Alvin Fog, Texas Ranger

by J. T. Edson

  Even without possessing Leon Gonzales’ knowledge of physiognomy as an aid to reading facial expressions, Alvin could tell that the customers and the waiter were most impressed by what they had witnessed. Furthermore, if the smiles and nods of approval—those of Tombstone and the Mexican being particularly noticeable—were any indication, not a few of the onlookers were far from displeased by the treatment he had inflicted upon the trio. In fact, he concluded that the general consensus of opinion considered his actions to have been not only correct, but praiseworthy.

  However, pleasing as he found the obvious approbation of the majority of the men on his side of the bar, it was to Softly that the small Texan devoted most of his attention. There was an expression of amazement mingled with baffled anger on the usually professionally jovial features of the burly man as he glared from each of the supposed assailants in turn and to their intended victim. Try as he might, he could not prevent his clenched fists from banging on the top of the counter. Then his gaze snapped towards the door which gave access to the lobby.

  Following the direction in which Softly was glaring, Alvin found no difficulty in identifying the man who lumbered across the threshold. The tarnished badge of office displayed on the food-stained vest of an expensive, if rumpled and badly creased three-piece suit provided all the confirmation that was necessary.

  Big and built on massive lines, although he had long since run to seed in a manner which suggested why his nickname had been changed from ‘Big’ to ‘Fat Jim’, Sheriff James E. Healey had bristling black hair tinged with gray. The perspiration on his greasily pallid porcine features indicated he was out of condition and they were embellished by bushy brows from beneath which peered button-like, shifty eyes. Apart from something slender and less bulky than a gun causing his jacket’s right hand pocket to sag and bulge, there was no sign of him being armed. However, the brown derby hat perched on the back of his head, the grubby white silk shirt, a large diamond stickpin in his red, white and blue striped necktie and a thick gold watch-chain stretched across his bulging stomach offered suggestions that he had some source of income beyond his salary from Grouper County’s tax payers.

  Despite having watched Dennis Skinner entering and crashing unconscious upon the floor of the lobby, Healey had formed no conceptions of what might be awaiting him when he reached the barroom.

  Skidding to a halt as he crossed the threshold, an exclamation of profane astonishment burst from the sheriff. Knowing the brothers and their companion, he could scarcely believe what he was seeing as his gaze went from David to Mulley and then was directed at the small young man they were supposed to have beaten up. After studying Alvin for a moment, he looked at Softly in search of guidance. Realizing that he could hardly expect verbal instructions under the circumstances, he gave thought to how he might retrieve the situation. Remembering what the man behind the counter had said about the geologist’s arrogant nature, he decided there was a way in which he could bring about the desired result.

  ‘All right, hombre,’ Healey rumbled, resuming his interrupted advance without so much as a glance at the other occupants of the room and confident that none of them would dare raise any objections to the way he intended to act. Reaching into his pocket as he went on speaking, his right hand grasped the leather, lead-loaded sap which reposed therein. He was ready to take it out and use it as soon as the geologist made any kind of provocative response. ‘Why did you jump these gents?’

  ‘Reckon you-all’ve gotten your reins just a lil mite twisted there, Big Jim,’ Branch called, before Alvin could reply, having made an accurate guess at what the local peace officer had in mind. He returned the Colt to its holster as he strolled forward with leisurely appearing speed. However, as Lightning remained under the table instead of accompanying him, Mulley showed no inclination of trying to take advantage of his departure. ‘It wasn’t Mr. Hollingshead there’s started the fuss—’

  ‘Who asked—? Oh, it’s you!’ Healey spluttered, changing the wrathful question as he realized with whom he was dealing. He had failed to notice the elderly sergeant standing by Mulley on arriving in the barroom due to his consternation over the situation awaiting him there. Then the full implication of the other’s comment struck him and he continued, trying to sound amiable, but retaining his hold on the sap in the hope that he would be granted an opportunity to use it as he had planned, ‘Do you know this jasper?’

