Looking to the Future, page 7
Edwards shook his head. “The guy’s a complete savage. We only wish he’d come for one of us. Long as he leaves the settlers alone.”
Mac said, “Then again, you know....” He shrugged.
Wes frowned. “What, Mac? Spit it out.”
“Oh, nothin’. Just we gotta remember those settlers are takin’ his homeland apart piece by piece. If I was him, I’d probably be doin’ the same thing he’s doin’. Tryin’ to scare ‘em out.” He glanced at Dramon, then at the men still seated at the other table, and gestured with one arm. “If you don’t know, not very long ago all of this—the whole panhandle of Texas plus points north, south, east and west, even over into the Territory—used to be Comancheria. Four Crows’ native homeland.”
Connolly said, “Plus he was the hand-picked successor of Iron Bear, a Comanche war chief. We figure he was only 14 when we caught up with Iron Bear’s bunch up in Boquillas Draw. Four Crows is the only one who escaped us that day. I still think that’s why he believes he has that magic armor Wes mentioned. That was a little while before Mac and Wes joined our little gang.”
Dramon said, “Man, I’d like to see him in person.”
Connolly remembered all the Rangers who had seen Four Crows up close. Every one of them but him and Wes were tortured in one way or another and killed. “Well, no, son, you wouldn’t. Not ‘til you’ve got a lot more time in the saddle as a Ranger. But I don’t doubt your turn will come.”
He glanced around at the three Rangers still seated at the other table. “And that goes for all of you too. You see anyone you even think might be Four Crows, you beat feet back to one of us or one of the other older Rangers and let us know. I’m not joking. If you try to take on Four Crows, chances are we’ll find only pieces of you later.”
Mac nodded, as did Wes and Edwards.
Connolly set his glass on the table a little harder than he meant to. “And on that note, I think we ought’a call this little party over. Wes, welcome home, my friend. Oh, and if the captain didn’t tell you, you and Mac have tomorrow off to get yourself situated.” He glanced at the other table again. “But everyone else, get some sleep. You guys gotta ride the shootin’ range tomorrow, remember?”
The men at the other table and Dramon all downed their drinks and stood.
Dramon said, “Yes sir. Goodnight.” He glanced down at Wes. “And welcome home, Corporal.”
Wes grinned up at him. “I appreciate that. Thanks. But the only corporals here are that one and that one.” He pointed at Connolly, then Edwards.
Connolly grinned. “Well, for the time being.”
Mac said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Edwards quickly stood up and glanced down at Mac. “Oh nothin’. Jim’s just had maybe one too many. Pay him no mind.” He glanced at the younger Rangers. “Except that part about stayin’ away from Four Crows. That’s dead serious.” He looked at Connolly. “C’mon, Jim. Let’s old folks help each other up the stairs.” He laughed.
When the corporals and the others had left, Mac looked at Wes. “You buy that about Jim havin’ had one too many?”
“I don’t see why not. We’ve both seen him with three sheets full.”
“Yeah, but that’s kind’a my point. Bein’ three sheets full affects his balance a little, but he doesn’t speak out of turn or say things he doesn’t mean.” He paused. “And anyway, you’re past due.”
Wes frowned. “Past due for what?”
“That promotion, Wes. You’d make a great corporal. Y’know, you’ve always had that little bit extra. You ride good. You shoot great. Plus you’ve already been a deputy US marshal. And you got assignments like that deal down in Brownsville and—”
Wes put up one hand. “Nah, now you’re talkin’ out of your hat. If you forgot, I also snuck off after a Comanche war party in the middle of the night, and took off on my own for a vengeance ride, and on and on. The captain doesn’t forget stuff like that. So just drop it, all right?” He paused. “‘Sides, when it comes time for us to get promoted, I reckon we’ll both get it at the same time. And other than a little more money every month, it won’t make a slice of difference. We’ll still be who we are, right?”
Mac looked at him. “Well, I guess.”
Wes nodded. “We will. And that draws a line under it.”
After they’d both had another drink, Wes said, “It ain’t all about me anyway, Mac. What you been up to the past year? I heard somewhere you even got a regular girlfriend now. Mary something or other?”
