A Ranger's Time

by Edward Gates

  18

  Infection

  Russell was having problems with his chamber pot at the hotel. The first problem was that he hated using it, since he was only introduced to one the day before. The second problem was that his wound was hurting him a lot more today than yesterday. Any movement at all brought on a burning and stinging pain around the wound. He was tired and weak and was covered in sweat. He was struggling to get back into bed when there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Russell hollered.

  Doc Morgan pushed open the door and rushed in to help.

  “Thanks,” Russell said after settling into a comfortable position.

  “How you feeling today?”

  “I feel horrible. It seems to be hurting a lot worse. It’s starting to burn.”

  “Let’s take a look.”

  Doc Morgan helped Russell remove his shirt and then unwrapped the bandage he had tied around him. The injury was swollen and red around the sutures. The slightest touch brought on a twinge of pain. The doctor went to the door and called down for one of the hotel staff. Shortly after, a young boy appeared at the door.

  “Go down and tell the cook to pour some boiling hot water in a bowl. Bring that bowl up here along with a few clean towels,” the doctor ordered.

  The boy ran off with his orders and the doctor closed the door.

  “What is it?” Russell asked.

  “That wound is infected,” the doctor said. “I’m gonna have to open it back up and drain it.”

  Russell could feel the blood drain from his face. The fear of cutting open that wound again caused his nerves to quiver. “The wound is infected?”

  “Appears so.” Doc Morgan opened his bag and pulled out a couple of instruments and two glass vials with liquid in them. One vial contained a clear liquid, and the other looked like weak tea.

  “What are those?” Russell asked.

  “This one is pure alcohol.” The doc pointed to the clear liquid, “and the other one is a mixture of carbolic acid and camphor. It’s a pretty good antiseptic.” Just then there was a soft knock on the door. Doc Morgan answered it, and a young man came in carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of hot water and a stack of fresh towels.

  “Set that next to the bed,” the doctor ordered.

  The servant did as the doctor asked and left the room. Doc Morgan set the instruments he removed from his bag into the bowl of water and poured a little of the antiseptic mixture into it as well.

  “I’m going to cut just the end of the sutures here and see what I can get drained out of there,” the doctor said.

  “Will it hurt?” Russell heard a tinge of fear in his own voice.

  Doc Morgan paused and gave Russell a sympathetic look. “Like blazes. You’d better hold on to something.”

  Russell didn’t want to look. With nervous apprehension, he grabbed hold of each side of his pillow and buried his face in it. The first incision was not very painful, just a tug on a couple of the stitches. However the second incision went considerably deeper into the tissue. Russell clenched his fists around the pillow and let out a painful scream that he tried to muffle into his pillow. Russell could feel a warm liquid running down his torso from the wound. Doc Morgan shoved one of the towels next to Russell to absorb the pus that was draining from the wound.

  “That wasn’t too bad,” Doc Morgan said.

  “Maybe not for you,” Russell retorted.

  Doc Morgan smiled and removed a stack of clean cotton pads from his bag. Each cloth was neatly folded into a square pad. He set the stack of cloth pads on the tray next to the bowl of water.

  “I made these pads for you,” the doctor said. He dipped one of the pads in the hot water and carbolic acid mixture, and placed it over the wound. Russell jumped and let out a painful sigh initially, but he got used to it as it cooled.

  “Keep a pad on the wound just like this and keep it wet with the water from the bowl. It will help draw out some of that infection.”

  Russell looked at the wet cloth pad covering his wound, and nodded to acknowledge his instructions.

  “I’ll have a boy check on you. If the water gets too cool or runs out, have him get another bowl of hot water and pour a little of that carbolic acid mixture in it. You have to keep it wet and as hot as you can stand it. Change the towel when it gets too wet. And change that pad every couple of hours or so.”

  “I guess I’m stuck in this place another day,” Russell muttered.

  “Well, you won’t be doing any dancing for a while, that’s for sure.” Doc Morgan cleaned and packed his instruments. “I’ll be back to check on you this evening. Just stay lying down and tend to that pad.”

