A Ranger's Time

by Edward Gates

  10

  Cowboys in Town

  It was late in the day when Charlie left the ranger’s office. The bench where he left Russell was empty, and a moment of panic set in. His mind raced with concerns as to where his time traveler had wandered off to and what kind of mischief he got himself into. He looked up and down Polk Street but didn’t see him.

  Charlie turned and walked around the corner and saw Russell standing on the sidewalk leaning against a support post. The boy was staring up the side street to the west. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I thought I told you to stay seated,” Charlie scolded as he walked over to Russell.

  Russell didn’t acknowledge Charlie. He kept staring up the street.

  “Look, I’m talking to you …” Charlie stopped when he saw what Russell was staring at. The two stared in silence together for a moment.

  “I’m guessing that’s Abe Walker and his crew that you’ve been talking about,” Russell said calmly.

  Charlie never took his eyes off the assemblage of riders approaching the town. He just nodded an affirmation.

  “I think you’d better get out of sight.” Charlie pulled Russell away from the post and back around the corner. He opened the front door to the ranger’s office and gently pushed Russell inside. Two rangers sat at the front desk.

  “Keep him in here,” Charlie ordered as he closed the door. Russell quickly moved to a window to watch Charlie and Marshal Cook confront Abe and the team of cowboys.

  Charlie watched Marshal Cook step out of the shadow of the building and into the middle of the side street holding a double barrel shotgun across his chest. He stopped the caravan of cowboys and began explaining to them the new city ordinance outlawing guns within the town’s limits. They didn’t appear very receptive to the idea. Abe Walker’s gaze swept around the street and surrounding buildings and came to rest on Deputy Johnson on the sidewalk with his shotgun leveled. He didn’t notice Charlie who was carefully sizing up the situation from around the corner of the ranger’s office.

  “Looks like you’re a bit outgunned here, Marshal,” Abe taunted. “Just you and that deputy all you got? Now are you telling all of us that we got to turn in our guns?”

  “You turn in your firearms or you turn around,” Marshal Cook said sternly as he repositioned the shotgun so the stock butt was resting on his hip.

  Charlie stayed in the shadows but moved closer to the street so he could survey the scene without being seen.

  “I don’t believe I like either of them choices, Marshal. Now why don’t you just crawl back to your little office and let us enjoy your town for a while. We won’t be here all that long,” Walker said.

  “The order stands,” Marshal Cook said coldly.

  Charlie watched the marshal make his point, but it was clear that his point was not being received very well. The cowboys were beginning to get restless. Abe and Mac, his foreman, were taunting this law officer and the lone deputy. Abe and Mac started their horses at a walk toward the marshal. Marshal Cook pointed his shotgun skyward and fired one barrel. The blast startled the horses and the two men pulled on the reins to bring their mounts under control.

  “I’m only going to say it once more!” Marshal Cook shouted. “You turn your guns in or you get out of this town … Now!”

  Abe Walker lowered his hand to his gun and stared defiantly at Marshal Cook, his anger plainly visible in his face. He looked again at the deputy and back to the marshal, leaned forward, and rested his forearm on his saddle horn. “Well now, we got ourselves a standoff here, Marshal. You and your boy, there, both with only a shotgun and a holstered pistol against all of us. I don’t believe it’s going to go your way.”

  “Damn it, Cook. You’re gonna get yourself killed,” Charlie whispered to himself. Against his better judgment, Charlie pulled himself out from around the building’s corner. He unlatched the hammer strap on his holster and walked out onto the sidewalk in clear sight of everyone.

  “Hello, Abe,” Charlie gave Abe an icy stare. “It’s been a while.” He stepped off the sidewalk onto the dusty street and walked toward the marshal.

  “Not long enough, Ranger,” Abe said returning the cold gaze. He straightened himself back up in the saddle and kept his right arm alongside his pistol.

  “You got a problem here, Amos?” Charlie looked at Marshal Cook.

  “Just explaining the new law.”

  Charlie looked up at Mac Sherman, seated on his red roan next to Abe, glaring at Charlie.

