Blood Ties: A Texas Ranger Will Kirkpatrick Novel Read online

  Blood Ties

  A Texas Ranger Will Kirkpatrick Novel

  James J. Griffin

  Blood Ties

  Copyright© 2017 James J. Griffin

  Cover Design Livia Reasoner

  Cover Image: THE HUNTED, Andy Thomas, Artist

  Andy Thomas, Artist

  www.andythomas.com

  Copyright Andy Thomas. Used By Permission

  Author photo courtesy of Susanne Onatah

  Sundown Press

  www.sundownpress.com

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  For Andy and Dina Thomas

  1

  “I think we’re finally nearin’ the end of our chase, Pete. Good thing, too. The sun’ll be down in less than an hour, so we wouldn’t be able to trail those hombres much farther tonight,” Texas Ranger Will Kirkpatrick said to his horse. “Those are the tracks of the damned stagecoach robbers we’ve been trailin’ over half of the Trans-Pecos, goin’ into that canyon up there. They ain’t more’n an hour or two old. One of their horses is still wearin’ that chipped shoe on his off hind foot, so I know it’s the same bunch. There ain’t any hoof prints comin’ back out, so they haven’t doubled back on us.

  “Sure wish I knew whether or not that canyon’s a box. I’d truly hate to meet all three of ’em unexpected like, when they came ridin’ back out. Let’s keep movin’, fella. But we’d best keep our eyes open. One of ’em might be hangin’ back to set up a nice bushwhackin’ for us. I don’t know about you, horse, but I sure ain’t hankerin’ to catch a rifle slug in my gut.”

  Pete snorted, and shook his head. He snorted again.

  “I reckon that’s your way of sayin’ you don’t hanker to take a bullet either, Pete,” Will said, with a laugh, as he reached forward to pat his horse’s neck. “And you’re right, you know. A horse is a much bigger target than a man, so a lotta times an hombre’ll shoot the horse out from under its rider, rather than aimin’ for the man. Easier to hit the horse, and once the rider’s unhorsed, he’s a lot easier target…especially if he got hurt or knocked out when his horse went down. I’d sure hate to see that happen to you, pard. We’ve been together too many years now, goin’ back to when we first left home and I signed on with the Rangers. I couldn’t ask for a better friend than you, and it’d take me a long time to train another bronc to know his job as good as you do. Well, we’d better get movin’. We sure ain’t gonna catch up to those muy malo hombres just settin’ here. Let’s go, boy.”

  Will lifted the reins along his black and white overo’s neck and clucked to the chunky, short-coupled paint, putting Pete into a slow jogtrot. When they had gone about a quarter mile into the canyon, he slowed his horse to a walk.

  “We’re gonna take it nice and slow from here on in, pal,” he told the paint. “Those horse droppin’s you just had a sniff at are real fresh. They ain’t hardly dried at all, and the flies were just startin’ to swarm over ’em. We’re gettin’ awful close to those outlaws. If I had more sense, I’d leave you here and go ahead on foot, but I sure hate walkin’. Try’n step slow and easy, now. Watch where you plant your feet.”

  Like most men born and raised to the saddle, Will hated to walk, and avoided it if at all possible. He’d rather take the time to saddle and bridle his horse for a two-block trip in town, even if it took much longer to ready and use his mount rather than his own two feet.

  He clucked softly to Pete, nudging him into a slow, deliberate walk. Being practically on top of the men he was after, as near as he could determine, Will no longer had to keep his gaze locked on their horses’ hoof prints.

  At this point, their trail was clear enough for a half-blind man to follow, anyway. Instead, he slid his Winchester from its saddle boot and held it across the pommel of his saddle. Underneath his sweat stained and battered wide-brimmed Stetson, his brown eyes moved alertly from side to side, scanning his surroundings for any possible sign of a hidden gunman.

  Will had ridden about a quarter-mile into the canyon, the hairs on the back of his neck rising and his spine prickling with each bend in the trail, anticipating the pain of hot lead ripping into his back from a drygulcher, unseen behind the rocks, when Pete suddenly stopped. The paint arched his neck and pricked his ears sharply forward. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air for a scent or sound which Will hadn’t picked up yet. Will leaned forward and patted his horse on the side of his neck.

