A Ranger's Time

by Edward Gates

  “Only met him a few times. I didn’t know him all that well,” the captain said. “He was a real nice fellow and a good lawman from what I heard. They wanted him to head up the police force that was being formed, but he didn’t want any part of it. He left town shortly after I got here. The stories say he came into some money and went into northern Arizona and became a constable in a small town there. I couldn’t tell you for sure.”

  Russell thanked the captain again.

  “Sorry I had to be the one to tell ya’ about your friend. And sorry I couldn’t be more help to you,” the captain said.

  Russell smiled and left the Ranger’s office. Charlie never missed a thing. Even though he made Russell promise to never come back, he knew he eventually would. He unfolded the note and looked at it again.

  37.168156 -104.531

  All he had to do now was figure out where those numbers pointed. Russell wished he had his data cell. Then he remembered he was wearing a computer. He could use the time belt for teleportation. He would keep the same time, just change the space destination. He wondered if Marshal Cook had found Charlie and left Amarillo to join him.

  Russell walked to just below the stockyards and hid behind a storage shed. He didn’t see anyone around. He initiated the time belt and saw the blue-green glow around him. He punched in the coordinates on the virtual display, watched the timer count down, closed his eyes and he was gone.

  When Russell awoke, he was amidst a forest of trees and plants. The sun was filtering through the branches, and the sweet smell of pine filled the chilly air. Most of the trees were some kind of fir or pine trees. Through the trees he saw an ever changing topography of rises and slopes. He was definitely in a mountain region.

  “Where the hell am I now?” Russell said out loud. “Leave it to Charlie to find some out of the way place in the mountains.”

  He leaned against a tree, wondering which way he should begin walking. Just before he started out he heard the loud shrill of a whistle off in the distance. It sounded similar to a train whistle, only higher pitched. It was coming from off to his left and down the hill. He headed in the direction of the whistle. The whistle sounded again.

  As he climbed down he came across a set of railroad tracks. He turned to his left and walked the tracks in the direction of the whistle. Around the next bend he came upon a number of buildings for some sort of a mining operation. He noticed a team of pit ponies towing several small low-slung cars out of the mine. The cars were filled with a black shiny rock. Russell stepped off the tracks and kept walking toward the mine.

  When he reached the mine entrance, he stopped at the gate and read the sign hanging above the gate: RIFENBURG COAL MINE. So that’s what coal looks like. He’s heard about coal, but it had been banned for centuries in his era.

  People were scurrying everywhere. The steam whistle he heard must have been some kind of signal to the workers. Russell waited for the horse-drawn train to finally clear the tracks and then he headed toward the largest building, thinking it may be the main office.

  “Hold up there, fella,” came a voice from behind him.

  Russell stopped and turned around. The voice came from a large, burly man walking toward him wearing a bowler which barely covered his short-cropped hair. He wore a collarless grey cotton shirt and wide green plaid suspenders. Russell stared at his large red handlebar moustache. He had never seen anything like that before. The muscle-bound watchman carried a large nightstick that he probably didn’t really need.

  “Now where do ya’ think you’re sportin’ to?” he continued in a broken Irish accent.

  “I’m not really sure,” Russell stammered.

  “Ah’ don’t believe I’ve seen the likes of you around here before.” The man gently poked the nightstick on Russell’s chest.

  “You haven’t,” Russell said. “I just got here and I’m trying to find a friend who might be around here. I was going over …”

  “An’ who might that fella be?” the man asked.

  “Well, his name is Charlie Turlock. He’s about 5-10, maybe a little stocky, and should be in his 70’s by now. I haven’t seen him in about 20 years. He used to be a Texas Ranger.”

  When he said ranger, the watchman’s eyes widened.

  “An’ who might you be?” the watchman asked.

  “My name is Russell Hicks. I’m an old family friend of Charlie’s. Do you know him?”

  “No. I don’t know anyone calling themselves by that name. But there’s an old pay master here who says he used to be a Ranger. Fella goes by the handle A.J. Campbell. He’s been pretty sick lately. He won’t let anyone take him to Trinidad to see the doctor. Kind of crazy if you ask me.”

  “Trinidad?” Russell asked.

  “Aye. Trinidad,” the watchman said a little annoyed. “It’s the town down the hill that you came in here by.”

  “Oh, right, right. And where can I find this A.J. Campbell?” Russell asked.

  “He’s been staying in the cook’s cabin down the road a piece.” The watchman pointed in the direction of a few buildings tucked up among the trees.

  Russell thanked the man and walked toward the wooden buildings. He was wondering how he would find out which one was the cook’s cabin. He was hoping it would be evident.

  “You be careful, now, Mr. Hicks. I’ll be lookin’ after ya’,” the watchman called after Russell.

  “I’m hoping you will,” Russell replied over his shoulder.

  The news that Charlie was sick struck a sad note with Russell. He had a hard time keeping a neutral face with the watchman. Now he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. This had to be why he’d had such a strong feeling to come back and find him.

  Russell reached the few wooden structures and went inside the largest one. It was a long narrow building with two rows of wooden tables and benches running its entire length. This had to be the food hall, Russell thought. At this time of day it was deserted.