  “Howdy, Mac.” After a pause Charlie added “I see you’re wearing your hat a little lower these days.”

  “No thanks to you, Turlock!” Mac growled, and reached for his gun.

  The marshal leveled his shotgun, aiming it directly at Abe Walker, and Charlie quickly put his hand on his gun and hollered, “HOLD IT!” Everyone froze. “We don’t need to do this!” Charlie continued loudly.

  A tense, silent moment hung in the air as all parties, uneasy to make any move, exchanged nervous glances.

  “Don’t do it, Mac,” Charlie commanded. “It takes a certain knack to pull a gun from a sitting position and I don’t think you’re that good.”

  It was a bluff, but it was enough to get Mac thinking. That’s all Charlie wanted. Just a moment to think and not react. Mac stared at Charlie and swallowed, and for a split second his eyes dropped away and then re-focused back on Charlie. That was the signal Charlie wanted to see. He had bluffed him.

  “Let’s all just relax,” Charlie said calmly, never taking his eyes off of Mac or his hand off his gun.

  “Marshal?” Charlie finally said so the marshal could continue.

  “You’re all welcome in town,” the marshal kept the shotgun focused on Abe, “but not packing your weapons. You can check them at my office, and you can pick them up on your way out of town. Or, you can turn around and head back to your camp. And if you don’t like either of those choices, then some of you will never see your payday.”

  The aggravation showed on Abe’s face as he listened to this lawman challenge him. The cowboys watched Abe to see what he would do. The tension was thick all around. He turned and looked at his crew, and then back to the marshal; his irritation plainly visible.

  “You know we could take you all down in just a second, Marshal. You can’t get all of us,” Abe warned.

  “You’ll never clear leather, Walker. I can promise you that,” Marshal Cook sighted down the barrel of the shotgun pointing at Abe Walker’s chest.

  “You might be right, Abe,” Charlie chimed in. “We probably wouldn’t get all of you. But I can promise that you and Mac would be the first two to go.” Abe Walker frowned and squinted his eyes. His face reddened and it was clear that he was getting more and more angry. “You gonna risk losing all your cattle, Abe?” Charlie continued.

  Abe kept his eyes fixed on the barrels of Marshal Cook’s custom Greener shotgun. They must have looked like two cannons pointed at him. But Charlie knew that Abe couldn’t lose face and he couldn’t show any fear to his men. Abe never took his eyes off of the Marshal but cocked his head so his men could hear.

  “Well, there you have it, boys. I don’t want any trouble before we get the cows sold. We came too far. I need all of you to finish this drive.” Abe unbuckled his gun belt. “But it’s up to you. Right now, I could really use a drink.” Then he started to laugh.

  He walked his palomino forward, dropped his gun belt in the dust at the feet of the marshal, and continued between Charlie and Cook on his way to the saloon next to the hotel.

  Mac and the rest of the cowhands stayed in place. Mac was still glaring at Charlie as he slowly lifted his hand off his gun.

  “This ain’t finished, Turlock,” Mac snarled.

  “It is for now,” Charlie replied still keeping his eyes on Mac and his hand on his gun.

  Mac walked his horse forward, following Abe’s lead, and the rest of the cowboys followed Mac. The marshal blocked the horse’s path with his shotgun.

/>   “You want to unload?”

  Tension hung in the air as Marshal Cook and Mac Sherman stared at each other; neither looking as if they would back down. The marshal cocked the hammer on his shotgun, took a step closer to Mac, and pointed the barrel of the shotgun at the foreman’s mid-section.

  “I got one barrel left. You take that rig off now, mister, or I’m gonna open you up.” The marshal spoke in a low, stern voice. Charlie stood by, keeping his eyes on the rest of the cowboys.

  Like Abe, Mac started to laugh. He turned back to see if his men were watching him. They all began to laugh with him. Mac unbuckled his gun belt, but instead of dropping it, he kept it in his hand.

  “We check these in at your office?” Mac asked.

  The marshal nodded and pulled his shotgun back and un-cocked the hammer. “You first.” It was over.