  “Shh. Quiet, pal,” he whispered. “Now I’m real glad I didn’t come in here on foot. Somethin’, or more likely someone, is up ahead… someone I can’t see or hear, but you’re tellin’ me they’re out there and to be careful, just as plain as if you could talk. Good thing I speak fluent horse.” After years of having Pete for his mount, Will knew exactly what each action of his horse meant.

  Pete blew softly and turned his head slightly. He issued a low nicker so quietly even Will could barely hear it.

  “I smell it now, too, Pete,” Will whispered. “Wood smoke, and unless I miss my guess, coffee boilin’. I reckon our friends must’ve decided to call it a night, and set up camp. Wonder if they’ll give us an invite to join ’em? Let’s just go and find out. Real slow, now.”

  He touched his spurs lightly to Pete’s sides, putting him into a slow walk. A few hundred yards later, Will could see the slightest haze of smoke, coming from just beyond a low rock shelf.

  “We caught a break, Pete,” Will said. “Seems like those boys must’ve thought they’d given us the slip. They’re about to find out how wrong they were. Those hombres sure picked a lousy spot to settle down for the night. We’ve got the advantage of the high ground. All we’ve gotta do is ride out on that shelf and we’ll have ’em pinned down.”

  He eased Pete up to the edge of the shelf, then lifted his rifle to his shoulder. Below him, three men were seated around a small campfire, working on their supper.

  “Texas Ranger!” Will shouted. “Don’t make a move. I’ll put a bullet in the first man who tries.”

  Two of the men sat there, frozen in place, dumbfounded at seeing the Ranger on the rocks above them. The third jumped to his feet, spilling his tin plate of bacon and beans as he grabbed for the gun on his right hip. Will shot him through the middle of his chest. The impact of the heavy slug slammed the man backward, to haul up against a boulder. He slid to a seated position, his head drooping to his chest, as blood spread crimson over his shirt. A streak of blood from the exit wound in his back stained the rock. Will swung his rifle back to cover the two remaining outlaws.

  “Either of you want to get the same?” Will asked them. “If you don’t, then just stay hitched.”

  Both men shook their heads, and kept their hands well away from their guns.

  “Good. You’re both a sight smarter than your pardner was,” Pete said. “Now, stand up. Real slow and easy like.”

  Both men started to rise. The one nearest the fire edged his hand toward his six-gun. Will put a bullet into the dirt between his feet.

  “Try that again, and the next one’s plumb in the middle of your chest, just like your pardner got,” he warned. “Get on your feet, and don’t make a twitch.”

  “That’s better,” he said, once the men were standing. “Now, unbuckle your gun belts, one handed, and let ’em drop. Then kick ’em over by your dead pardner.
After that, get your hands in the air.”

  This time, the outlaws made certain their movements wouldn’t be misconstrued. They followed Will’s instructions, using just their left hands to unbuckle their gun belts, and let them fall to the ground. They raised their hands over their heads.

  “Now, kick ’em away,” Will repeated. Again, the men complied.

  “You’re both bein’ real sensible,” Will said. “Now y’all just stand real still, nice and quiet, while I come down there.”

  He eased Pete over the sloping right side of the rock shelf, keeping his rifle aimed at his captives while he did. He rode up to the men and dismounted.

  “Is…is Wiley dead, mister?” the younger of the two stammered, swallowing hard before choking the words out. He was merely a youth, a tow-headed, blue-eyed kid who looked to be no more than sixteen or seventeen, and who was now scared half to death. Tears streaked paths through the dirt which coated his cheeks, and his entire body trembled with fear.

  “If he ain’t, he’s the first man I’ve ever come across who lived with a hole blown clean through his lungs,” Will answered. “Yeah, kid, your pard’s done for. He didn’t have to die, but when he tried for his gun, he left me no choice.”

  “You didn’t have to kill him, Ranger,” the other man snarled. He had long, black hair, and brown eyes so dark they appeared almost black. Right now, those eyes glittered with his hatred of the lawman.

  “You’d rather I’d let him kill me instead?”

  “Now that you mention it, yeah. I wish Wiley’d sunk a slug or two right in your lousy guts.”