  “Hello?” Russell called out. There was no answer. He walked through the hall to a door at the opposite end that opened into a small clearing where two small almost identical structures stood with a well between the two cabins. These must be the cabins the watchman was referring to.

  Russell knocked on the door of the first cabin. There was no answer. He opened the door and looked in at the meager furnishings; two cots, a small wooden table with one chair, a washstand and a bucket. A wooden box sat on the floor at the foot of each cot. Russell closed the door, turned around and came face to face with the business end of an old shotgun.

  “What are you doin’ snoopin’ around here?” the small elderly man at the other end of the shotgun demanded.

  His sudden appearance startled Russell and he gasped and threw his hands up in the air.

  “I ... I …” Russell stammered.

  “Speak up, there,” the man ordered.

  “I’m looking for the old paymaster named Campbell!” Russell blurted out.

  The old man lowered the shotgun a bit and backed up a step. He wore a severely stained collarless white cotton shirt and Russell assumed this man had to be the cook. His bald head had very thin scraggly white hair around the sides. He looked very pale and withered.

  “You know this fella Campbell?” the old man asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Russell said. “Can I put my hands down?”

  The old man nodded.

  “What do ya’ mean you’re not sure?”

  “Well, I’m looking for an old friend of mine named Charlie Turlock,” Russell explained, “but I haven’t seen or heard from him in twenty years. I think he may have changed his name to A. J. Campbell.”

  Russell heard something drop followed by someone coughing. He and the old man both turned to look at the open door of the second cabin.

  “Campbell’s in there,” the old man said, “but I tell ya’, he’s pretty bad off. He’s been sick for a spell now, but it took a real bad turn here a week or so ago. I’ve seen this before. He ain’t long for he
re, you know? Are you his kin?”

  Russell shook his head. “Just a friend.”

  The old man shook his head and slowly ambled back to the second cabin with Russell alongside.

  “Damn shame,” the old man muttered. “He’s a real nice fella, too. Just a damn shame.”

  When they reached the cabin, the old man pushed the door open and stepped aside to let Russell go in.

  “I’ll leave you two alone so you can talk.” The old man turned and walked toward the food hall.

  It was dark inside and it took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dim light, but Russell could see right away that the old man lying on the cot was indeed Charlie.

  Charlie looked up at the stranger standing in the doorway and raised his head and put his left hand up as if to shield the light. “Who are you?” he said with a raspy voice. “What do you want?”

  Russell slowly walked in and pulled a chair close to Charlie’s cot. He sat down and smiled at Charlie. Charlie squinted his eyes. Russell took a long slow breath. The old man’s thin hair was pure white and very long. Charlie’s right hand appeared crooked and withered. He was pale and his eyes were cloudy.

  “Charlie? It’s me, Russell.”

  Charlie’s eyes widened and he looked closer. Suddenly he let out a laugh and a cough at the same time. His eyes filled with tears and he began to cry. He reached out and held Russell’s face with his left hand. “You came back, boy. I knew you would,” Charlie mumbled in between his sobs. After a while, he settled down. “Help me sit up.”

  Russell pulled Charlie up into a sitting position on the edge of the cot. They both sat in silence just staring at each other savoring the reunion.

  “You must have gotten my note.” Charlie smiled. “I’m surprised the captain held on to it all these years.”

  Russell nodded. “I was a little surprised myself. You made me promise to never come back. Yet you knew I would.”

  “I knew you couldn’t stay away. This place kinda gits in your craw, don’t it. I just didn’t think it’d take you this long to come back.”

  Russell smiled and after a minute motioned to Charlie’s right hand. “What happened to your hand?”

  “Mac Sherman’s curse,” Charlie said. “He always said he wanted to mark me like I marked him. I suppose he did just that.”

  “Did you see a doctor?” Russell asked.

  “Yeah. I saw a doc when I got to Tascosa. The bastard wanted to take the damn thing off! But I wouldn’t let him. I can move it some, but most of it ain’t got no feeling in it.” He moved his arm from side to side to show Russell its limited mobility. Russell just nodded. Charlie coughed a bit and took a deep raspy breath. He could see that Charlie was having a difficult time breathing.

  “Why A.J. Campbell?” Russell finally asked.

  Charlie smiled. “That’s my real name. Archibald Jackson Campbell. I finally decided to start using it after my so-called death.”

  “Well then, why Charlie Turlock in the first place?” Russell asked. “Where did that name come from?”

  “Well, that was sort of a mistake.” Charlie looked off to the side, past Russell as if he was in deep thought trying to visualize a distant memory. Finally, still staring off in space, he said “When I took that jacket off that dead soldier right after I got here in ‘62, the name stitched on the inside of the jacket was “C.TURLOCK”. I didn’t even know the name was there. I headed west and stayed hidden in the woods for about a week. I finally came across a blacksmith and his family in West Virginia. He spotted the name inside the blouse and asked me what the “C” stood for. I didn’t know so I invented Charlie. From that point on he called me Charlie. It stuck. That’s where the name came from.”