Mac bobbed his head. “Marisol. Marisol Martinez. Sweetest woman I’ve ever known. You’ll have to meet her sometime.”
“We’ll have to arrange that. Hey, remember the day we left Watson? I got ol’ Charley and your dad quit skinnin’ rabbits long enough to give us that little speech and a couple’a guns?”
Mac laughed. “A’course. I’ll never forget that speech.” He cleared his throat. “You can do anything you want to do, boys. Don’t forget that. There’s only three secrets to it: The first is to know who you are. Don’t matter who the other guy is if you know who you are. The second is to know your abilities and don’t overreach ‘em. And the third is to be aware that most men will try to overreach theirs.”
Wes nodded. “Almost perfect. I don’t think he called us ‘boys’ though. I don’t think that was in there.”
“Well, it was close.”
Wes nodded again. “You know, I probably wouldn’t be here today if you and your pa hadn’t taken me in. Eleven years old.” He shook his head. “Hard to imagine now.”
“Been together ever since, haven’t we? Partners.”
“Partners.”
Together, Wes and Mac finished the bottle before they eventually went up to their rooms.
* * *
Mac lay on his right side in bed, his face pressed into the pillow and the covers pulled up to his chin. His left leg, clad in his long johns, extended over the covers. That ankle was tangled in the sheet. Outside, the sun hadn’t quite ascended to peek over the horizon.
His door shuddered under a loud banging. “McFadden!”
“Mmff?”
The pounding came again.
He jerked awake, then twisted his head around too quickly to look for the source of the sound. A hot poker raced up the spine in his neck. He slapped his left hand to his neck and another fire blazed under his palm.
The room was chilly and still mostly dark.
“Damn it!” He winced as he twisted his torso and rolled over to reach for his revolver. It hung behind him in his gun belt over the right bedpost. He missed and fell to the floor alongside the bed, his left ankle and foot still trapped on the bed in the covers.
Again the door shuddered. “C’mon, Mac! Wake up!”
Crowley.
He yelled, “It’s open, damn it!”
Wes turned the knob, pushed the door open, and grinned down at his friend. “Y’know, you ought’a keep that locked. No tellin’ who might come bargin’ in.”
Mac scowled up at him. “Yeah, well. Whaddayou want? Jesus, Wes, it’s still dark outside!”
Wes chuckled. “Naw, now that ain’t true. I’ve been outside. The sun’s almost up. The eastern horizon’s—”
As Mac kicked his left foot free of the covers, he said, “I don’t need no damn weather report.” He pushed up on his elbows and glared. “Whaddayou you want, Crowley?”
“Oh. Well, we’ve got the day off. I thought you might wanna ride with me out east, see what we can see about those Comanches that came ridin’ in yesterday.”
Mac glared at him. “Do you know what ‘day off’ means? It means sleepin’ in. Layin’-in stores. Maybe even havin’ a little fun. Hell, I ain’t even seen Marisol for three or four days.”
“Well Mac, the store won’t be open for another couple hours, and what could be more fun than ridin’ out to—”
“I ain’t goin’.” Mac sat up, wiped the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his hands.
Wes frowned. “Well why not? You’re awake, and you’re almost dressed.” He grinned. “Hey, remember that time we—”
“Yes, I remember us strappin’ our gun belts on over our long johns. But that was different, Wes. We ain’t under attack, and there ain’t no call to—”
Wes raised one hand. “Hey, no need to explain. If you don’t wanna go, you don’t wanna go, that’s all.” He paused. “I’ll be downstairs with Charley.”
He turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.
Chapter 17: Otis McFadden Rising
After the door to Mac’s room closed with a quiet click, the only sound was Crowley’s boots receding on the wood floor outside.
Mac looked at the door and shook his head. “The man has lost his damn mind.” He put his right hand on the mattress and pushed himself up from the floor. “Anybody could see that.”
He reached for his trousers hanging over the foot rail. As he balanced on his left foot and pushed his right leg through, he muttered. “Wakin’ a man up in the middle of the night to go off chasin’ Comanches. And for no good reason.”