  “Well, mister, I hate to disappoint you, but I wasn’t gonna let that happen.”

  Will pulled his Colt Peacemaker from the holster on his left hip to cover the men, and placed his rifle on the ground.

  “Now I’m gonna cuff you both,” he said, then nodded at the older man. “You first. Turn around, lower your hands, and get ’em behind your back. One false move, and I’ll blow a chunk of your backbone clean out through your belly button. I’m dog tired after chasin’ you boys all over half of Texas, I’m not takin’ chances with either one of you.”

  Cursing Will bitterly, the outlaw complied. Once he had turned and his hands were behind his back, Will pulled a pair of handcuffs from his denims’ pocket and clamped them around the man’s wrists. He removed a heavy-bladed Bowie knife from its sheath on the man’s belt and stuck it behind his own pants’ waistband.

  While Will was securing his partner, the young outlaw, either having screwed up his courage or driven by his fear, made a dive for his gun. He landed on his stomach, grabbed his pistol from its holster and started to roll onto his back, thumbing back the hammer. Will had anticipated the kid might try such a desperate move. Before he could aim the gun and pull the trigger, Will kicked him in the gut. The kid grunted in pain as the air was driven from his lungs. He dropped his gun, wrapped his arms around his middle, and curled up into a ball, whimpering.

  “Go…go ahead and…kill me, Ranger,” he gasped.

  “I ain’t plannin’ on killin’ you or anyone else, unless you force me to, kid,” Will answered. “If you think I wanted to plug your pard, you’re wrong. If he hadn’t gone for his gun, he’d still be alive. As for you, roll onto your belly, and get your hands behind your back.”

  Still keeping one eye on the other outlaw, Will waited until the boy was able to roll onto his stomach, and get his hands behind his back. He cuffed the young outlaw, as with the other man removed his knife, then pulled him to his feet.

  “Now both of you, get over to your saddles, and sit down,” Will ordered. “I’m gonna tie you to ’em for the night. It’s too late to start for Pecos now. We’ll camp here, then head for town at first light.”

  “You can’t do that, Ranger,” the older outlaw protested. “We ain’t had a chance to finish eatin’ yet. And what if we need to take a leak, or…”

  “I’ll give both of you a chance, one at a time, once I’m certain neither one of you can go anywhere,” Will answered. “Now move.”

  Will had the two men sit alongside their saddles. One at a time, he removed their handcuffs, took the cuffs and locked one end of the cuffs around the saddle horn fork, the other to each man’s right wrist. Once they were secured, he took their lariats, looped one end through the saddle fork and tied it off, then tied the other end around the trunk of a large mesquite. As soon as that was done, he pulled their free hands behind their backs and tied those to their cuffed ones. Finally, he took two lengths of rope, wrapped those around the men’s ankles, and bound them tightly.

  “There. That should hold you two for the night,” he said. “One more thing. Where’s the money and passengers’ possessions you took when you robbed the stage?”

  “You think I’m gonna tell you, Ranger?” the older man said, with a sneer. “Not a chance.”

  “It’s split up amongst all our saddlebags. We didn’t take the time to hide it,” the younger man volunteered, before Will even had the chance to ask him.

  “Gracias, kid. I’m obliged,” Will said. “Now I’m gonna take care of my horse. Ol’ Pete’s pretty tired from chasin’ you hombres over three hundred miles.”

  “What are you gonna do with Wiley, just leave him for the damn buzzards?” the older outlaw asked.

  “I should, and I imagine your pard’s beyond carin’ about what I do with him,” Pete answered. “I’m figurin’ he’s more worried about what Satan has planned for him right about now. But no, I ain’t gonna leave him. Soon as my cayuse is settled, I’ll wrap your pardner in a blanket. Tomorrow, I’ll haul his carcass into Pecos, along with you two.”

  Will whistled, and Pete trotted up to him.

  “Good boy,” he said, as he slipped the bridle off Pete’s head. He then removed the saddle and blanket, took a currycomb from his saddlebags, and began grooming the paint.

  “I might as well question you two while I’m workin’ on Pete,” he said to the outlaws. “First, I need your names, bein’ as I don’t recognize any of you, and I don’t feel like goin’ through my fugitive list to try’n find if you’re in there, seein’ as you’re both sittin’ right there in front of me. It’ll be a lot easier if you cooperate, and just answer my questions.”

