“What about the raid?”
“Soap didn't know about the raid so he couldn't have told. Tom wants to close out the McMurphys in one big hit. This guy's showing up won't change that a bit. We need to move fast before any other sons-a-bitches come out of the woodwork.”
“What do you know about this guy?”
“Nothing. He left long before I came here. Tom knows something about him and of course there's the connection with Pac.”
“What do you suppose Tom will do?”
“What does Tom always do?”
“Right. I'll get the boys and see if we can break his trail in the morning.”
“You do that.”
Colredge opened his desk drawer and lifted a Remington .41 double barrel derringer to the desk top. He opened it and checked the loads. It was loaded.
Chapter V
I
The gunsmith shop had a lamp lit so Pommel decided that he needed to pay a visit before leaving town. He had no idea how long it would be before he would see a settlement again.
A dark headed, portly man was sitting at a workbench working on the internal mechanisms of a revolver. He turned his swivel chair and removed his magnifying glasses.
“Can I help you, sir?” he asked.
“I need two or three boxes of .44/40 Winchester cartridges,” Pommel answered. “I want to look at your long range rifles if you have any for sale.”
“Ain't got much in the way of Winchesters. I got a couple of new Ballard Sporting rifles and some odds and ends.”
Pommel's eyes ranged over the small arrangement of rifles scattered along the wall behind the counter. “What about the three-band Enfield? Is it for sale?”
“Sure is. Not many are interested in those old muzzleloaders now-a-days, especially infantry rifles.” The gunsmith drew down an exceptionally well cared for rifle-musket and handed it over. “I don't know how many were carried in the war but it was a bunch.”
Pommel examined it carefully. It was a standard issue Three-band Enfield .577 caliber infantry rifle with elevated sights and sling.
“I took it in trade from a fellow who said he used it for guard duty at Brownsville. He said that he doubted the gun had been fired a hundred times,” the gunsmith said. “You got an interest in such a thing?”
“I carried one just like it for three years a while back,” Pommel said. “In the right hands it can knock a man out of the saddle at six hundred yards.”
“Sounds like you know.”
“I do. Have you any Minie balls for it?”
“Only a few but I got a bullet mold, tin of percussion caps and some bar lead I can throw in. If you'll take it, I'd let the works go for five dollars.”
“That don't sound like much for a gun in such good shape,” Pommel said.
“Nobody wants these guns anymore. Everyone wants a cartridge model or a carbine. It might sit on the shelf for years before anyone else took an interest in it. I sell them. I ain't got no interest in collecting them,” the gunsmith said with a smile.
“I'm in the same saddle,” Pommel said. “Twenty years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated but for what I have in mind, I'm going to need a good long-range repeater.”
“Long-range repeater, huh? You talk like a man who appreciates a fine rifle. How much are you willing to spend?”
“What have you got?” Pommel asked.
“Just a minute, I'll get it,” the gunsmith said.
He stepped into a back room and returned with one of the finest Model 1873 Winchesters McMurphy had ever seen.
“I bought this Winchester Model 1873 Sporting Rifle from a spike hunter when he needed a grub stake,” the gunsmith said as he carefully placed the long blue rifle on the counter. “One thing about those buffalo hunters. They knew their rifles. He claimed he ordered this one from the factory. It's got a thirty inch octagon barrel, buckhorn rear sights adjustable to four hundred yards, pistol grip hand checkered walnut butt stock and some of the finest case hardening I've ever seen on a receiver. It doesn't have an ounce of rust or a scratch on it. I doubt there is a finer '73 in West Texas.”
“What's the caliber?” Pommel asked as he lifted the Winchester and admired the tiger striped walnut forearm and stock.
“It's a .44/40 Winchester Centerfire just like your Remington. The spike hunter claimed it was his backup rifle to his Sharps. You know, in case of trouble. Look what he had engraved on the brass plate on the bottom of the receiver.”
Pommel turned the rifle and smiled as he read the engraving. “Gravedigger. Seems appropriate.”
“I ain't claiming it's a one-in-a-thousand rifle, but if it ain't, it should be. It will group five rounds inside an inch at a hundred yards.”
“How much?” Pommel asked.
The gunsmith hesitated before answering. “I've got to have two hundred dollars for it. I think the right man will pay the price.”
