A Ranger's Time

by Edward Gates

  When he reached the livery his chest heaved as he sucked air into his lungs. He pulled Gus out of his stall, climbed into the saddle and as fast as Gus could run they headed back to his cabin. There’s time. There’s got to be time.

  25

  Showdown

  Charlie reined in Gus by the stream that flowed at the bottom of the hill near his cabin. The dim light from a crescent moon was no help in trying to see into the cottonwood trees that surrounded the cabin. His heart was racing with fear and anticipation. But he knew better than to make any rash movements. He could be riding into a trap. He sat in his saddle listening and watching in the dark. Other than his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, all he heard was the regular sounds of the breeze and the critters in a north Texas night.

  Charlie began to finally think rationally about this. How would Mac know that Russell was out here? No one knew he moved Russell, except maybe a few hotel workers. That’s it, the hotel staff, Charlie thought. They were the only ones that knew Russell was still alive and which room he was in. They would be the only ones to know that he was no longer there. Someone on Henry’s staff had told Mac what he wanted to know.

  There were no signs of Mac or any other visitor. A light tap with his heels urged Gus forward up the hill to the cabin and inside his corral. He left Gus saddled. Lantern light shone through the shutter slats. He went in and found Russell unharmed and sound asleep. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. There is time.

  Leaving Russell to his slumber, Charlie went back to the corral and unsaddled Gus and got him some water and grain. After Gus was cared for, Charlie took his saddle inside and set it by the door next to his shotgun. He restarted the fire inside the stove.

  Charlie laid his bedroll out on the floor in front of the stove and hung his gun belt over the back of the chair, making sure it was in easy reach of his bedroll. He blew out the lantern and lay down by the stove. Soon, the warmth, the flickering and the crackling sounds of the fire soothed him to sleep.

  The sounds of Gus moving around and a low whinny roused Charlie from his sleep. He looked through the slats in the shutter. It wasn’t quite light yet, but the dark night had ebbed to a softer gray. He heard a horse whinny again, but this one didn’t come from Gus. Charlie slipped his .32 pistol in his trouser belt behind his back, and pulled his Colt from the holster. Russell stirred in the bed and woke up with Charlie holding his hand over his mouth.

  “Somebody’s outside,” Charlie whispered in Russell’s ear. “Don’t make a sound.”

  Russell stared wide-eyed at Charlie and nodded. The fear in Russell’s eyes was unnerving. Charlie removed his hand from the boy’s mouth. He crouched down, cocked his gun, and slowly opened the front door. He peered outside but couldn’t see anything in the dim morning light. He slipped outside, closing the door behind him and stayed low and close to the cabin wall as he headed for Gus’s stall. Before he turned the corner to the stall he heard a voice.

  “Turlock!”

  Charlie froze. It was Mac. He’d recognize that voice anywhere.

  “Don’t do anything you might regret, Ranger.”

  Charlie stood and slowly turned to see Mac Sherman step out from behind a tree brandishing his black Peacemaker revolver with ivory handgrips.

  “What are you doing here, Mac? I thought you’d be on your way back to the Pecos by now,” Charlie said.

  “I thought about it,” Mac said. “But after things died down a bit I went back to town to see Abe. That’s when I found out that old coot died last night. Damn shame. I asked around and some folk say you paid him a visit. So I came right out here to thank you.”

  “Thank me? For what?” Charlie asked. “You got a funny way of thanking people with a gun in your hand.”

  “Can’t be too careful, ya’ know.” Mac took a step closer to Charlie. “Yep, with Abe dead, and no kin, that ranch is now mine. Everything of his is mine. Abe wrote it all down. I got the paper right here that says so. You did me a big favor.”

  “You came out here for nothing. What makes you think I killed him?” Charlie said.

  “Well, it might just be a hunch, but I’ll bet he wouldn’t have died if you didn’t have words with him.”

  “What’d you really come here for?” Charlie asked. “If it was to kill me, you could have done that from that tree back there and saved a lot of talk. What do you want?”

  “Where’s the boy?”