He balanced on his right foot and pushed his left leg through. “It ain’t right, that’s all.” He straightened and started buttoning the three top buttons. He’d never found a reason to unbutton the bottom one. “And if I don’t wanna go, I damned well don’t have to go. It ain’t like he’s a corporal.”
He sat down on the bed and bent to pull his boots from underneath it. “At least not yet.” He tugged on the left boot. “He’s nothin’ but a Ranger, same as me.” He pulled on the right boot, then stood and looked around. “Where the hell did I leave my shirt?”
He spotted it lying in the corner past the chair next to the table under the window. He wagged a hand at it. “That’n’s dirty anyway.” He started toward the chest of drawers on the other side of his bed. “Man ought’a have his damn head examined, that’s all.”
He pulled open the second drawer and snatched out a shirt, pushed his left arm through. “What I need is to go see Mari. That’s what I need to do.” He pushed his right arm through, shoved the tails down between his pants and his long johns, then started on the buttons.
But he stopped, snatched his hat from the top of the chest, and slapped it on his head, then tugged it down to fit. He picked up his carbine where it leaned against the corner next to the chest, carried it to the bed and laid it on the part of the blanket that was still on the mattress.
Then he continued buttoning his shirt. “But what I need don’t matter to Crowley.”
He reached for his gun belt and pulled it up over the bedpost. “‘Course Mari won’t be up this early anyway.” He slapped the gun belt around his waist. His Remington hit his right hip with a reassuring pressure as he caught the buckle end of the belt and fed the tip through.
As he buckled it, he said, “Ain’t nobody in their right damn mind up this early.”
He stopped and looked at the door again. “‘Course right mind or not, the damn guy is my partner.”
He snatched the carbine from the bed, opened the door and went out.
* * *
When Mac reached the bottom of the stairs, the lobby of the Amarillo Inn was empty. No sounds came from either the bar on one side or the dining room on the other.
He glanced through the door of the dining room. Manuel hadn’t even laid out cups and silverware yet. And no sounds were coming from the kitchen either. He shook his head. “It ain’t right. Crowley better be out there or—” He turned the doorknob on the right half of the double front door and pulled the door open.
Wes was about to mount, his left foot in the stirrup. He pulled himself up into the saddle as Mac stepped out onto the boardwalk and pulled the door closed.
As Wes settled-in, he draped his left forearm over the pommel. The reins in his left hand, he leaned forward and grinned. “What took you so long, Mac?”
Mac looked up at him. “I had to get dressed, that’s what! Why you gotta bang on my door in the middle of the night? Here I got a gutful of whiskey and my damn neck’s burnin’ and—”
“If you’re gonna track Comanches, you gotta start early. You know that. That’s when the sun’s at just the right angle to—”
“I gotta go get my horse. You gonna wait here or you gonna give me a lift over?”
“Ol’ Charley’s tired, but we’ll ride alongside you. The walk’ll wake you up.”
“Ramón probably ain’t even up yet.”
Wes nodded. “He will be by the time you get there.” And he reined Charley around to the right.
Mac started walking. He looked up at Wes. “I’ll tell you one thing: This ain’t gonna happen again. A man can only put up with so much.”
Wes looked away and grinned, but he kept his laughter to himself.
* * *
As Mac entered the yard of the livery stable, Ramón glanced up from inside the barn. He recognized the two figures immediately, even from the distance.
He’d know Charley and the thin, short Ranger on his back anywhere now that they were reacquainted, and the mass walking next to him could only be Mac. He was almost as big as Charley.
Ramón stepped out of the barn with his left hand raised. “Morning, Ranger McFadden. You needing your horse already?”
Mac said, “Ungodly hour, ain’t it?” He jerked one thumb over his shoulder. “But Crowley wants us to go skin a Comanche or something. I don’t know. I’m still wakin’ up.”
Ramón spread his hands. “But it is a beautiful morning for skinning a Comanche, is it not? Soon the sun will be up and—”
“Exactly my point. Soon the sun will be up. But it ain’t up yet.” He shook Ramón’s extended hand, then walked past him into the barn. “Yeah, I guess I need my stupid horse.”
