Benedict and Brazos 08: A Six-Gun Says Goodbye

By E. Jefferson Clay

Hank Brazos had served under Colonel Orson Clairborne during the war. So when their paths crossed again, he was delighted to meet up with his old commanding officer. Their reunion was cut short, however, when the Colonel was kidnapped, and his beautiful daughter, Angela, received a ransom demand for twenty thousand dollars.
For Brazos, the course was clear. He had to save Clairborne and make sure the kidnappers paid for their crime. But his partner, Duke Benedict, had other ideas. The only thing that mattered to Benedict was finding Bo Rangle, the man they’d already spent months searching for. Rangle’s guerilla outfit had massacred their men in a savage ambush in the closing days of the war, and not only did he want revenge, he also wanted a share of the $200,000 Rangle had gotten away with.
So Brazos and Benedict went their own separate ways ... and quickly discovered that one of them was no damn’ good without the other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Piccadilly
• Release date: Mar 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215764688

Book preview

One – Big River, Big Men

The moon was rising as the pair of conspirators came down to the levee.

Before them, wide and swift and deep, was the Mississippi. By day she carried the garbage of five States, but Lady Night had transformed her into a liquid band of silver and gold. However, the two men who stood silhouetted against the moon, one lean and the other Buddha-fat, were not interested in beauty; their concern was how fast the water flowed.

Runnin’ strong, boss, the thin man observed, looking up-river, where the paddle-wheeler Clara Belle would appear next morning. She should tie up early. About eleven tomorrow is my guess.

The fat man fingered the gold watch chain on his brocade vest and gave a satisfied grunt. Ideal. He rubbed his palms together briskly and the diamonds on his left hand flashed cold fire from the moon. Now that everything is ready, Gall, I’ll be on my way home. I’d like to supervise the operation but there are too many other interests making demands on my time.

Sure, boss, Zeke Gall said. But he wasn’t fooled. The fat man wanted to be far away from Blackwater when the wealthy Tennessee colonel was kidnapped. If things went wrong, arrests would be made—but it wouldn’t be Fat Max who’d go to jail.

Any final questions? the man mountain asked.

Well ... Gall scratched at his head. There’s this Tindall you brought in to keep tabs on Colonel Clairborne ...

What about him?

Well, he’s been drinkin’ kinda heavy tonight at the Big Dipper. I ain’t sayin he might talk, but I made it plain to him the other day that there was to be no boozin’ till—

Kill him.

Huh?

Kill him. We’ll take no risks on this deal. Anything else?

Ah ... no, I guess not, boss.

Then I shall see you in Rushville, Zeke. Good luck.

Turning smartly, Fat Max strode off to where his surrey waited in the moon shadow of the long wharf building. Zeke Gall stared after him, then waved to the departing surrey and took a long look at the river that was carrying twenty thousand bucks’ worth of Colonel-on-the-hoof closer every minute. When the surrey was out of sight he headed with a purposeful stride for the lights of town.

And the Big Dipper Saloon.

Fast Rufe raked in the pot with a slender hand. It was a lot of money and most of it was Colonel Clairborne’s. The gambler looked at the colonel with greedy yellow eyes.

Another hand, Colonel?

Of course, sir, the colonel replied. He had unflinchingly faced the blue armies of Sheridan that had ripped his South apart. He certainly wasn’t going to be intimidated by an incredibly bad run at poker.

Oh, Father, protested a pretty, fair-haired girl as she rose from her chair in the riverboat’s luxuriously appointed salon. You’ve been playing for hours.

There, there, m’dear. A smile touched at the bourbon-flushed face of the silver-haired colonel. You worry too much about your daddy.

But, Father—

Let’s play cards, gentlemen, Fast Rufe cut in with a hard look at the girl.

She shrugged in weary resignation as the six players pushed their stakes into the center. What a fool her father could be at times. Young as she was, she realized it was ridiculous to play high stakes poker with strangers.

The same thought had entered the head of Colonel Clairborne more than once over the past few hours. For one thing, too many good hands were being dealt—and usually when Fast Rufe was handling the cards.

The cards went flashing around the table.

The colonel won a small pot and the Texas cattleman drew four aces but ruined his chance of accumulating a big pot by raising too heavily and chasing the others out. Then the wedge-faced dry goods salesman from St. Louis played head-to-head with Fast Rufe, raising the latter’s bet after he opened and drew three cards.

See the raise and up you twenty. Fast Rufe pushed the money into the center.

The dry goods man sighed, counted out twenty dollars and shoved it away. What’ve you got?

Fast Rufe fanned out his hand. Three ladies.

The little man threw down his cards with a muffled curse. Three sixes are no good at all in this game. He glanced at the white-coated attendant. Double bourbon.

The mining engineer from Colorado picked up the cards and shuffled them. The colonel pulled at his silver goatee and frowned. He’d begun the game with over five hundred dollars in bills before him; now only eighty dollars remained. He glanced at his daughter. It wouldn’t do for her to see him take more money from his wallet; she was upset enough as it was. He picked up his cards. A six, a three, a nine, a jack, a queen.