  Charlie turned and headed toward the marshal’s office. Mac walked his red roan up the street after Charlie, still holding his gun belt in his hand. The rest of the band of cowboys followed suit. Deputy Johnson fell in behind the group of riders, keeping his shotgun ready, and picked up Walker’s gun belt from the street. Marshal Cook walked along with the caravan of cow-punchers.

  Charlie was the first to enter the city marshal’s office and he sat down at the small table. Marshal Cook came in next and sat down at his desk. One by one the cowboys filed into the office, deposited their weapons and walked down to the hotel’s saloon to join their boss. Deputy Johnson came in and set Walker’s gun belt on the table with the rest of them and announced that all of the cowboys had come in.

  Charlie and the marshal counted fourteen guns turned in, including Abe Walker’s. There should have been fifteen. Charlie hadn’t seen Mac Sherman come into the marshal’s office.

  “I appreciate your stepping in back there,” Marshal Cook said to Charlie.

  “Don’t mention it,” Charlie said, but his mind was elsewhere. “We’re missing one, Amos.” He headed for the door.

  Just then Russell came bursting through the open door and almost ran into Charlie. In spite of Charlie’s orders, Russell must have snuck out of the confines of the Ranger’s office.

  “That was amazing!” Russell exclaimed. “You just backed them all down. I never saw anything like that.” His eyes blazed with excitement.

  Charlie brushed him aside, walked out onto the sidewalk, and looked around for Mac Sherman. Charlie was very much on edge. With a determined killer like Mac armed and on the loose, Charlie feared for his life. His mind was swirling with the possibilities of Mac’s whereabouts. He didn’t have time for this boy right now. The sun was setting as Charlie scanned the streets and sidewalks. It was too dark to recognize anyone at a distance, especially with his failing eyesight.

  Russell followed Charlie out onto the sidewalk still going on and on about the altercation he witnessed. Charlie finally grabbed him by his shirt, pulled him close, and stared at him, nose to nose. The action startled Russell and he immediately became quiet.

  “Can you hush up for just one minute?” Charlie asked quietly.

  Russell nodded.

  “You think you can do something for me without causing too much of a ruckus? Because I got a job for you.” He had to get Russell out of harm’s way.

  Russell nodded again without saying anything. Even in the dim light Charlie could see the fear in Russell’s eyes. Charlie released his grip on Russell’s shirt, pulled a ten dollar eagle gold piece from his vest pocket and handed it to Russell.

  “I want you to go back up to the livery and get Gus. Tuck said it would be four dollars. Then walk Gus over to the store and pick up our bundles. Then wait for me there,” Charlie instructed. “You think you can do that?”

  “Sure. No problem.” Russell jumped off the sidewalk and took a couple of quick steps before Charlie called him back.

  “Do it slowly,” Charlie instructed. “And try not to draw any attention to yourself.”

  Russell nodded and ambled up the wooden sidewalk toward the north end of town and the livery.

  Marshal Cook joined Charlie out on the sidewalk just as Russell walked away. “What’s wrong, Charlie?”

  “It’s Sherman. He didn’t come in with the others,” Charlie said in a quiet somber tone. “He’s gonna kill me, Amos. The bastard’s gonna dry-gulch me and shoot me down.”

  “Well, then we’d better find this Sherman fella first.” The marshal gave Charlie a slight smile. Not feeling very jovial, Charlie half-heartedly returned the smile. Looking around the streets, Charlie spied Mac’s horse tied at the hitch next to Abe Walker’s horse outside the hotel.

  “His horse is at the hotel.” Charlie pointed. “He’s got to be close by.”

  “Let’s start at the hotel then. I think we’d better stay together,” the marshal said.

  The marshal ordered Deputy Johnson to stay inside with the guns and then closed the door to his office. He and Charlie walked toward the hotel. Charlie’s senses were heightened. With each step he expected something to happen, but didn’t know what. He and the marshal walked together, side by side, carefully studying each person they encountered and hesitating at each dark corner they approached.

  When they reached the hotel, Marshal Cook stayed outside while Charlie went in and looked around in the saloon. Abe Walker was at a faro table and most of his hired hands were milling around. But there was no sign of Mac Sherman.