Charley tossed his head and sniggered.
Ramón grinned up at Wes. “Late night?”
Wes chuckled and nodded. “Some seem to think so. But y’know, a man’s gotta keep doin’ what he does as long as he can still do it.”
“I agree. Each morning, it gets a little harder to force myself out of my warm bed. But I remember that if I don’t get an early start,” and he spread his arms again, “I will miss all of this.”
Wes gestured with his chin. “Tell that to Mr. Grouchy over there.” He laughed.
A few minutes later, Mac emerged from the barn. His horse was saddled, his carbine in the scabbard. He stepped up into the saddle, shifted a little to settle-in, and walked the horse toward Crowley and Ramón. “Gracias, Ramón. I appreciate it I guess.”
Ramón said, “Por nada.” He frowned. “I wonder, why have you never given your horse a proper name?”
“‘Cause I never name anything I might have to eat someday.” Mac’s shifted his gaze to Wes. “You comin’, Crowley, or are you gonna sit around and talk all day?” He nudged his horse past Charley and started walking him toward the front of the lot.
Wes grinned down at Ramón. “Gracias, Ramón. Guess I’d better go.”
Ramón laughed quietly and raised one hand. “Con Diós, amigo.”
Wes nodded, reined Charley around and urged him to a trot.
He caught up with Mac at the end of the lot and the two of them turned their horses toward Amarillo.
The top of the ball of the sun was just peeking over the eastern horizon.
Wes glanced over at Mac. “Y’know, instead’a comin’ into the west end of town, we ought’a be gettin’ to where the Comanches turned off the road about now.”
“I’m here, ain’t I? Don’t push it, Crowley.”
Chapter 18: Tracking (and Finding) Comanches
Once they reached the east end of Amarillo, Wes and then Mac urged their mounts to a gallop. They’d ridden for less than fifteen minutes when Mac reined his horse back to a lope and then a walk.
As Wes did the same with Charley, Mac reined-in and pointed to the left edge of the road. “There. Those tracks look fresh.”
Wes looked, then nodded. “Shod horses, so Rangers.”
“Well yeah, but—”
“We’ll find the unshod tracks a little farther along.” He touched his heels to Charley’s flanks. “Let’s go, Charley.”
Mac shook his head, then followed Wes past the edge of the road. A moment later, he reined his horse about ten feet to the left and began eyeing the ground between him and Wes.
Wes was doing the same thing on the other side, but he occasionally checked the ground to his right too. The arroyos they were looking for—the arroyos the Comanches had disappeared into—lay in that direction and led toward the hills far beyond. The one Wes was thinking of was a quarter-mile ahead, but the patterns of the arroyos and the arroyos themselves can change a lot with the passage of a year.
He glanced at Mac. “You been out here in the past year?”
Mac shook his head. “I haven’t been here since the last time we were both here. But we’ll see the arroyo before—”
“We might see fresh tracks first, headed east or northeast. Especially if they know of a new one that starts farther east. Or maybe even due north or west.”
Mac nodded. “True enough.”
There was nothing to do but plod along and watch the ground.
After a few more minutes, Wes frowned. “Mac, did you see any dead Comanches on the way out?”
“No, come to think of it.”
“Me either.” He paused, then said quietly, “They must’a come back and picked ‘em up.”
“What’re you thinkin’?”
Wes gestured with his chin to the north-northeast. “Maybe they’ve got a new camp out here somewhere. Or at least a place to stop while they bury their dead.”
Mac nodded and they continued to walk their horses, carefully watching the ground. He started watching to his left too.
Occasionally, Wes glanced up toward the low hills in the north and east.
A half-hour later, they were nearing a large arroyo.
Mac pointed. “Hey, isn’t that where you and Bill Pinchot found what was left of Morrison? That coward of a wannabe comanchero?”
Wes glanced at the arroyo as they passed. Nothing. Then he went back to studying the hills and the larger stands of creosote and mesquite that grew along the base of them. He didn’t look around as he answered Mac. “Yeah. Marion Morrison. Guy I met in Kiker the first time through. ‘Cinco’ by his comanchero name. But me and Bill didn’t only find him. The idiot tried to bushwhack us and I put him there.”