Pommel smiled as he levered the action and drew the rifle to his shoulder. It was a big gun, heavy, finely crafted, and smooth. “He will. Throw in three boxes of cartridges and a cartridge belt and I'll give you two â ten.”
“Mister, I like the way you think. Heck, I'll throw in a horn loop scabbard if you pay in coin.”
“Deal,” Pommel said as he drew a coin purse from his vest and counted out four fifty-dollar Eagles and a ten-dollar bill.
“Most men would have hesitated. They wouldn't have realized the value of such a gun,” the gunsmith said as he placed a scabbard on the counter. “If you don't mind my asking, what do you want this Winchester for?”
Pommel began pushing .44-40 cartridges through the loading gate. “I know what it will do. I have a Remington revolving carbine on my saddle but I'm going to need something that can shoot a ways. I got plenty of firepower for close in shooting.”
“Yes, sir. I was admiring that Remington revolver in your holster. I haven't seen very many nickel-plated revolvers in these parts. You work for Bent and Colredge?”
“Why do you ask?” Pommel asked shaking his head.
“Most of those boys like their guns. They tend to carry the better stuff.”
“What about Burt Blake?”
“He's a gun hand, that's for sure. One of the fastest around.”
“Who's the fastest?”
“Ain't no one faster than Pac McMurphy. I never seen anyone who can draw and fire so accurately with such speed. He carries a little double action .41 Colt Lightning. He can make it dance.”
“Is he a gunman?”
“Naw, I doubt Pac has ever shot a thing other than varmints, tin cans and bottles. But he practices everyday and I've seen him in action.”
“Up here?”
“Sure, he rides into Pampa every week or so.”
“I thought the McMurphys were on the outs with this town,” Pommel said.
“Not Pac. Those other two wouldn't set foot in Pampa but Pac gets along real good with Tom Bent. They've been friends ever since Pac was just a pup.”
Pommel thanked the gunsmith, gathered his goods and loaded his saddle bags. After securing the scabbard to the horn and slipping the Winchester crossways through the loop, he climbed aboard the sorrel stud. After he was clear from town and had time to daydream, his thoughts drifted to Pac McMurphy. With everything that was going on he didn't understand why Pac would set foot near Pampa. Pommel wondered if the lad was being used or if he was just no good. Whatever the reason for his being in Pampa, he could be used in a trap or as a hostage. The other alternative was that Pac was in league with the Ring, perhaps working to undermine his brothers to win control of the ranch. He needed to confide in someone. He thought of Mary. After all he was her boy. He spurred his sorrel on. He wanted to make the hill country before dawn. He was certain that Colredge would send riders after him.
II
Temple McMurphy held up his brown gelding and drew Pac's pinto forward. Reese brought his horse along side his brother.
“There he is,” Temple said with a sigh of relief.
Reese shook his head and smiled. “I was afraid the little shit had bought it this time.”
Pac McMurphy stopped when he saw his brothers, drew his hat close to his head and waited for them to come to him. His feet hurt and he was stiff but he wasn't about to let them know it.
“Your pinto came in late last evening. There wasn't no blood but we feared the worst,” Temple said as his horse stepped forward.
“He got away from me.”
“The paint got away from you? Alright,” Temple said. “If that's your story.”
Anger flashed in Pac's eyes. “You calling me a liar?”
“Well?” Reese said.
“Screw you,” Pac said harshly.
“Ain't nobody calling you a liar,” Temple said calmly after giving Reese a hard look. “It just seems odd that you would lose a horse that you're practically glued to.”
“I had to relieve myself and the horse took off.”
“You normally relieve yourself without this?” Reese asked as he drew Pac's Colt from his saddle bag.
For a moment Pac was silent. “I was afraid it would fall out of my holster when I took my pants down.”
“You better worry more about not having that gun when you need it then where it will land when you take a shit,” Reese said with a chuckle.
Temple didn't smile although he wanted to. He knew Pac would blow up if he joined his brother in the teasing and he was tired of arguing with him. “Get on your horse. We've got a long way to ride.”
“Ain't going with you,” Pac said as he slipped his revolver into his holster and took the reins of the pinto. “I was going some place when I lost him and I intend to finish the trip.”