  Charlie tried to put on his best blank poker face. “He’s dead, Mac.” Charlie tried to sound convincing. “You killed him. Shot him down in cold blood. Don’t you remember?”

  “No. He’s alive. I heard that in town. It’s funny what a bunch of drunken cow punchers will talk about. Now where is he?” Mac insisted

  “You go to hell. I’m getting a little tired of this conversation.” As fast as he could, Charlie raised his gun and fired in Mac’s direction. Mac jumped back and to the side. Charlie turned and took a quick step hoping to reach the corner of the cabin for some cover. Mac fired back at Charlie, but his aim was off and his slug hit the cabin wall just as Charlie dove around the corner. He rolled to a crouched position and fired a second shot at Mac who had retreated to the cover of the trees. Silence.

  With his failing eyesight and bad hearing, Charlie knew he would never be able to find Mac in this dim morning light. He hoped to draw out his location. He peeked around the corner of the cabin at the trees where Mac had withdrawn.

  “You hit?” Charlie hollered at the tree line, hoping for a reply. There was no answer. Charlie looked at Gus who was at the coral fence staring at the trees. He could see where Gus was looking and just as he raised his gun he caught a glimpse of a shadow as it moved from one tree to another. Charlie fired at the shadow and then pressed himself against the cabin wall. Two shots rang out from the trees. Charlie heard the one slug whiz by him and the other bullet hit the wall.

  “Why don’t you let this go, Mac? This is only gonna end bad for one of us. You got everything of Abe’s. You can ride out of here and live well.”

  “Not with that boy alive, Ranger.” Another shot sounded from the trees and this bullet hit the wall next to Charlie’s face. Mac was moving around the trees for a clear shot. However, Charlie could still not see where he was. He crawled over to where Gus was and tried to focus on where the last shot originated. There was no movement. Then a twig snapped and Gus raised his head and looked at the tree off to his right. Charlie saw a shadowed figure step out from a tree and he fired one shot. He heard a muffled grunt. Charlie ran for the cover of the old stump in front of the cabin.

  Mac fired two shots as he ran and one of the slugs struck Charlie in his right arm just above the elbow. The impact knocked Charlie to the ground. He lost all feeling in his right arm, and his gun tumbled to the ground out of his reach. Wincing in pain, Charlie grabbed his right arm with his left. He could feel the wound in the side of the arm, but no exit wound. The bullet’s still inside. He quickly scooted himself to the cover of the stump.

  “I warned you.” Mac walked from the cover of the trees closer to Charlie. In the dim light of the dawn, before Mac got close to him, Charlie reached behind him with his left hand and pulled the .32 pistol from his belt. He slid it out of sight behind his back but close enough to grab.

  The pre-dawn light was getting a little brighter with each minute. Charlie noticed a slight limp as Mac walked toward him. One of his bullets had grazed Mac’s left leg. Charlie propped himself up against the stump. It was all over. He was feeling a little light headed from the loss of blood from his wounded right arm.

  When Mac got close, Charlie asked, “What do you want with him? He can’t do you any harm.”

  “He saw my face. I saw him look up at me. He could be the one to put a noose around my neck. I can’t let that happen.” Mac cocked his gun and aimed it at Charlie’s head. “Now, you’re gonna tell me where that boy is or I’m gonna kill you. You choose. ”

  Russell sat perfectly still inside the cabin listening to the exch
ange of gunfire outside. With each shot he jumped and caught his breath. He wanted to hide, but there was no place to go. He was only able to take quick, shallow breaths from the fear that raced through his body. Then the shooting stopped. Russell sat paralyzed on the bed. Then curiosity got the better of him. Walking slowly and deliberately in the darkened cabin he carefully pulled open the shutter and saw Mac standing holding a gun. He couldn’t see Charlie at all, but at least he heard his voice. He moved away from the window and bumped Charlie’s shotgun, knocking it over. He caught it before it hit the floor and he stood holding the shotgun looking at Mac through the window.