  ‘We’ve run across one another here ’n’ thereabouts,’ Branch confessed, shoving the lapel of his jacket aside to hook his left thumb in the armhole of his vest. By doing so, he exposed the silver star-in-a-circle badge of office which was attached to the latter garment. ‘Don’t you-all know him?’

  ‘No!’ Healey asserted, only just preventing himself from answering in the affirmative and, concluding something more should be added, went on, ‘So you saw what happened, then?’

  ‘From start to end,’ Branch replied, speaking somewhat louder than was necessary to ensure his words carried all around the room. ‘Which I don’t know how anybody else figures it, but in my considerated hoe-pinner-on as a sergeant in the Texas Rangers, it sure looked like what a legal-minded shyster’d call a clear cut case of tried-for hay-salt and batterizing’s went wrong.’

  ‘You mean’s it was them who picked on him?’ the sheriff demanded, trying without any great conviction to sound as if he considered the possibility unbelievable and hoping the geologist would enter the conversation, or do something to justify him taking out and using the sap.

  ‘It for sure wasn’t the other way around,’ Branch confirmed and he did not need to look to know his partner shared his suspicions with regards to the local peace officer’s intentions, so was avoiding presenting the opportunity.

  ‘Why’d they do it?’ Healey challenged.

  ‘Looked to me like they’d been taking drinking liquor, which’s again’ the Prohibitical Law for shame, until it’d set ’em on the prod and looking for a fuss,’ the sergeant offered blandly, ignoring the fact that he had been transgressing in a similar fashion if with less aggressive results. ‘Could be they figured’s how Mr. Hollingshead, being a stranger ’n’ what they took for a dude, who‘d make easy pickings. Trouble being, doing the kind of work he does, he’s had to learn to take care of hisself better’n somewhat should he get picked on that ways.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that—them causing fuss, I mean,’ Healey objected, directing a menacing scowl around the room. It was intended to serve as a reminder that anybody who expressed disagreement with his sentiments would face painful repercussions after the sergeant had gone. ‘Those boys aren’t usually trouble-causers, even happen they’ve taken a snort or two.’

  ‘I’m not the man to gainsay it, seeing’s how you-all know ’em and I don’t,’ Branch declared, apparently accepting the attempted exculpation. ‘Maybe they’ve got a miss-like for Mr. Hollingshead—or what he does—from some other place?’

  ‘Would they have?’ Healey demanded, glaring at Alvin’ and oblivious of Softly’s attempts to will him to raise the matter of the geologist’s employment as he had disclaimed being acquainted.

  ‘I’ve never seen any of them before they came in here,’ the small Texan stated, standing perfectly still and holding his voice to such a neutral tone that it precluded any emotion which could allow an attack to be made upon him.

  ‘Are you—?’ the sheriff began, hoping an expression of doubt over the geologist’s veracity would produce the required response.

  ‘Hey though,’ Branch put in, exuding a helpful air. ‘Maybe they was worried that you’d come to do some of that fancy gee-hog-olising, or whichever you call it, of your’n hereabouts.’

  ‘They’re wrong if that’s what they think!’ Alvin claimed, sounding as he had when denying his identity earlier that morning. ‘I’m only here on vacation.’

  ‘Huh!’ Branch grunted. ‘Do you always tote a gun when you’re on vacation?’

  ‘Gun!’ Alvin snorted, with well simulate
d indignation, but still refraining from making any gesture which the sheriff might choose to construe as threatening. ‘What gun?’

  ‘The one that feller concluded you was reaching for and tried to stop you pulling,’ Branch elaborated, indicating Mulley with a snapping motion of his right thumb and forefinger, yet never taking his eyes from the local peace officer.

  ‘Goddamn it, man, I never carry a gun!’ Alvin snapped, raising his arms slowly until they were outstretched at shoulder height. ‘Go ahead and search me if you think I do.’

  ‘Might be best was you to do it, Sheriff,’ Branch drawled, showing none of the delight he was feeling at the way his young partner had anticipated his wishes.

  ‘Huh?’ Healey grunted, knowing that the suggestion of the geologist being armed had only been uttered by Mulley as an excuse for starting the attack and seeing no point in performing what he knew would be an unproductive task.