Open for ten, the big lumber dealer said.

The colonel threw in his hand and his gaze sought out the Negro attendant. Bourbon and water, if you please, he said.

The well-dressed travelers standing around the table to watch the game crowded closer as the lumberman and Fast Rufe raised each other fast and furiously. Finally, the lumberman just saw Rufe’s raise and asked him to show his cards.

A crowded house, Fast Rufe said. Tens over treys.

The lumberman shook his head mournfully. Beats a straight.

The strains of Beautiful Dreamer played on a harpsichord seeped through from the dining room. More people entered the gilded gaming salon and moved towards the crowd around the poker table.

Two pairs, aces up, the cattleman said.

I finally win a hand, the dry goods man said with a sigh of relief. Thirty miles of railroad. And he showed his three tens.

Now it was Fast Rufe’s deal. Five dollars to play, jacks to open and a fast game’s a good game, he recited, as he flicked out the pasteboards.

At this moment the polished cedar doors of the salon opened to admit a giant of a man with ox shoulders and an iron-ribbed barrel of a chest. He was decked out in a dust-caked riding rig. A battered relic of a hat hung down his back by the throat strap. His deceptively innocent blue eyes, set deep in his craggy sun-bronzed face, played slowly around the room before his gaze came to rest on the pudgy little Southerner at the poker table.

Colonel Clairborne!

The colonel had just thrown in his worthless hand. Now he looked up, blinked red-rimmed eyes and then jumped to his feet.

As Ah live and breathe—Sergeant Hank Brazos!

The two men greeted each other with a hug and back-thumpings, unmindful of the spectacle they presented: a fat, five-and-a-half-foot Tennessee colonel with dignity in every inch, and a giant who looked as if he’d be more at home wrestling with a bull moose.

Ladies and gentlemen, the colonel announced grandly, his hand on Brazos’ massive shoulder, Ah’m proud to introduce Sergeant Hank Brazos, who helped me defend mah plantation during the War Between the States—one of the finest fighting men it’s been mah honor to meet.

Heads nodded politely and Hank Brazos grinned and blushed. Hell now, Colonel, he protested, you got a way of blowin’ up the truth so’s a man—

Sergeant Hank, a voice interrupted, don’t you remember me?

The young giant looked blankly at the slender girl who stood at Clairborne’s side, her eyes bright with anticipation.

’Course he remembers you, honey, Clairborne smiled. Don’t you, Hank?

The honey did it. Brazos’ blue eyes widened as his memory went spinning back to a magnolia-scented summer and a skinny girl in her first party gown—just before Sheridan’s army engulfed the Clairborne plantation.

Miss Angela, he muttered. But—but you’ve growed! Why, you’re purtier’n a heart flush.

The girl’s cheeks colored. Look who’s talking about growing. Sergeant Hank, you were too big to be real back in ’64, but I swear you’ve grown even—

The Texas cattleman cut in at this point. Colonel, we’re mighty pleased about this reunion, but I’m a big loser here so how about dealin’ them cards?

To be sure, sir, the colonel said. Hank, you and Angela just set and get yourselfs re-acquainted, eh? He clapped Brazos on the shoulder. Ah got a feelin’ that your comin’ is gonna change mah luck.

If I’ve changed his luck, Brazos whispered unhappily to Angela some ten minutes later, then he must’ve been doin’ some big winnin’.

I’m afraid not, Angela said with a sigh. Oh, I’m so worried, Hank.

Brazos watched Colonel Clairborne lose a fair-sized pot with three kings when Fast Rufe fanned out a nine-high straight. Then Brazos saw the colonel surreptitiously lift his wallet from his coat and he stepped before Angela, blocking her view.

I guess your father’s losin’ big, eh? he said.

Too big, Hank. He can’t afford to. You see, we’re on our way to Kansas to open a cattle-buying business ... Angela didn’t finish but she didn’t have to. It was obvious to Brazos that, financially, Colonel Clairborne was running close to the wind. His eyes went over the poker players, then his gaze stayed on Fast Rufe as the fancy-vested gambler raked in yet another pot at the colonel’s expense.

Brazos watched a round of hands. Fast Rufe played fast and tight. Three times he tossed in his cards. Twice he ante’d in when someone else opened, but he didn’t stay with the betting. Then it was Rufe’s turn to deal again. Brazos noted the quick hands, the glint of avarice in the deep-set eyes. This time the colonel, the dry goods man and Fast Rufe played head-to-head. The colonel had three nines and the dry goods man three jacks, but Fast Rufe took the pot with a diamond flush.

Brazos watched Fast Rufe deal eight times. Seven of those times the gambler won big pots. Hank Brazos couldn’t read or write but there was nothing wrong with his commonsense arithmetic. Seven out of eight was stretching luck just a bit too far. His first impulse was to take Fast Rufe by the lapels, usher him outside and kick his backside over the rail and into the Big Muddy. But he fought that pleasant thought down because it wouldn’t get the colonel’s money back.

There was another way to handle this.

Brazos turned to the girl. "Excuse me, Miss Angela. I’ll be