Mac said, “Then again, you know....” He shrugged.
Wes frowned. “What, Mac? Spit it out.”
“Oh, nothin’. Just we gotta remember those settlers are takin’ his homeland apart piece by piece. If I was him, I’d probably be doin’ the same thing he’s doin’. Tryin’ to scare ‘em out.” He glanced at Dramon, then at the men still seated at the other table, and gestured with one arm. “If you don’t know, not very long ago all of this—the whole panhandle of Texas plus points north, south, east and west, even over into the Territory—used to be Comancheria. Four Crows’ native homeland.”
Connolly said, “Plus he was the hand-picked successor of Iron Bear, a Comanche war chief. We figure he was only 14 when we caught up with Iron Bear’s bunch up in Boquillas Draw. Four Crows is the only one who escaped us that day. I still think that’s why he believes he has that magic armor Wes mentioned. That was a little while before Mac and Wes joined our little gang.”
Dramon said, “Man, I’d like to see him in person.”
Connolly remembered all the Rangers who had seen Four Crows up close. Every one of them but him and Wes were tortured in one way or another and killed. “Well, no, son, you wouldn’t. Not ‘til you’ve got a lot more time in the saddle as a Ranger. But I don’t doubt your turn will come.”
He glanced around at the three Rangers still seated at the other table. “And that goes for all of you too. You see anyone you even think might be Four Crows, you beat feet back to one of us or one of the other older Rangers and let us know. I’m not joking. If you try to take on Four Crows, chances are we’ll find only pieces of you later.”
Mac nodded, as did Wes and Edwards.
Connolly set his glass on the table a little harder than he meant to. “And on that note, I think we ought’a call this little party over. Wes, welcome home, my friend. Oh, and if the captain didn’t tell you, you and Mac have tomorrow off to get yourself situated.” He glanced at the other table again. “But everyone else, get some sleep. You guys gotta ride the shootin’ range tomorrow, remember?”
The men at the other table and Dramon all downed their drinks and stood.
Dramon said, “Yes sir. Goodnight.” He glanced down at Wes. “And welcome home, Corporal.”
Wes grinned up at him. “I appreciate that. Thanks. But the only corporals here are that one and that one.” He pointed at Connolly, then Edwards.
Connolly grinned. “Well, for the time being.”
Mac said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Edwards quickly stood up and glanced down at Mac. “Oh nothin’. Jim’s just had maybe one too many. Pay him no mind.” He glanced at the younger Rangers. “Except that part about stayin’ away from Four Crows. That’s dead serious.” He looked at Connolly. “C’mon, Jim. Let’s old folks help each other up the stairs.” He laughed.
When the corporals and the others had left, Mac looked at Wes. “You buy that about Jim havin’ had one too many?”
“I don’t see why not. We’ve both seen him with three sheets full.”
“Yeah, but that’s kind’a my point. Bein’ three sheets full affects his balance a little, but he doesn’t speak out of turn or say things he doesn’t mean.” He paused. “And anyway, you’re past due.”
Wes frowned. “Past due for what?”
“That promotion, Wes. You’d make a great corporal. Y’know, you’ve always had that little bit extra. You ride good. You shoot great. Plus you’ve already been a deputy US marshal. And you got assignments like that deal down in Brownsville and—”
Wes put up one hand. “Nah, now you’re talkin’ out of your hat. If you forgot, I also snuck off after a Comanche war party in the middle of the night, and took off on my own for a vengeance ride, and on and on. The captain doesn’t forget stuff like that. So just drop it, all right?” He paused. “‘Sides, when it comes time for us to get promoted, I reckon we’ll both get it at the same time. And other than a little more money every month, it won’t make a slice of difference. We’ll still be who we are, right?”
Mac looked at him. “Well, I guess.”
Wes nodded. “We will. And that draws a line under it.”
After they’d both had another drink, Wes said, “It ain’t all about me anyway, Mac. What you been up to the past year? I heard somewhere you even got a regular girlfriend now. Mary something or other?”