  ‘Do what you want,’ the elderly sergeant drawled, confident that between them, he and Alvin could prevent the local peace officer from turning the search into a reason for using the sap. ‘Only, happen you don’t, there’s some’s might think’s how you-all was scared to do your legal and ee-lectrical duty on account of who he is—or could be working for.’

  ‘Blast it all, man!’ Alvin interrupted, deciding a denial would be expected by Softly if nobody else, but continuing to stand as if turned to stone. ‘I’ve told you that I’m not working for anybody right now.’

  ‘That’s what you told us,’ Branch admitted, but his voice registered what appeared to be thinly disguised doubt. ‘And, which being the case, you don’t have no objectations to the sheriff here searching you?’

  ‘Of course I don’t object!’ Alvin replied. ‘That’s why I’m standing like this. Go ahead and search me, Sheriff.’

  Even as Healey was congratulating himself upon how the geologist was playing into his hands, he began to appreciate that this was not the case. After such evidence of compliance, he could not exploit the opportunity without the possibility of serious repercussions at a later date. If there had been only witnesses who lived in the town present, he could have carried out his intentions secure in the knowledge that whatever reason he gave for felling his victim would pass without question.

  Sergeant Branch of the Texas Rangers was an entirely different proposition!

  That the elderly peace officer should have intervened struck the sheriff as being significant. From remarks he had made, he was clearly aware of the exact nature of Hollingshead’s work and the kind of men who made use of the geologist’s talents. Which offered a suggestion to the sheriff as to why he had felt the need to intrude. The thought that Branch might have been motivated by nothing more than a desire to see justice done never occurred to Healey, such altruism being foreign to his own nature. Instead, the only reason he could envisage was that there must be some form of financial benefit involved.

  Perhaps Branch had been hired to accompany and watch over Hollingshead!

  However, after considering the possibility for a moment, Healey discarded it. While there had been an occasional corrupt Texas Ranger, he had never heard the slightest suggestion of Branch belonging to that category. Rather the opposite, in fact. Of course, finding himself a chance onlooker, he might have decided it could prove advantageous to his career if he performed a service which might gain him the approbation of whoever was currently hiring the geologist. His comments had made it obvious that he discounted the claim of being on vacation and that he had the influential status of the employer in mind when giving his advice to the sheriff. In which case, he would not countenance an unjustified attack upon Hollingshead, whose behavior indicated no resistance was contemplated.

  There was yet another objection to making the intended assault, the sheriff suddenly realized as he glanced about him in search of inspiration and noticed in passing two victims of the earlier attempt. That the small geologist had successfully fought off three larger, heavier assailants implied an exceptional skill at bare-handed combat. In fact, Branch had not appeared to be surprised that he should have been able to cope with the trio’s attack.

  The conclusions Healey reached warned him that Hollingshead was a person, small size notwithstanding, against whom it would be dangerous to attempt hostile actions. Although the sheriff had at one time acquired a well-deserved reputation for competence as a roughhouse brawler, those days were long behind him. Too much liquor, good food and easy living had reduced his former powers to such an extent that, particularly as there were residents of his jurisdiction present to see what happened, he felt disinclined to chance receiving similar treatment to whatever had felled the geologist’s previous attackers.

  Yielding to the inevitable, Healey glanced at Softly as he was bringing his empty right hand from the pocket. Barely able to restrain a shrug of resignation as he met the scowling gaze that was being directed at him, he went towards the motionless geologist. Feeling sure that there would be no concealed weapon for him to find, he set about doing as Branch had suggested and Hollingshead authorized. It was obvious to anybody with experience in such matters that his heart was not in the task.

  ‘He’s not carrying a gun,’ the sheriff announced, making no attempt to conceal his disappointment—although it was not, as some of the onlookers assumed, caused by the failure to discover a weapon—after having completed what the two Texas Rangers considered to have been a far more perfunctory search than either of them would have made.

  ‘Seems like you-all was miss-tooken then, mister,’ Branch called, looking around as Healey stepped away and Alvin lowered his arms. ‘So, happen you’re up to it, maybe you’d best go and see how bad your amigos are hurt.’