  Russell let his head drop back down to the pillow and he let out a loud sigh of disappointment.

  The doctor smiled at Russell as he opened the door. “Don’t worry. It’ll be better in a day or so.” The doctor stepped out and closed the door behind him.

  Russell relaxed in bed, keeping his hand on the wet pad to keep it from falling off. He was looking forward to going back to Charlie’s cabin with him. He had had enough of Amarillo. He was not used to being alone. Even though this was America, to Russell, four hundred years in the past was a strange land in a strange time with strange customs.

  Charlie rode Gus to Old Town, and went to the window of the telegraph office next to Doc Morgan’s house. He jotted a quick note and handed it to the telegraph operator. The operator studied the note.

  “Where’s this going?” the operator asked through the window.

  “Trinidad, in the Colorado territory,” Charlie replied. “A Mister Frank McCrudy.”

  The operator made some scribbles on the side of the note and checked a chart on the wall. “That’ll be two bits.” Charlie tossed him a coin, thanked him, and led Gus across the street.

  Just opposite the telegraph office was the Wah-Sam’s Chinese Laundry. Smoke rose from the fires in the back of the laundry that heated the three huge kettles they used to clean the clothes. Charlie walked in, carrying his canvas sack of dirty clothes, and a dusty wool blanket.

  “Ahh, Chayee! Wecom. Wecom.” The old proprietor shuffled to the counter and bowed.

  Charlie nodded his greeting and set his bundle on the counter.

  “Ahways good business fom you.” The old laundryman smiled.

  “Yeah, Sam, I bring you a lot of business,” Charlie said.

  “Many tings now.” The laundryman sorted through Charlie’s laundry. “You gone long time?”

  “No, but I will be. I need to pack more clothes. Wrap these twice. I’ll need to keep them as clean as I can for a while. And clean that blanket, too.”

  The old laundryman acknowledged Charlie’s instructions and took the bundle of clothes along with the blanket to the back room.

  “I’ll pick them up tomorrow,” Charlie yelled after the old Chinaman.

  “No! Two day!” came the answer from behind the curtain separating the front of the store from the laundry area.

  “What’s that you say?” Charlie growled.

  “Two day. You come back two day.” The Chinaman came back to the front of the store.

  “One day!” Charlie demanded. “I need these tomorrow!”

  The Chinaman shook his head and half-heartedly bowed to Charlie and muttered in his native language as he once again disappeared behind the curtain.

  “Tomorrow!” Charlie called after him. There was no response.

  “One of these days I’m gonna figure out what the hell you’re saying to me, you old bastard!” Charlie shouted at the curtain. Again, no response. Charlie shook his head and left, knowing it was useless to continue this one-sided argument.

  Charlie and Gus made their way up Polk Street past the Amarillo Hotel, and stopped in front of Hanna’s eatery. Charlie needed to see a friendly smile right about now. When he entered the restaurant, he noticed Marshal Cook sitting at the front table by himself looking out the window. Charlie sat down at his table, and neither said a word fo
r a moment.

  “I’ll be right there, Charlie,” Hanna hollered from across the room.

  Charlie looked at Hanna, and took in all the warmth from her broad smile. Life was good for another moment.

  “I turned that diseased bag of bones loose today,” Marshal Cook finally said, still looking out the front window. “No sense keeping Walker here anymore.”

  “It’s probably for the best,” Charlie said.

  “That poor bastard didn’t eat a thing,” the marshal continued. “All he did was cough and drink water most of the night. He looked like hell this morning.”

  Charlie nodded.

  “I’m gonna have to burn everything in that cell, you know.” Marshal Cook looked at Charlie.

  “I’d be glad to help you.”

  Hanna came over and set a cup of hot coffee in front of Charlie and placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. Her touch sent a warm relaxing sensation throughout his body.

  “You want something to eat?” Hanna asked.

  Charlie glanced at the marshal.

  “I already ate. You go ahead,” he said.

  “I got some nice ham steaks today. You’ll like it,” Hanna said.