  “It’s real good to see you,” Russell said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Not well. I’m dying. Lungs are shot. Probably from all the bad air here at the mine with the coal dust and all. Hell, boy, I’m over 70 years old. Most men in this era barely make their 50’s. Most miners are lucky to see 40. I’m an anomaly.”

  “Why don’t you see the doctor or let these people help you?” Russell argued. “You can’t just die.”

  Charlie didn’t answer. He nodded, smiled, and patted Russell’s hand. They sat in silence for a moment while Russell waited for an explanation from Charlie that never came. Then he understood. There was nothing that could be done for Charlie, especially in this remote area in the early 1900’s.

  “You’re all grown up. How long’s it been? ” Charlie asked, trying to change the subject. “You should be a pretty important physicist by now.”

  “It’s been over twenty years, Charlie. And yes, I’m a doctor of physics now.”

  “Twenty years,” Charlie repeated. “You still teaching?”

  “I’m getting ready to leave when I get back. I got a real good offer from the government to go back and oversee the establishment of teleportation ports. It’s all going public. Just like you said.”

  Charlie nodded with a smile on his face and kept looking at Russell.

  “Should I call you Archie from now on?” Russell asked to break the silence.

  Charlie chuckled. “You can call me whatever you like.”

  “Did you ever see Hanna or Amos, or Morgan again?” Russell asked.

  “Yeah, I saw Cook a few years after I left. He said he and Morgan figured out right away that it wasn’t me that died but kept it to themselves. He remembered me talking about Trinidad and tracked me down up here. It was good to see him. I hadn’t seen Hanna or Doc. I felt real bad about Hanna. She was a real special lady. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I had no choice. She was the one I missed the most. Had it been a different situation I’d a probably stayed with her. But, it had to end this way with her. I heard that her restaurant burned down about ten years ago and she packed up what was left and went back to Illinois to be with her sisters. Amos said that Morgan left town with some money he mysteriously received and went to California.”

  “Is Cook here?” Russell asked.

  “No, no. He stayed here with me for a few days, but said he was moving on to northern Arizona. He got some money himself and was looking to get away somewhere. Haven’t heard from him since.”

  Russell shook his head and smiled. “Why Trinidad and coal mining?”

  Charlie told Russell the story of Frank McCrudy and how he was wrongly sent to prison, and how Charlie befriended him while he served his time over his five year sentence. When Frank got out of jail he’d come here to work for his brother who was a shift boss here. Charlie said Frank told him he could get him a job so that’s why he came to Trinidad. Russell sat taking it all in. Then, Charlie changed the subject again.

  “Does Campbell ring a bell with you?” Charlie asked.

  Russell thought about it and then remembered a student. “I remember a Theodore Campbell. He was a student of mine a few years back. Brilliant fellow. Really took to the science well.”

  “That’s my father.” Charlie smiled. “My father thought you were a genius. He couldn’t stop talking about you. If you remember him then you might remember a Sarah Jackson in the same class.”

  Russell thought but couldn’t place the name. He shook his head.

  “No matter. But she was my mother. I never really knew her. Dad said she was a sickly girl and she died shortly after I was born.” Charlie began wheezing and coughing. He reached out to Russell and held his hand. “I got to lie back down.”

  Russell helped Charlie lie back down on the cot. Russell held on to Charlie’s hand as Charlie tried to catch his breath. In a minute he settled down and was again breathing better.

  “Let me get you some medicine or something to help you,” Russell argued.

  Charlie shook his head. “You still don’t understand, do you?”

  Russell stared at Charlie with a blank look on his face. Charlie said “I don’t belong here. I never belonged here. When I go, there can’t be any trace of me. I have to preserve this time the way it happened. As p
aymaster here, I made sure my name never appeared on the pay records. When I go, that old Cook outside promised to put me in an unmarked hole in the ground. It has to end this way. You have to understand. You, me, and anyone that travels back to the past don’t belong. It ain’t right! They just don’t belong!” Charlie started coughing and took a few minutes to calm down and catch his breath. “You’ll eventually move into a position where you can stop time travel all together. Remember this.” Charlie turned away and closed his eyes to relax and catch his breath. There was a silence between them as Russell considered all that Charlie just told him and the things he had said twenty years ago.

  “You got time to stay a while?” Charlie finally asked, breaking the silence.

  Russell smiled as a tear formed in his eye. “Charlie, I got all the time in the world.”

  He sat holding Charlie’s hand.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Edward Gates was raised in Cincinnati, Ohio. After serving in the military during the Vietnam Conflict, he was educated at the University of Cincinnati.

  A Systems Engineer by trade, he spent over thirty years writing technical and training manuals, presentations, speeches, and sales media. His career took him and his family to Atlanta, Georgia and eventually on to Southern California where he lived until he retired in 2012. Currently, he and his wife reside in Prescott, Arizona.

  Edward has a passion for writing and has always written stories and short scenes. He has been actively involved in theater for well over 30 years and has written a stage play entitled BUSTER’S WIFE. The play was a finalist in the McKinney Reparatory Theater new-play competition in 2013. He has also completed three one-act plays and is working on another two-act stage play.

  A RANGER’S TIME is Mr. Gates’s first novel. A second novel about the life and times of Charlie Turlock is currently in the works.