  ‘Call off that goddamned dog of your’n first!’ requested Mulley, to whom the comment and suggestion had been directed.

  ‘Who, ole Lightning?’ the sergeant asked, sounding puzzled. ‘Why shucks, he’s too all-fired lazy to bother you none.’

  Looking behind him for the first time since Branch had walked away, Mulley found that the big blue-tick—having obeyed the finger-snapping signal—was lying down and appeared to be asleep. Nor did it offer to move as he rose cautiously and walked to where, still behaving in a dazed fashion, David Skinner was sitting up.

  ‘Do you-all want to have ’em arrested for jumping you, Mr. Hollingshead?’ Branch asked, as Mulley was helping Skinner to stand up. Before Alvin could reply, however, he turned to the local peace officer and went on apologetically, ‘’Scuse me, Big Jim, I’m a mite out of line. T’ain’t for me to be asking that. This here’s your bailiwick ’n’ I’m just passing through unofficial-like.’

  ‘Shucks, Sergeant,’ Healey replied, only just managing to conceal the alarm he felt over the prospect of having to arrest the three local men—particularly as the possibility had never entered his head—if their intended victim was to prefer charges against them. ‘You’re only trying to help.’

  ‘Why sure,’ Branch declared, with such an appearance of sincerity he might have been speaking the truth. ‘How about it, Mr. Hollingshead?’

  ‘Excuse me, Sheriff!’ the desk clerk said, coming from the lobby and providing a most welcome interruption as far as the local peace officer was concerned. ‘But I think somebody should send for the doctor. I’ve been looking at the man lying in the lobby and believe he needs medical attention.’

  ‘Is he hurt bad?’ Healey demanded, although it was noticeable that David Skinner—who had been helped to the bar by Mulley and was holding a drink which Softly had given him—did not display any interest, or concern, over his brother’s condition.

  ‘I’m not a qualified medical practitioner,’ the desk clerk replied, making little attempt to conceal his antipathy for the sheriff. ‘But I served with the Red Cross during the war and it’s my opinion that the doctor should see him as soon as possible.’

  ‘So he’s hurt real bad, is he?’ Healey ejaculated with greater satisfaction than regret, as a flash of inspiration struck hi
m. Then, instead of offering to act upon what most people would have considered to be sound advice and should have been his first priority, he swung towards the small Texan, continuing, ‘It seems to me that it’ll not be Fred Mulley and the Skinner boys I’ll be arresting.’

  There was a timbre of vindictive satisfaction in the sheriff’s voice as he was making the pronouncement. Despite no opportunity presenting itself so far, he was confident that he could solve Softly’s problem. Provided Branch did not stay in town, once he had the geologist in the seclusion of the jail and with only his solitary deputy as a witness, the pretense of an attempted escape would allow the two of them to inflict sufficiently serious injuries to achieve the results which were required and had so far been thwarted.

  ‘Howdy, Abe,’ Healey greeted, with an obvious lack of enthusiasm, on entering the supposed bartender’s living quarters at Soskice’s Hotel some two and a half hours after the abortive attempt to render the geologist incapable of carrying out an examination of Brixton’s Canyon. In view of what had happened, he had hoped to postpone the interview for which he had been summoned. ‘Miguel said you wanted to see me.’

  ‘You must have took some finding!’ Softly complained and went on in equally bitter tones, ‘Goddamn it! What a no good waste of time and money all round. That son-of-a-bitch Hollingshead’s still on his feet and able to do what he’s been sent here for.’

  ‘Well you can’t blame me for that!’ the sheriff asserted as vehemently as he dared, being uncomfortably aware of just how much he was dependent upon the man he was addressing for retaining his lucrative official position in Grouper County. ‘Who’d’ve thought a short-grown runt like him could take out the Skinner boys and Fred Mulley?’ When there was no response to the question he had posed as evidence that he was not trying to place the blame for the failure upon his host, he added what he hoped would be considered as exculpation where he personally was concerned. ‘And Branch billing in like he did stopped the little bastard saying or doing something I could have used as an excuse to bust his head open with my sap.’