any reason, we’ll do the same to you. It’ll save us and the state o’ Texas a lot o’ trouble.”

  “I want a chance to ride outta here,” Grogan said. “Give me your word, Cap’n Delano.”

  “You got it.”

  Grogan took a deep breath, then started talking. He told about the arrangements he had with Erickson’s gang to stay on his ranch between jobs. Erickson didn’t want his boys around Stavanger too much, because they would be linked with him there. He only let them in after they did particularly good jobs.

  “And that’s where they are right now,” Grogan said. “They pulled a big one on a Wells Fargo gold shipment—all twenty-dollar gold pieces—so he let ’em come into Stavanger for a couple o’ days.”

  “When’re they due back?” Gideon asked, butting in.

  “T’morry,” Grogan answered. “And I ain’t planning on being here then.” He looked at the three lawmen. “You fellers got to promise to not let Erickson know I told on him. If he ever finds out, hell send Gustavo Fairweather to gun me down.”

  “We won’t say nothing,” Charlie said. “And I’m holding to my word, Grogan. My advice is for you to put as much distance between Denton County and yourself as you can. And keep it that way. Saddle up now and get out.”

  Grogan needed no second invitations. He rushed inside to get some things, then quickly reappeared to rush over and saddle his horse.

  Charlie chuckled. “I see you got your running iron with you.”

  “A man’s got to make a living no matter where he goes,” T.J. said defensively. Within ten minutes he’d galloped away.

  “Now what do we do?” Guy asked.

  “We bury these four to get ’em outta sight,” Charlie said. “Then I gotta do some thinking.”

  “Are you gonna come Up with another plan?” Guy asked hopefully.

  “I think the one where you join the gang is gonna work out real good,” Charlie said.

  “Me too,” Gideon added.

  Guy displayed a weak grin. “Damn!”

  Chapter Six

  Charlie Delano and Gideon Magee rode as far away from Grogan’s ranch as they could while still maintaining contact with Guy Tyrone. They didn’t want the younger lawman to be completely isolated and in harm’s way all on his own. Meanwhile, the younger man stayed on the small spread to wait for the return of Erickson’s men.

  Charlie and Gideon went off several miles to the south toward Dallas to set up camp. Once settled in, there was very little they could do but simply wait for things to start happening. With little control over the situation, they had no other choice. However, it was decided that if they didn’t hear from Guy within a week they planned to make a careful return to the vicinity of the ranch. If Erickson’s gang had gone off on a job with Guy Tyrone, he was to leave a note for them at the base of the cottonwood tree that Charlie had pointed out as a good place to hide messages.

  Now, after two days and a couple of nights all by himself on the place, Guy began to feel eerie and uncomfortable. He hated to admit it even to himself, but sleeping in the ranch house alone with the wind whistling and coyotes howling outside made all his superstitions and natural fears leap to life.

  Guy didn’t know if he believed in ghosts or not, but he was glad that the bodies of the four dead rustlers weren’t close-by. Charlie and Gideon had hauled them off to be deeply buried far away, so the corpses wouldn’t be discovered by any of Erickson’s gang if any wild animals happened to dig them up. At the site of the gunfight in front of the ranch house, the Rangers had even gone to the trouble of giving the ground a good raking and brushing with tree branches to obscure any tracks or places where blood had soaked into the dirt.

  By the morning of the third day, Guy was no longer nervous about greeting the bandits. In fact, he looked forward to their arrival at the ranch. Whatever uneasiness he’d felt about meeting them didn’t match the nervous agitation of being alone out there in that wind-rattled ranch house situated in the lonely prairie country.

  When the gang did finally show up, it was late afternoon and Guy was watering his horse. He looked up and feigned surprise at their arrival. Although he inwardly tensed himself for an unfriendly confrontation, he played the role of a casual visitor to the ranch. The six gave him looks of unabashed curiosity and suspicion as they rode into the yard.

  Still in their saddles, they gathered around him by the trough. One of them gave the place a careful look-see, then glared at Guy. It was easy to tell he noted the absence of any other horses except Guy’s.

  “Where’s Grogan?”

  “Who’s Grogan?” Guy said back to him.

  The man dismounted and walked over, leading his horse; “He’s the feller that lives here.”

  “It don’t look to me like nobody lives here,” Guy said.

  “We live here,” the man said.

  “Then you oughta know where your friend is,” Guy said. “You fellers a posse?”

  Loud laughter broke out among the group of horsemen.

  “Mister, I’d rather be taken for a son of a bitch than a damn lawman,” the man said.

  “So would I,” Guy said. He decided it was time to get things on a friendlier level. “My name is Guy Tyrone. I’m an old friend o’ Grogan’s. You must be the fellers that bunk here now and again.”

  “That’s us. I’m Ned Paulson.”

  “Howdy.” Guy offered his hand. “Grogan and the fellers got the word on a herd o’ horses meant for the army up in the Injun Territory. They said something about looking ’em over.”

  More laughter broke out.

  “When’re they coming back?” Paulson asked.

  Guy shrugged. “They didn’t say. It seemed they had a ways to go, though.”

  “It must’ve been a perty good deal to get Grogan off this place,” Paulson said.

  “Howdy, Guy.” One of the men rode forward. “I ain’t seen you since we was in the lockup down at Quemado.”

  Guy felt a twinge of relief. Here was a man he’d been in jail with. “Now there you are, Jess Garbel!”

  Garbel dismounted and walked over to shake hands. “It’s been a coupla years, ain’t it?” He turned to Paulson. “This here’s a good feller to have around in a fight. And we got into ’em at Quemado, that's for sure.” He chuckled. “Still got that billy club?”

 

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