“Stands to reason Weston would turn to outright murder eventually. Seems every month he’s involved in a gunfight with someone, though folks say they were all men who needed killing.”
And yet the new charge did shock Sam. He’d come to know Weston pretty well. A period of four months separated all of the outlaw’s robberies, with only fifty dollars taken each time. And in every single instance, Weston had never shot anyone. Maybe he robbed out of boredom…or to taunt Sam.
“A bad seed.” The ranger captain’s chair squeaked when he leaned forward. “Some men are born killers.”
This poster, as with all the others, didn’t bear a likeness, not even a crude drawing. There were no physical features to go on. Frustration boiled. The lawman in him itched to be out there tracking Weston. The need to bring him to justice rose so strong that it choked Sam. Weston was his outlaw to catch, and instead, he’d been ordered home.
Hell! Spending one week on the huge Lone Star Ranch was barely tolerable. A month would either kill him, or he’d kill big brother Houston. The thought had no more than formed before guilt pricked his conscience. In the final moments before the outlaw had hit his horse and left Sam dangling by his neck, regrets had filled his thoughts. He’d begged God for a second chance so he could make things right.
Now, it looked like he’d get it. He’d make the time count. He’d mend bridges with his father, the tough Stoker Legend.
Family was there in good times and bad.
Despite his better qualities, Stoker had caused problems for him. Sam had driven himself to work harder, be quicker and tougher, to prove to everyone his father hadn’t bought his job. Overcoming the big ranch, the money, and the power the Legend name evoked had been a continuing struggle.
Captain O’Reilly opened his desk drawer, uncorked a bottle of whiskey, and gave his coffee a generous dousing. “Want to doctor your coffee, Sam?”
“Don’t think it’ll help,” he replied with a tight smile.
“Suit yourself.” The hardened ranger put the bottle away. The white scar on his cheek had never faded, left from a skirmish with the Comanche.
Sam studied that scar, thinking. Although Sam had intended to keep quiet about the woman he may or may not have bumped into on the way over, out of fear of being labeled a lunatic for sure, he felt a duty to say something. He wouldn’t voice doubts that he’d imagined it. “Cap’n, I saw something that keeps nagging. I collided with a young woman a few minutes ago. All I said was sorry, but a man grabbed her arm and shoved her into the alley between the mercantile and telegraph office. I saw fear in her eyes. When I followed, they got on a waiting horse and rode off. Can you send someone to check it out?”
Sam winced at how quickly doubts filled O’Reilly’s eyes. The captain was wondering if this was one more example of Sam breaking with reality. Hell! If he’d conjured this up, he’d commit himself into one of those places where they locked up crazy people.
O’Reilly twirled his empty cup. “After the bank robbery a few weeks ago, we don’t need more trouble. I’ll look into it.”
“Thanks. I hope it was nothing, but you never know.” Relieved, Sam took a sip of coffee, wishing it would warm the cold deep in his bones.
“When’s the train due to arrive, Legend?”
“Within the hour.” Sam would obey his orders, but the second his forced sabbatical was over, he’d hit the ground running. He’d dog Luke Weston’s trail until there wasn’t a safe place in all of Texas to even get a slug of whiskey. He’d heard the gunslinging outlaw spent time down around Galveston and San Antone. That, Sam reckoned, would be a good starting point.
O’Reilly removed his boots from the desk and sat up. “I seem to recall your family ranch being northwest of here on the Red River.”
“That’s right.”
“Ever hear of Lost Point?”
Sam nodded. “The town is west of us. Pretty lawless place, by all accounts.”
“It’s become a no-man’s-land. Outlaws moved in, lock, stock, and barrel. Nothing north of it but Indian Territory. Jonathan Doan is requesting a ranger to the area. Seems he’s struggling to get a trading post going on the Red River just west of Lost Point, and outlaws are threatening.”
“I’ll take a ride over there while I’m home. Weston would fit right in.”
“No hurry. Give yourself time to relax. Go fishing. Reacquaint yourself with the family, for God’s sake. They haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.”
“Sure thing, Cap’n.” The clock on the town square chimed the half hour, reminding him he’d best get moving. Relieved that O’Reilly had softened and allowed him to still work a little, Sam set down his cup. “Appears I’ve got a train to catch.”