Mac bobbed his head. “Marisol. Marisol Martinez. Sweetest woman I’ve ever known. You’ll have to meet her sometime.”
“We’ll have to arrange that. Hey, remember the day we left Watson? I got ol’ Charley and your dad quit skinnin’ rabbits long enough to give us that little speech and a couple’a guns?”
Mac laughed. “A’course. I’ll never forget that speech.” He cleared his throat. “You can do anything you want to do, boys. Don’t forget that. There’s only three secrets to it: The first is to know who you are. Don’t matter who the other guy is if you know who you are. The second is to know your abilities and don’t overreach ‘em. And the third is to be aware that most men will try to overreach theirs.”
Wes nodded. “Almost perfect. I don’t think he called us ‘boys’ though. I don’t think that was in there.”
“Well, it was close.”
Wes nodded again. “You know, I probably wouldn’t be here today if you and your pa hadn’t taken me in. Eleven years old.” He shook his head. “Hard to imagine now.”
“Been together ever since, haven’t we? Partners.”
“Partners.”
Together, Wes and Mac finished the bottle before they eventually went up to their rooms.
* * *
Mac lay on his right side in bed, his face pressed into the pillow and the covers pulled up to his chin. His left leg, clad in his long johns, extended over the covers. That ankle was tangled in the sheet. Outside, the sun hadn’t quite ascended to peek over the horizon.
His door shuddered under a loud banging. “McFadden!”
“Mmff?”
The pounding came again.
He jerked awake, then twisted his head around too quickly to look for the source of the sound. A hot poker raced up the spine in his neck. He slapped his left hand to his neck and another fire blazed under his palm.
The room was chilly and still mostly dark.
“Damn it!” He winced as he twisted his torso and rolled over to reach for his revolver. It hung behind him in his gun belt over the right bedpost. He missed and fell to the floor alongside the bed, his left ankle and foot still trapped on the bed in the covers.
Again the door shuddered. “C’mon, Mac! Wake up!”
Crowley.
He yelled, “It’s open, damn it!”
Wes turned the knob, pushed the door open, and grinned down at his friend. “Y’know, you ought’a keep that locked. No tellin’ who might come bargin’ in.”
Mac scowled up at him. “Yeah, well. Whaddayou want? Jesus, Wes, it’s still dark outside!”
Wes chuckled. “Naw, now that ain’t true. I’ve been outside. The sun’s almost up. The eastern horizon’s—”
As Mac kicked his left foot free of the covers, he said, “I don’t need no damn weather report.” He pushed up on his elbows and glared. “Whaddayou you want, Crowley?”
“Oh. Well, we’ve got the day off. I thought you might wanna ride with me out east, see what we can see about those Comanches that came ridin’ in yesterday.”
Mac glared at him. “Do you know what ‘day off’ means? It means sleepin’ in. Layin’-in stores. Maybe even havin’ a little fun. Hell, I ain’t even seen Marisol for three or four days.”
“Well Mac, the store won’t be open for another couple hours, and what could be more fun than ridin’ out to—”
“I ain’t goin’.” Mac sat up, wiped the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his hands.
Wes frowned. “Well why not? You’re awake, and you’re almost dressed.” He grinned. “Hey, remember that time we—”
“Yes, I remember us strappin’ our gun belts on over our long johns. But that was different, Wes. We ain’t under attack, and there ain’t no call to—”
Wes raised one hand. “Hey, no need to explain. If you don’t wanna go, you don’t wanna go, that’s all.” He paused. “I’ll be downstairs with Charley.”
He turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.
Chapter 17: Otis McFadden Rising
After the door to Mac’s room closed with a quiet click, the only sound was Crowley’s boots receding on the wood floor outside.
Mac looked at the door and shook his head. “The man has lost his damn mind.” He put his right hand on the mattress and pushed himself up from the floor. “Anybody could see that.”
He reached for his trousers hanging over the foot rail. As he balanced on his left foot and pushed his right leg through, he muttered. “Wakin’ a man up in the middle of the night to go off chasin’ Comanches. And for no good reason.”