  Russell paid the livery attendant and walked Gus down the street toward the general store. So far so good, he thought. Gus’s ears were pointed and he seemed a little reluctant to follow Russell. But, he seemed to like Russell and went along with a little coaxing.

  In the dusk, the air was starting to get cooler. Russell pulled down Charlie’s old hat a little tighter on his head. Holding on to Gus’s reins he tried buttoning Charlie’s vest across his stomach as he walked, but gave up because it was too tight. Just then, the still evening solitude was shattered by a single gunshot. The impact of the bullet was so intense that Russell’s legs buckled and he was driven off his feet. It was as if he had been kicked in the side by the horse. The bullet tore into Russell’s right side. The sharp burning pain instantly radiated through his body and took his breath away. The pain was excruciating and he cried out.

  A lone figure walked out of the shadows clutching a handgun. A smile slowly crept across his face as he approached Russell’s body lying in the street.

  Russell could not catch a breath. As hard as he tried, his lungs wouldn’t function. He could feel the pounding of his heart in his chest and felt it skip a beat. He was losing consciousness. He was dying. Fear and panic set into Russell’s mind as rims of darkness began to cloud his vision. He looked up as the gunman approached, but couldn’t recognize him in the dark. The pain was too much for him to bear. Russell was struggling to remain awake and a second later, his body gave out and Russell drifted away.

  “I got you, Turlock, you son-of-” Mac stopped in mid-sentence when he saw that he had shot the wrong man. He backed away and looked around as people began to congregate. Two figures ran up the middle of the street toward him. Charlie and Amos both pulled their guns as they ran but didn’t fire because of the crowd and Gus in the area. Mac fired a shot in the lawmen’s direction and took off running for the shadows of the buildings.

  Charlie and the marshal soon reached Russell’s motionless body. Gus stood over Russell with his head bent down near the boy’s head, nudging him. Charlie pulled the vest open and lifted up the blood-soaked shirt to see the wound. Blood poured from a gaping hole in his side. “Oh God, no.” Charlie pulled his bandana from around his neck and pressed it over the wound. Charlie felt a faint heartbeat. He was still alive.

  “Get Doc Morgan up here!” the marshal shouted to a young man who was standing on the sidewalk. “Now!”

  The young onlooker took off on a run toward Doc Morgan’s place.

  Charlie, overcome with anger and distress, raised his head and in desperation yelled. “I’ll kill you Sherman! You
hear me, Sherman? You’re a dead man!”

  Hanna was one of the people who came out of her restaurant after hearing the shot. She walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder as Charlie knelt over the motionless body of his friend.

  “You can put him in the back room here, Charlie,” Hanna said. “You men, there, get him off the street and bring him to the back. I’ll show you.”

  “Stay with the boy,” Marshal Cook said. “I’m going after Sherman.”

  With his gun in hand, the marshal headed in the direction Mac Sherman had fled.

  Charlie and a couple of men picked up Russell and gently carried him through Hanna’s Eatery and laid him on a small cot tucked away in the back corner of the kitchen. Hanna grabbed a clean towel and placed it over the wound to try and slow the bleeding. Charlie could only watch helplessly. Charlie paced the small kitchen wringing his hands. All he could think about was his remorse for sending Russell off by himself. He felt responsible for Russell getting shot. He wanted to run after Mac but knew he needed to stay with Russell. Charlie was filled with guilt because he knew it should be him lying on that cot instead of Russell. Where the hell is Doc Morgan?

  11

  Russell

  The back kitchen of Hanna’s restaurant was small and confined with a large wooden prep table, cabinets, shelves, and a large iron stove. Since she only served meals in the mornings and afternoons, she had plenty of light in the kitchen from the large window in the back wall above the cot. Tonight, however, the only light was from a taper candle in a brass holder covered with a hurricane globe. Hanna sat on a small stool next to the cot where Russell lay and pressed another towel against his wound. She had already soaked two towels with blood.

  Charlie paced around in the small kitchen. His mind raced with different worries. Perhaps that boy never found Doc Morgan, or maybe Mac had stopped him along his way.