Texas Bloodshed

CHAPTER 5

Bo and Scratch looked at each other. It wasn’t that they were opposed to returning to their home state. They had been back to Texas a number of times over the years, most recently to El Paso before a dangerous sojourn down into Mexico, to a place called Cutthroat Canyon. They had even returned to the area where they had grown up on a few occasions, but the last time had been about a decade earlier.

“Been a while since we’ve been home,” Scratch commented. “If we was to go to Tyler, it wouldn’t be that hard to drift on down to Victoria.”

“It’s still quite a ways,” Bo pointed out.

“Yeah, but we’d be closer than we are now.”

Bo shrugged in acknowledgment of that undeniable fact.

Brubaker said, “I want you to know, I didn’t ask the judge to hire you fellas. I figure I can deliver those prisoners to Judge Southwick without any help.”

“That’s certainly a possibility,” Parker said, “especially if Gentry doesn’t get wind that we’re moving them until it’s too late to go after them. But I don’t think we can count on that, Jake. Gentry has a number of friends among the criminal element here in Fort Smith.”

Brubaker shrugged and said, “I’ll go along with whatever you decide, Your Honor.”

His tone made it clear that he might not like or agree with the decision, though.

“It’s not my decision to make,” Parker said. He nodded across the desk toward Bo and Scratch. “That lies in the hands of these gentlemen.”

“How much money are we talkin’ about, Judge?” Scratch asked.

“Forty dollars apiece, plus ten cents per mile. One way, of course. Where you go after you reach Tyler with the prisoners is your own affair.”

“That’s as good as we could make cowboyin’,” Scratch said to his old friend.

“Probably a little better, once you throw in the mileage,” Bo said. “How do you intend to pay us, Your Honor?”

“I’ll give you the forty dollars when you’re ready to ride out with Marshal Brubaker,” Parker replied.

Scratch grinned. “Afraid to give us the dinero ahead of time because we might take it and run off or fritter it away on whiskey and wild women, eh?” he asked.

“A federal judge must be prudent,” Parker said.

“What about the mileage?” Bo asked.

“Judge Southwick will pay you that portion of your fee when you deliver the prisoners to his court.’

“Does Bigfoot ... I mean His Honor Judge Southwick. . . know about that?”

“I’ll send him a telegram advising him of our arrangement, once we’ve actually reached agreement on the particulars.”

Scratch grimaced and shook his head.

“So he’s liable to tell us to go climb a stump and suck eggs instead of givin’ us the money,” he said.

Parker clenched one hand into a fist that he thumped on the desk.

“Blast it! I’ll guarantee the payment out of my own pocket if Judge Southwick refuses to abide by the terms I’ve laid out.”

“Well, I suppose that’s fair,” Bo said. He’d had a strong hunch all along that he and Scratch would agree to go with Brubaker, but it never hurt to jaw a little first. “I’ll say yes. How about you, Scratch?”

“Reckon I’ll go along with the deal, too,” the silver-haired Texan drawled. “Be mighty good to see some of the Lone Star State again.”

“Then we have an agreement,” Parker said with an emphatic nod. He came to his feet. “Shake on it?”

“Sure thing,” Bo said as he stood and reached across the desk to shake hands with Parker. Scratch did likewise.

“Marshal Brubaker will give you all the details,” Parker went on. “I’ll just say good luck, gentlemen.”

“You reckon we’re gonna need it?” Scratch asked with a grin.

Parker’s expression was solemn as he nodded and said, “Knowing Hank Gentry’s reputation, I’m absolutely certain that you will.”

After leaving Parker’s office, the three men paused just outside the courthouse.

“I’ll say again, this wasn’t my idea,” Brubaker told the Texans. “And not to mince words about it, I don’t appreciate the judge saddlin’ me with a couple of amateurs.”

“You’d rather go it alone, is that it?” Bo asked.

“I’ll have enough to do just keepin’ up with those prisoners, without havin’ to look after a couple of old pelicans like you two.”

“Old pelicans, are we?” Scratch asked hotly. “Let me tell you, sonny boy—”

“Don’t make the marshal’s case for him, Scratch,” Bo said. “And as for you, Marshal, Scratch and I may not be young anymore, but trust me, we’ve still got some bark on us. You won’t have to look after us. You just worry about the prisoners.”

Brubaker snorted and said, “Fine by me. You’re on your own, then if there’s trouble. My only concern is gettin’ those three varmints to Tyler.”

Bo nodded. “That’s a deal. When are we leaving?”

“First thing tomorrow mornin’. I want to be on the road by sunup.”

“That’s fine. You plan to carry them in the same wagon you used to bring them here?”

