Buzzard's Bluff. William W. Johnstone
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I ain’t heard of ’em. You say they robbed a stagecoach? Where was that?” He knew there was no stagecoach line out this way.
“North of Dallas,” Ben said. “They killed one of the passengers and wounded the fellow riding shotgun. We got word they were headin’ this way. Billy and I tried to see if we could head ’em off, but if we’re still half a day behind ’em, we’re gonna have to ride hard to make up that ground.”
“We’ve been ridin’ pretty hard since sunup,” Billy said, “so we’re gonna have to rest the horses here. I don’t know ’bout that dun of yours,” he said to Ben, “but my horse is tired.” He grinned at Tuttle then. “Ben told me we could buy something to eat when we got here. Said you had a Mexican woman who would cook us up some breakfast.”
Tuttle laughed and nodded to Ben. “Rosa,” he said. “He’s right about that, as long as it is breakfast, somethin’ she can cook up right away. ’Course it’s past dinnertime right now, but this ain’t no restaurant, so it’s a good thing you’re thinkin’ about some breakfast.”
“Breakfast is what I was countin’ on,” Billy assured him, “’cause I ain’t had none today.” He rubbed his belly and complained, “Ben wouldn’t wait for breakfast this mornin’.”
His comment seemed to amuse Tuttle. He chuckled and said, “Well, take care of your horses and I’ll tell Rosa to fry up some sowbelly and eggs. There’s always a pot of coffee on the stove, but I’ll tell her to make up some fresh for a couple of Rangers. Will that do?”
“That’ll do,” Billy answered.
“Wouldn’t hurt if she was to have some biscuits left over from dinner, too,” Ben suggested.
Tuttle laughed again. “I expect she’s got some left over. If she don’t, she’ll most likely bake some fresh ones when she finds out you’re here.”
“Tell her not to go to that much trouble,” Ben insisted. “I just thought if she still had some cold ones, we’d try to catch her before she throws them to the hogs.” He turned to face Billy then. “Come on, Billy, we’ll go water the horses.”
He led the way behind the store to a little grassy clearing that ran down to the water’s edge. “Rosa?” Billy asked. “Is that Tuttle’s wife?”
“No,” Ben answered. “Tuttle’s wife, Mildred, died about four years ago, after she took a fever one evenin’ and passed on the next. Rosa Cruz is a young Mexican woman that’s been cookin’ for him since then. She takes care of him, but not like a wife, more like a daughter.”
“He said she’d probably bake fresh biscuits when she found out you were here. Just tell me it ain’t none of my business, if you want to, but is there something goin’ on between you and her?”
His question brought a laugh out of Ben. “No, ain’t nothin’ like that goin’ on. Rosa’s mother and father were murdered by a gang of outlaws led by Frank Bodine down near El Paso. Bodine rode off with the girl, who wasn’t but about nine years old at the time. I was ridin’ with almost a whole company of Rangers sent out from Austin to run him and his gang to ground. We caught up with ’em about five miles south of here. I was able to slip in and snatch Rosa away from ’em before the shootin’ started. After it was over, we were stuck with a nine-year-old little girl. I knew Tuttle and his wife, so I brought Rosa here and they took her in. It turned out to be a good fit. They didn’t have any children of their own and raised her like she was their natural daughter.”
“Well, I reckon she is glad to see you when you show up,” Billy said. “Let’s hurry back to the store and maybe she’ll roll out some more biscuits.”
His remark turned out to be an understatement, for Rosa was waiting for them in the store, and as soon as they walked in, she ran to give Ben a hug. “Papa says you’re hungry,” she said. “I’ll fix you some breakfast. Fresh coffee is already boiling. I’ll make biscuits, if you’re here long enough.”
“We’ll be here long enough to rest our horses,” Ben told her.
“Good,” Rosa said. “I got time.”
“Say howdy to Billy Turner.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Rosa said politely, then spun on her heel and returned to the kitchen, where she had already begun rolling the biscuit dough. A few minutes later, they went in the oven and she started working on the bacon and eggs.
Back in the store, Ben was asking Tuttle about Kelly and Queen. “They were two rough customers,” Tuttle said. “I told Rosa to stay outta sight. That big one, the other feller called him Sam, he kept askin’ me where my missus was. I kept tellin’ him I didn’t have one. The other one wanted whiskey, and I told him I didn’t sell no whiskey. Then they wanted some breakfast, and I told them I didn’t sell no food. That didn’t suit ’em too good, so Sam asked me how I’d like it if they tore this place to the ground. I told ’em I didn’t think I’d like that a-tall. I think he was considerin’ doin’ it, but the little one told him they’d best get goin’ ’cause there might be some Rangers after ’em, and they needed to get to Houston. So they walked out with a few things, some tobacco, some rollin’ papers, matches, some coffee. When I told ’em how much they owed me, the big one said to just put it on his bill. I told him he didn’t have no bill with me. So he said, ‘Good, I don’t owe you nothin’ then.’ And they got on their horses and rode off down the river. I figure I got off pretty cheap.”
“You might have, at that,” Ben remarked. “How much do they owe you? Maybe when we catch up with ’em, I can collect your bill for you.”
Tuttle walked over to the counter and picked up a sheet of paper. “Comes to six dollars and fifty cents,” he said and handed the paper to him. Ben folded it and stuck it in his pocket.
* * *
After a big breakfast and the horses were rested, Ben and Billy paid for the meal, even though Tuttle insisted it was not necessary. “It’s hard to show much profit if you’re gonna give your food away,” Ben declared.
“Or if a couple of outlaws take it without payin’,” Billy added.
“You take care of yourselves,” Tuttle warned. “Those two characters you’re goin’ after ain’t the kind to listen to reason.”
Ben assured him and Rosa that they would be careful, then rode back on the river trail, heading south. He was of a strong opinion they would catch up with Kelly and Queen in the little town of Navasota, which was a wide-open little pocket of lawlessness with everything to attract those seeking saloons, whorehouses, and gambling houses. It was only a twenty-mile ride from Tuttle’s. Ben didn’t tell Billy about it when they left Austin, or he would have asked why they didn’t head straight for Navasota. And Ben didn’t want to explain that he wanted to check on Tuttle and Rosa because they were in Big Foot Sam Kelly’s path to Houston. Besides, he thought, might as well go to Navasota with a good breakfast under your belt.
Located at the north end of town, the stable was the first business they came to, so they pulled up there to talk to the owner, Lem Wooten. They figured if the two outlaws they trailed planned to stop in Navasota for a night or two, they would most likely stable their horses. “Afternoon, Lem,” Ben said when Wooten walked out to meet them.
“Ben Savage,” Wooten responded. “What brings you over this way?” His tone was not unfriendly, but it was short of outright warmth. Wooten’s first thought was spoken then. “Which one of my customers are you lookin’ for?”
“Always appreciate your help, Lem,” Ben answered. “We’re lookin’ for a couple of fellows that rode into town earlier today. Thought they mighta left their horses with you.” He turned and nodded toward Billy. “This, here, is Billy Turner. He’s come down from Fort Worth to help us run ’em down. Billy said the reports they got up there was that one of ’em rides a flea-bitten gray, the other’n a paint. That sound like anybody you’ve seen today?”
Lem