He balanced on his right foot and pushed his left leg through. “It ain’t right, that’s all.” He straightened and started buttoning the three top buttons. He’d never found a reason to unbutton the bottom one. “And if I don’t wanna go, I damned well don’t have to go. It ain’t like he’s a corporal.”
He sat down on the bed and bent to pull his boots from underneath it. “At least not yet.” He tugged on the left boot. “He’s nothin’ but a Ranger, same as me.” He pulled on the right boot, then stood and looked around. “Where the hell did I leave my shirt?”
He spotted it lying in the corner past the chair next to the table under the window. He wagged a hand at it. “That’n’s dirty anyway.” He started toward the chest of drawers on the other side of his bed. “Man ought’a have his damn head examined, that’s all.”
He pulled open the second drawer and snatched out a shirt, pushed his left arm through. “What I need is to go see Mari. That’s what I need to do.” He pushed his right arm through, shoved the tails down between his pants and his long johns, then started on the buttons.
But he stopped, snatched his hat from the top of the chest, and slapped it on his head, then tugged it down to fit. He picked up his carbine where it leaned against the corner next to the chest, carried it to the bed and laid it on the part of the blanket that was still on the mattress.
Then he continued buttoning his shirt. “But what I need don’t matter to Crowley.”
He reached for his gun belt and pulled it up over the bedpost. “‘Course Mari won’t be up this early anyway.” He slapped the gun belt around his waist. His Remington hit his right hip with a reassuring pressure as he caught the buckle end of the belt and fed the tip through.
As he buckled it, he said, “Ain’t nobody in their right damn mind up this early.”
He stopped and looked at the door again. “‘Course right mind or not, the damn guy is my partner.”
He snatched the carbine from the bed, opened the door and went out.
* * *
When Mac reached the bottom of the stairs, the lobby of the Amarillo Inn was empty. No sounds came from either the bar on one side or the dining room on the other.
He glanced through the door of the dining room. Manuel hadn’t even laid out cups and silverware yet. And no sounds were coming from the kitchen either. He shook his head. “It ain’t right. Crowley better be out there or—” He turned the doorknob on the right half of the double front door and pulled the door open.
Wes was about to mount, his left foot in the stirrup. He pulled himself up into the saddle as Mac stepped out onto the boardwalk and pulled the door closed.
As Wes settled-in, he draped his left forearm over the pommel. The reins in his left hand, he leaned forward and grinned. “What took you so long, Mac?”
Mac looked up at him. “I had to get dressed, that’s what! Why you gotta bang on my door in the middle of the night? Here I got a gutful of whiskey and my damn neck’s burnin’ and—”
“If you’re gonna track Comanches, you gotta start early. You know that. That’s when the sun’s at just the right angle to—”
“I gotta go get my horse. You gonna wait here or you gonna give me a lift over?”
“Ol’ Charley’s tired, but we’ll ride alongside you. The walk’ll wake you up.”
“Ramón probably ain’t even up yet.”
Wes nodded. “He will be by the time you get there.” And he reined Charley around to the right.
Mac started walking. He looked up at Wes. “I’ll tell you one thing: This ain’t gonna happen again. A man can only put up with so much.”
Wes looked away and grinned, but he kept his laughter to himself.
* * *
As Mac entered the yard of the livery stable, Ramón glanced up from inside the barn. He recognized the two figures immediately, even from the distance.
He’d know Charley and the thin, short Ranger on his back anywhere now that they were reacquainted, and the mass walking next to him could only be Mac. He was almost as big as Charley.
Ramón stepped out of the barn with his left hand raised. “Morning, Ranger McFadden. You needing your horse already?”
Mac said, “Ungodly hour, ain’t it?” He jerked one thumb over his shoulder. “But Crowley wants us to go skin a Comanche or something. I don’t know. I’m still wakin’ up.”
Ramón spread his hands. “But it is a beautiful morning for skinning a Comanche, is it not? Soon the sun will be up and—”
“Exactly my point. Soon the sun will be up. But it ain’t up yet.” He shook Ramón’s extended hand, then walked past him into the barn. “Yeah, I guess I need my stupid horse.”
Charley tossed his head and sniggered.
Ramón grinned up at Wes. “Late night?”