  Russell Hicks had never fired a gun in his life. In fact he had never held any kind of weapon before. All guns were banned in his time. There were still controlled shooting sports for a privileged few, but for the most part, all firearms were in the hands of either the enforcers or the military.

  Russell remembered seeing Charlie, the deputy, and the Marshall all handle their guns. He was hoping he could do what they did. I have to do something. He couldn’t let Mac kill Charlie. He silently slid the barrel of the shotgun through the window and pointed it at Mac. He pulled the trigger and the shotgun roared to life in his hands. The recoil of the blast sent the butt of the gun into Russell’s cheek and knocked him backwards. The gun dropped to the floor.

  Outside, Charlie was sitting on the ground leaning against the tree stump with his crippled right arm draped across his lap. His left hand hung by his side touching the handle of his hidden pistol. He knew Mac was going kill him and that once he was dead, Mac would go inside and find Russell. He had nothing to lose at this point. He was not afraid to die and in one respect would actually welcome death as a relief from this life of regret. He had to take the chance to try and stop Mac. Charlie inched his left hand around the handle of the pistol, and just before he pulled it a shotgun blast sounded from the window. That was the break he needed.

  Mac jumped at the sound of the blast and stumbled to the side. Charlie quickly pulled the Smith & Wesson double-action with his left hand and fired three shots at Mac. Mac fired once back at Charlie, but his shot was wild. Mac fell, severely wounded.

  Mac lay on his back, turned his head, and looked at Charlie. He tried to raise his gun, but his strength was quickly draining away, along with his life.

  “You should have headed on to the Pecos, Mac,” Charlie said.

  Mac coughed and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “At least … now … you’ll carry a scar from me,” he said between shallow breaths. He looked into Charlie’s eyes. Those were his last words.

  “Russell!” Charlie yelled.

  Russell limped outside holding his right side, still obviously in pain. “Oh no!” he said, seeing Charlie’s wounded arm.

  “Bend down here and help me up,” Charlie said. Russell did as Charlie asked and the two helped each other back into the cabin. Charlie sat at the table and instructed Russell how to re-light the lantern. He pointed to the washstand. “Bring that bowl over here to the table and pour some of that water in it for me.”

  Russell filled the wash bowl from the bucket sitting on the floor and brought it and a towel over to the table. Then he helped Charlie pull his shirt off over his head.

  “There’s a knife on that shelf next to the stove,” Charlie said, “bring it over here. Russell retrieved the knife and Charlie told him to cut the sleeve off his undershirt above the shoulder. Russell cut off the sleeve, exposing the wound in Charlie’s right arm. Russell sat at the table across from Charlie and watched Charlie clean the wound.

  Charlie noticed the swelling and the bruise that was beginning to form on Russell’s cheek. He fought back a smile as he knew exactly what had happened. “Remind me to teach you how to shoot.”

  Russell smiled back and then quickly frowned looking at Charlie’s wound.

  “That was a dumb thing to do,” Charlie said. “Firing that gun you basically told Mac where you were. But, under the circumstances, it was the perfect thing to do … and at the right time. You saved my life as well as your own.”

  “Did I … did I kill him?” Russell asked in a sheepish voice.

  Charlie chuckled. “You know, it’s hard to miss something ten feet away with a scatter gun. But I believe you clean missed everything. You sure scared the hell out of him, though. It gave me a chance to pull my gun. No, you didn’t kill him. I did.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of all this,” Charlie said. “But we have to get you out of here right away. You can’t be anywhere near here after this.”

  Charlie took a clean neckerchief from the washstand drawer and wrapped it around the wound in his arm. “Here, tie this tight across here for me.”

  Russell tied a good tight knot and sat back down at the table with Charlie. “Does it hurt?”

  “I guess it should,” Charlie said, “but right now I can’t feel anything in this arm.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “I need your help to clean up this mess and then we’ll get you home,” Charlie said. “I got your old clothes over there. Change into them. I’m sending you back in the same clothes you came here in. I’m going outside to get a few of Mac’s things.”