“I figured I would,” Brubaker said. “You got any objection to that?”

“Not at all. It looked pretty sturdy. What about supplies?”

“There’s a boot under the driver’s seat we can fill up with provisions. If we run low, there are settlements between here and there where we can buy what we need.”

“Are you taking along a saddle horse?”

Brubaker frowned and asked, “What business is that of yours?”

“Just curious,” Bo said with a shrug.

“Yeah, I’m takin’ a horse. I’ll tie it on behind the wagon. Do the two of you have good mounts?”

“We do. We won’t have any trouble keeping up.”

“Well, good,” Brubaker said, although he didn’t sound all that pleased by the prospect. “You can meet me here at the courthouse at ... let’s call it six o’clock tomorrow mornin’. Be ready to ride.”

“We will be,” Bo promised.

Brubaker gave them a curt nod and stalked off toward the stairs that led down to the basement jail. From the looks of it, he intended to pay a visit to the prisoners.

“That little banty rooster don’t like us,” Scratch said as he watched Brubaker walk away.

“He doesn’t appear to like much of anybody,” Bo said. “I wonder why not.” He shook his head and clapped a hand on Scratch’s shoulder. “Let’s go see if Corrigan kept that stew warm for us like he said he would.”

The tavern keeper had kept his promise. He set steaming bowls of Irish stew in front of the Texans, along with fresh cups of coffee. Then he surprised them by pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table with them.

“Why don’t you join us?” Bo asked dryly.

“Don’t mind if I do, seein’ as ’tis my place and all,” Corrigan said, grinning under his red mustache. “What did Forty-two Brubaker want with you?”

“It wasn’t Brubaker who wanted us,” Scratch said. “It was that durned judge.”

Bo considered how much they ought to tell Corrigan, then decided that the Irishman could be trusted. Corrigan had been running this tavern for a long time and had a good reputation.

“You heard about the ruckus with the prisoners who tried to escape earlier, I suppose,” Bo said.

Corrigan nodded. “Aye. Some of my customers have been talkin’ about it. Quite a brouhaha from the sound of it.”

“We kept a couple of them from getting away, and that brought us to Judge Parker’s attention. He wanted to hire us as temporary deputy marshals.”

“He’s sendin’ ye into the Territory after badmen, then?”

Bo shook his head.

“We’re going to Texas with Marshal Brubaker. He has to deliver the prisoners he brought in today to another federal judge down in Tyler.”

Corrigan let out a surprised whistle.

“I’m bettin’ Parker don’t care much for that,” he said. “Once he gets a lawbreaker in that Hell on the Border jail o’ his, most of ’em don’t come out again unless it’s to make the acquaintance of George Maledon.”

Bo knew that was the name of the hangman who conducted the executions for Parker.

“In this case, the judge didn’t have any choice. He got a telegram from Washington telling him to go along with what the judge down in Texas wants.”

“Bigfoot Southwick,” Scratch muttered. “I still can’t believe that galoot and those big clodhoppers of his wound up bein’ a federal judge. When we knowed him, I always figured he was more likely to wind up behind bars his own self.”

“And that’d be a good place for a bunch o’ them judges, if ye ask me,” Corrigan declared.

Bo was enjoying the stew. After he washed down another mouthful with a sip of coffee, he asked, “How well do you know Brubaker, Mike?”

“Tolerably well,” the tavern keeper replied. “We’ve been acquainted for four or five years, I’d say.”

Scratch commented, “He’s sure got a burr up his backside, don’t he?”

“He’s not a man who’s easy to warm up to, I’ll admit,” Corrigan said. “Ye can’t question his dedication to the law, though. It cost him his marriage.”

“How’s that?” Bo asked.

“Well, it cost him his engagement, I should say. He never did make it to the altar. But he’d be married to a mighty pretty girl with a rich daddy by now if he’d agreed to give up packin’ a badge. She and her da wanted him to go to work for the old man in his lumber business. The way I heard the story, Forty-two agreed, but then he changed his mind. I reckon he just couldn’t bear the thought o’ sleepin’ in a nice warm bed with a nice warm wife and collectin’ wages for a cushy job, instead of spendin’ his days blisterin’ under a hot sun and freezin’ in a cold rain and gettin’ shot at by some o’ the worst rapscallions west of the Mississippi. The man’s daft, if ye ask me, but don’t ever question how he feels about doin’ his job.”

Bo nodded slowly and said, “That’s good to know, since we’ll be traveling with him for a while.”

“Well, there’s dedication, and then there’s sheer pigheadedness, and Forty-two’s capable of that, too,” Corrigan said. “Have a care, lads, that he don’t get both of ye killed.”