Wes chuckled and nodded. “Some seem to think so. But y’know, a man’s gotta keep doin’ what he does as long as he can still do it.”
“I agree. Each morning, it gets a little harder to force myself out of my warm bed. But I remember that if I don’t get an early start,” and he spread his arms again, “I will miss all of this.”
Wes gestured with his chin. “Tell that to Mr. Grouchy over there.” He laughed.
A few minutes later, Mac emerged from the barn. His horse was saddled, his carbine in the scabbard. He stepped up into the saddle, shifted a little to settle-in, and walked the horse toward Crowley and Ramón. “Gracias, Ramón. I appreciate it I guess.”
Ramón said, “Por nada.” He frowned. “I wonder, why have you never given your horse a proper name?”
“‘Cause I never name anything I might have to eat someday.” Mac’s shifted his gaze to Wes. “You comin’, Crowley, or are you gonna sit around and talk all day?” He nudged his horse past Charley and started walking him toward the front of the lot.
Wes grinned down at Ramón. “Gracias, Ramón. Guess I’d better go.”
Ramón laughed quietly and raised one hand. “Con Diós, amigo.”
Wes nodded, reined Charley around and urged him to a trot.
He caught up with Mac at the end of the lot and the two of them turned their horses toward Amarillo.
The top of the ball of the sun was just peeking over the eastern horizon.
Wes glanced over at Mac. “Y’know, instead’a comin’ into the west end of town, we ought’a be gettin’ to where the Comanches turned off the road about now.”
“I’m here, ain’t I? Don’t push it, Crowley.”
Chapter 18: Tracking (and Finding) Comanches
Once they reached the east end of Amarillo, Wes and then Mac urged their mounts to a gallop. They’d ridden for less than fifteen minutes when Mac reined his horse back to a lope and then a walk.
As Wes did the same with Charley, Mac reined-in and pointed to the left edge of the road. “There. Those tracks look fresh.”
Wes looked, then nodded. “Shod horses, so Rangers.”
“Well yeah, but—”
“We’ll find the unshod tracks a little farther along.” He touched his heels to Charley’s flanks. “Let’s go, Charley.”
Mac shook his head, then followed Wes past the edge of the road. A moment later, he reined his horse about ten feet to the left and began eyeing the ground between him and Wes.
Wes was doing the same thing on the other side, but he occasionally checked the ground to his right too. The arroyos they were looking for—the arroyos the Comanches had disappeared into—lay in that direction and led toward the hills far beyond. The one Wes was thinking of was a quarter-mile ahead, but the patterns of the arroyos and the arroyos themselves can change a lot with the passage of a year.
He glanced at Mac. “You been out here in the past year?”
Mac shook his head. “I haven’t been here since the last time we were both here. But we’ll see the arroyo before—”
“We might see fresh tracks first, headed east or northeast. Especially if they know of a new one that starts farther east. Or maybe even due north or west.”
Mac nodded. “True enough.”
There was nothing to do but plod along and watch the ground.
After a few more minutes, Wes frowned. “Mac, did you see any dead Comanches on the way out?”
“No, come to think of it.”
“Me either.” He paused, then said quietly, “They must’a come back and picked ‘em up.”
“What’re you thinkin’?”
Wes gestured with his chin to the north-northeast. “Maybe they’ve got a new camp out here somewhere. Or at least a place to stop while they bury their dead.”
Mac nodded and they continued to walk their horses, carefully watching the ground. He started watching to his left too.
Occasionally, Wes glanced up toward the low hills in the north and east.
A half-hour later, they were nearing a large arroyo.
Mac pointed. “Hey, isn’t that where you and Bill Pinchot found what was left of Morrison? That coward of a wannabe comanchero?”
Wes glanced at the arroyo as they passed. Nothing. Then he went back to studying the hills and the larger stands of creosote and mesquite that grew along the base of them. He didn’t look around as he answered Mac. “Yeah. Marion Morrison. Guy I met in Kiker the first time through. ‘Cinco’ by his comanchero name. But me and Bill didn’t only find him. The idiot tried to bushwhack us and I put him there.”