  The sun had not risen yet, but it was just light enough to see outside. Charlie found Mac’s roan tied to a small tree halfway down the hill. He approached the horse and stroked his neck. He checked the horse’s legs and chest.

  “You’re a fine bit of horseflesh, here. I wonder what you’re called.” He patted the roan’s neck and stroked his nose. “You’ll do fine.” Charlie saw that Mac carried a rifle scabbard but no rifle. He left the horse tied to the tree and pulled down the two sets of saddle bags Mac had draped across his saddle. He carried the bags back inside the cabin and set them down on the table.

  Russell sat on the bed dressed in his jeans, tee-shirt, and gym shoes all ready for his trip back home. He was holding the time belt.

  “Give me a hand.” Charlie walked back outside. Russell followed. “Take that gun belt off him and bring it inside.” Charlie picked up Mac’s gun and hat.

  “Is this the guy who shot me?” Russell stared at the bloody body of Mac Sherman.

  “Yeah, that’s him,” Charlie said. After a pause, he asked “Are you okay?”

  Russell knelt down on one knee next to Mac’s body. He didn’t answer, he just nodded and began to unbuckle Mac’s gun belt.

  Charlie walked back inside and set the hat and gun on the table next to the saddle bags. Russell came in a moment later holding the gun belt.

  “Here,” Charlie said, “strap that belt around me.”

  “You’re going to wear Mac’s gun?” Russell asked, a little confused.

  “Yup. Just help get it around me.”

  Russell buckled the belt around Charlie. It was a little tight since Mac was thinner than Charlie. But he did manage to get it buckled. Charlie slid Mac’s gun into the holster and turned to look at Russell. He stopped cold as he finally noticed Russell dressed in the 1990’s style clothing that he arrived in. Charlie paused for a long moment as the previous five days flashed through his mind. Although he knew there was no choice, he really didn’t want him to go.

  “What is all that stuff?” Russell broke the awkward silence.

  Charlie’s mind was brought back to the present by Russell’s question. “These? Oh, these are Mac’s things. These are Abe’s bags and this set is Mac’s bags. I’m going to go through them. Help me get his body inside here.” He walked back outside.

  “Inside? You mean in the cabin?” Russell followed.

  Charlie didn’t answer. With his left hand he grabbed one of Mac’s arms and started to drag the body toward the door. Russell caught up to him and grabbed the other arm and together the two wounded men struggled to pull Mac’s dead body into the cabin. Once in the light, Charlie was surprised to see that all three of his shots had hit his target. Mac had a wound in his stomach, one in his lef
t side, and one in his neck, which more than likely was the wound that killed him.

  Russell sat down at the table while Charlie went through and emptied Mac’s pockets. The only things there were Abe’s last will, a pocket watch, a knife, and a few coins, which Charlie tucked away in his pocket.

  “What are you doing?” Russell asked.

  Charlie realized his scavenging was making Russell a little uneasy. He took Mac’s things and placed them on the table and looked over at Russell.

  “He won’t be needing these things anymore,” Charlie said. “Things are different here than where you come from. Usually Doc Morgan gets the spoils, but when I’m through with this, there won’t be anything left for him to root through.”

  “When you’re finished with him?” Russell raised his voice a little and sat back in his chair with a concerned look on his face, “What are going to do, Charlie?”

  “I’m gonna fake my death using Mac’s body. As of today, Charlie Turlock will be dead.”

  Russell didn’t reply. He just sat openmouthed.

  “It’s better this way. I’ll just start over somewhere else.”

  “What about him?” Russell pointed to Mac’s dead body.

  “Him? What about him? He’s dead!” Charlie said, a little irritated with Russell’s line of questioning. “What the hell does it matter? Especially to you? That’s the guy who tried to kill you, and he came out here to finish the job. Now you’re worried about what will become of him?”

  Russell dropped the conversation. He stared down at Mac’s body and fiddled a little with the time belt he was holding. Charlie sat down across from Russell. In a calmer voice he answered Russell’s question.

  “There’s no record of Mac Sherman in Texas and there never will be,” Charlie said, “it’s like he just disappeared. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”