  “That’ll be fine,” Charlie replied.

  Hanna left Charlie’s side and headed back to the kitchen to prepare his meal. Charlie and Marshal Cook sat in silence for a minute.

  ”Something on your mind, Charlie?” the marshal asked.

  Charlie took a sip of his coffee before answering. “You remember a fella named Frank McCrudy?”

  “McCrudy, McCrudy …” the marshal said, obviously rolling the name over in his mind. “Sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it.”

  “About five years ago he got caught up in a bank heist in Tascosa that went bad.”

  “Oh I remember,” Marshal Cook said. “You swore he was innocent. You even testified for him.”

  “Yeah, that’s him,” Charlie said. “He got five years for something he didn’t do. Just happened to be walking by when it all went down. Anyway, every time I took some prisoners to Cañon City I’d stop in and pay him a visit.”

  “What brought him up now?” the marshal asked.

  “I got a telegram from him yesterday. He got out a couple of months ago and settled in Trinidad. Wants me to come visit.”

  “Trinidad? Ain’t that up in the Colorado Territory? Is he a miner?”

  “I guess he is now,” Charlie answered. “Ain’t much else there ’cept coal mining.”

  “You going?” the marshal asked. “What’s he want to see you for?”

  “Don’t know. I guess he’ll either thank me or kill me.” Charlie smiled. “Maybe I’ll stop in and see him with the next prisoner trip to Cañon City.”

  After another silent moment, Marshal Cook looked at Charlie. “I need to know what you’re planning to do, Charlie. I mean about Abe and Sherman.”

  “How about deputizing me as a Deputy City Marshal for Amarillo, Amos?” Charlie replied. “If I’m goin’ after Sherman, I need to do it legally.”

  Marshal Cook raised his eyebrows. “Can’t you do it as a Texas Ranger?”

  “We don’t have any papers on him and he’s not in the Book of Knaves, so I can’t touch him without orders.” Charlie said. “I guess I could wire Missouri and see if there are any warrants on him. But that could take days, even weeks. Besides, if they don’t officially request our help, there’s nothing much I can do.”

  “That damn book.” Marshal Cook sounded a little disgruntled. “Pretty much gives you cause to do whatever you want, don’t it? That book of hard-cases you got from the governor opens any doors. Way I hear it, that book and that badge give you the right to do whatever you need to do.”

  Charlie set his mug back on the table and leaned his chair back and gave Marshal Cook a disturbed look. He glanced out the window for a moment and turned back to the marshal. “Well, some men just need killing.” Charlie picked up his mug and sipped his coffee.

  “Yup, I s’pose they do. You Rangers always seem to work on the fringe of the law anyway. Most people you bring in are tied over their saddle rather than sitting in it.”

  After a moment Charlie sarcastically said, “You’re in a fine mood today. Are you gonna deputize me or not?”

  The marshal looked at Charlie and shook his head. “Don’t see much point in it, but if that’s what you want, I’ll get ya’ a badge.” Marshal Cook smiled. “So, now you’ll be working for me? I think I’ll like that.”

  “Don’t go getting any ideas, Amos. This is just temporary.” Charlie returned his smile. Hanna brought Charlie his meal. Charlie thanked her and began to eat.

  Marshal Cook stood up and finished what little coffee was left in his cup. “I’m gonna let you eat in peace. Come see me when you’re finished and I’ll get you sworn in proper.”

  “I’m gonna go see the boy first,” Charlie replied. “Afterwards, I’ll be by to see you.”

  “Don’t wait too long. I may just change my mind. I gotta think about your qualifications for the job.” The marshal laughed as he left the eatery.

  Charlie ignored the marshal’s remarks. He ate in silence, thinking of the speech he was going to make to Russell. How was he going to tell him? There’s no easy way to break that kind of news to someone.

  19

  Confession

  It was late afternoon when Charlie entered the Amarillo Hotel. The lobby was filled with people, as it was every day. Some were there to sit and relax, while others were engaged in conversations and business. The Amarillo Hotel had become the place to see people and to be seen by people.