“Probably going off to pay a visit to Jesse Pearson's daughter. Jeeze, Pac, what is she? All of fifteen? Jesse is going to shoot your ass off if he catches you with her,” Reese said.
“Ain't none of your gott-damned business where I go or who I visit,” Pac said.
“I'll remember that the next time Temple wants to ride half way across Texas looking for your sorry ass,” Reese snapped.
“I didn't ask for your help,” Pac said as he spurred the pinto north leaving his brothers without another word.
“Ain't he a grateful little turd?” Reese asked. “I hope he's keeping his wick in his pants. He sure as hell ain't ready to be a papa. I sure as hell ain't ready to have greasy old Jesse as an in-law.”
Temple watched the pinto galloping easily toward the horizon. “I want you to back off Pac for a while and cut him some slack. Mom says we're driving him away and I think she's right.”
“Momma's poor little Pac will get his feelings hurt. We sure wouldn't want to do that,” Reese said mockingly.
“I tell you what I don't want to do. I don't want to pack him home slung across the back of a horse and explain to Mom how he got killed.”
“You think that letting him ride north of the Red is going to keep him alive?”
Temple slapped the tips of his reins against his saddle horn. “Maybe if we weren't so hard on him, he'd be around the ranch more often.”
“What's with you? You know better than that. When are you and Mom going to quit making excuses for him? I don't care if he is twenty years old. Neither of you would have taken that crap off of me and Mom wouldn't have taken it off of you. Why is it we always got to treat Pac like he's something special? Just because he's Mom's favorite.”
“Well, he is. And there's nothing we can do about it.”
Reese smiled and nodded. “I've got to get home. I haven't seen Sarah and the girls in three days.”
Temple nodded and turned his mount to follow. “Thanks for riding with me anyhow.”
“Sure, big brother. Anytime.”
“What about that freight in Brownswood? John says that he's about out of dry goods at the store.”
“I was wanting to haul Ely's bagged wheat on the out trip to cut expenses. I was hoping to hear from him soon.”
“Go see him first thing in the morning. Tell him you're going with or without his wheat. Get him off the pot. John and Fritz need those goods.”
“I'll leave tomorrow with or without Ely's wheat,” Reese said.
“And take along Gomez and Shaky. I don't want you and Butch traveling alone.”
“You really think we need guards for canned goods?”
“Until things settle down, I don't want anyone on the ranch or any of the teamsters in the open alone.”
“That makes sense, I guess. What doesn't make sense is letting Pac go off alone and you know it.”
“I wonder how he did lose his pistol and horse?” Temple asked. “We both know that the pinto didn't run off and leave him.”
“Whatever happened, he won't talk. What about the cattle?”
“I can't wait any longer. I figure I've got near to seven hundred steers ready to go in the north herd and we've got to brand and work those newborns.”
“You going to drive them to Abilene?”
“I don't see that I have much choice,” Temple answered. “We got hands to pay and we can't keep carrying the payroll with freight business.”
“You're going to have a fight the minute you cross the Red. Why don't we drive them east”?
“I don't plan on crossing until we're far enough west to take a straight shot to Abilene. Maybe I can sneak past them. Anyway, it's too far to take them east. I've got to ship from Abilene if I expect to get a price.”
“We knew this day was coming. We're caught between the rock and the hard place and the other ranchers are too scared to make a fight of it.”
“After what happened to the Evan's place, who can blame them?”
“If we could just get to Black Tom, we could end this whole thing in minutes,” Reese said.
“Fat chance of that happening and even if we did, Colredge would still have control of over forty riders. We're going to have a full blown range war if we aren't careful.”
“That's exactly what we need. Until we get off our asses and go up there on a raid, the Ring is going to pick us apart one ranch at a time. When are you, John, Fritz and Mom going to realize that?”
“It ain't that simple and you know it. What about Sarah and your girls? I sure don't want to see them orphaned and widowed. There's a lot of other ranchers in the same circumstance.”
“Things have sure changed since the old days. Hell, the old man wouldn't have thought that way.”
“And what do you know about that?”
“I've heard Fritz's stories. How he brought back those stolen horses, went after that Comanche who took the Eldridge girl, and made that raid on those Comancheros.”
“And where is he now, Reese? You want your girls growing up like we did?”