  “My name’s Kyle…Kyle Peterson,” the older outlaw said. “That’s my brother Wylie lyin’ over there, with your bullet in him. I’ll get you for gunnin’ him down if it’s the last thing I do, Ranger. I swear it.”

  “Your brother went for his gun, after I ordered all of you not to. As far as killin’ me, you might want to think hard about that,” Will answered. “I don’t recollect your name, and from what I understand, no one was hurt when you hombres robbed that stage. That means you’re only looking at an armed robbery charge, unless I find some other warrants out on you. If you try’n kill me, which I promise you won’t be easy, you’ll be lookin’ at a long stretch in Huntsville for attempted murder of a peace officer. Or hangin’ for murder, if you did somehow manage to put a bullet in me.”

  “Don’t matter to me whether I die or not, so long as I send you to Hell first,” Peterson replied.

  “How about you, son? What’s your name?” Will asked the young outlaw.

  “It’s Jonas Peterson,” the boy answered, his voice shaking. “I’m Kyle and Wylie’s cousin.” His chin trembled as he attempted to keep from crying. “I didn’t want any part of this. They talked me into it. I kept tellin’ ’em we’d never get away with it. But they wouldn’t listen, and kept workin’ on me until I finally gave in. I’m a dang fool. What’s gonna happen to me, Ranger?”

  “That’ll depend on a judge and jury,” Will answered. “My job is just to make the arrest and haul you in. The court will decide whether or not you’re innocent or guilty, and what your punishment will be. My guess is, and you can’t hold me to this, if as you say this is the first time you’ve broken the law, and you ask the judge for leniency…”

  “Leniency? What’s that?”

  “It
means ask him to go easy on you,” Will explained. “I’d hazard you’ll only get a short prison sentence, and a stretch of probation time. That means once you get out of jail, you’ll have to report in to the local law regularly.”

  “Don’t listen to him, kid,” Kyle snapped. “You tried to gun down this Ranger a few minutes ago. I’ve got to give you credit for tryin’. It took a lot of guts, and it’s only too bad you weren’t able to get your gun and pull the trigger fast enough. Now you’ll be lookin’ at attempted murder of a Ranger, in addition to robbery charges. If either one of us gets the chance to kill this son of a bitch, we’ve gotta take it.”

  “Ranger?” the boy said, his chin trembling.

  “You’ll be makin’ an even bigger mistake if you listen to your cousin, there,” Will said. “I ain’t forgotten you tried to plug me, but I’m not gonna bring it up to the judge, unless you force me to. I figure you were just plumb scared senseless. Hell, I probably would’ve done the same thing, if I were in your boots. I made some real stupid mistakes when I was your age, too. It was pure dumb luck I ended up wearin’ a badge, instead of runnin’ from one. In fact, quite a few Rangers started out on the wrong side of the law. If you keep your nose clean while you’re behind bars, and prove yourself once you’re released, you might even think of joinin’ up with the outfit some day. You seem to have the guts for the job. It took a lotta nerve to try’n plug me, when I already had my gun in my hand. If you straighten yourself out, you just might make a decent lawman one day.”

  “He’s tryin’ to run a sandy on you, Jonas,” Kyle said. “Don’t believe a word he’s tellin’ you. Soon as he’s got you behind bars, he’ll do everythin’ he can to make certain you stay there for the rest of your life, if he can.”

  “I…I dunno,” Jonas stammered.

  “You don’t have to listen to me, son,” Will said, attempting to keep a note of empathy in his voice, to try and calm the scared young outlaw. “You can take your cousin’s word, and try to kill me before I get you to the sheriff in Pecos. I’m only gonna remind you of one thing. Haven’t you gotten yourself in enough trouble already, listenin’ to your kinfolk? You’re just damn lucky it ain’t you lyin’ dead over there, rather than your cousin. If you keep followin’ the owlhoot trail once you’re out of prison, I guarantee you sooner or later you’ll end up just like Wylie. Dead, with a bullet in you, either from a lawman, or just as likely from one of your pardners when he turns on you. I suggest you think long and hard about that while we’re on the way to Pecos.”