  Charlie had been inside the hotel lobby on numerous occasions but the opulence of the décor never ceased to amaze him. He stood for a moment and marveled at the large gold and crystal chandelier and matching oil sconces along the walls and staircase. The white wainscoting and the red and grey striped wallpaper that lined the walls in the lobby gave the hotel an elegant feel and appearance. Charlie looked down as he walked toward the staircase and could see his reflection in the dark stained, highly polished, hardwood floor. He remembered that Henry originally had a large embroidered carpet made for the lobby. However, with the spurs, saloon traffic, dust, mud and manure, the carpet became stained and terribly worn in just a short time. So Henry had it removed and refinished the hardwood flooring. Charlie continued up the stairs to Russell’s room and knocked on the door.

  “It’s open,” Russell shouted.

  When Charlie opened the door he saw Russell lying shirtless on his side holding a wet cloth patch on his wound with a stained towel folded up along his side.

  “How you feeling?” Charlie asked.

  “Not very good,” Russell said. “It hurts like hell.” After a pause, he added, “Doc said the wound’s infected. He cut it open this morning to drain it.”

  Charlie didn’t expect this. He’d assumed Russell would be a little better today. He tried to hide the concerned look on his face. Charlie pulled the only chair over to the side of the bed and sat down. Russell struggled to a sitting position, still holding the wet pad against the wound.

  “Did you get him?” Russell asked.

  “Get who?”

  “The guy who shot me,” Russell said. “Isn’t that where you and the marshal went?”

  “Yeah, but he lit out before we got there. Not sure where he run off to. And those cowboys weren’t any help.”

  “You going after him?” Russell asked.

  “Yeah, but not now,” Charlie said. “We’ll get him in due time.”

  Russell lowered his head and looked away. Charlie could see the disappointment and anger in Russell’s frown.

  “I want to be there,” Russell said.

  “That won’t happen. But don’t worry. I promise you that Mac Sherman will answer for this.”

  Russell nodded. There was a marked silence as Charlie struggled to start the conversation he had been practicing in his head. He looked at Russell’s eyes and then turned away. He let
out a heavy sigh and turned back to face Russell.

  “I need to talk to you,” Charlie finally blurted out.

  “I know. You said that before you left. What do you want to talk to me about?”

  “Getting you back home.”

  “You mean my home? Or your cabin?” Russell asked.

  Charlie walked over to the window and opened it. A warm breeze fluffed the lace curtains to the side. He stood for a minute looking out onto Polk Street as the people moved about in the late afternoon. Then he sat back down and leaned in a little closer to Russell.

  “I can get you back to where you came from,” Charlie said.

  “You kidding me? How can you do that?”

  “As you may have already guessed, like you, I’m not originally from this time era.”

  “I knew it! I had a feeling! You’re a jumper!” Russell’s eyes widened and he let out a laugh. In his excitement he stammered. “When … when did you come here? How did you … how did you travel?”

  “Settle down. I’ll get to all that.” Charlie paused as he collected his thoughts. “I never really wanted to time jump at all. It puts a strain on the body that just seems to get worse with age. Still don’t like it. I was really just trying to run away. I picked a hell of a place to hide, didn’t I?”

  “You time jumped to run away? Run away from what?”

  Charlie lowered his head. “When I was a lot younger, about your age, I accidentally killed a man. I didn’t intend to, it just happened. It was an accident. Alarms sounded and I panicked. I took my father’s time belt and just left.”

  “Whoa, Whoa! Whoa! A time belt?”

  “Yeah. My father made it as a prototype. As far as I know, it’s the only one in existence. At least it was when I left.”

  Charlie stood and walked back over to the window. The memory of that night, thirty years ago, rolled over in his mind. Russell asked another question or two, but Charlie ignored them. He stared out the window not looking at anything in particular while the flashback of that night replayed in his mind. After a moment, Charlie returned to the present, looked over at Russell and smiled away his nightmarish memory. “I actually jumped quite a few years after you.”