Alvin Fog, Texas Ranger

by J. T. Edson

  ‘So I saw,’ Softly admitted, showing no sign of being mollified by anything he had just heard and seeking a scapegoat for the recriminations he was sure would be forthcoming over the lack of success in carrying out the promise he had made to Wilfred Plant. ‘And he’s still walking around as free as a goddamned bird.’

  ‘There wasn’t no way I could’ve held him if I’d took him in!’ Healey answered hurriedly, being equally disinclined to have the onus for the fiasco placed upon him. ‘The kind of lawyer he’d’ve sent for wouldn’t just have stopped at having any case I brought again’ him thrown out of court, he’d likely’ve hauled me in front of the judge for false arrest and—’

  ‘Goddamn it!’ Softly interrupted. ‘Even if you’d’ve let him send for a lawyer, you could’ve fixed his wagon afore the son-of-a-bitching shyster got here.’

  ‘That’s what I was figuring on doing,’ the sheriff pointed out. ‘But he told Branch’s how he wanted him to stick around to make sure he got his legal rights should he be took in. And Branch allowed, with the kind of backing he’d got, there wasn’t nothing he could do but do it. Then he warned me what’d happen was I to take Hollingshead in. And, knowing why he’s here, I figure it made good sense not to.’

  ‘You told a goddamned Texas Ranger we know about Meeker sending Hollingshead here?’ Softly demanded, almost in a shout, having contrived to follow most of the somewhat muddled explanation.

  ‘No!’ Healey asserted and, although he refrained from adding, “Of course not”, the words were implied in his tone. ‘But, going by what Branch told me down to the jailhouse, Hollingshead’s figuring on marrying into the Counter family and you know what that bunch’re like for standing by their own. They’d’ve set up more fuss and hollering than I reckoned you, or Mr. Turtle’d want should he have been hauled to the pokey for hurting one of three fellers who jumped him, then got worked over ‘cause he was supposed to be trying to escape.’

  ‘We’ve rode out fuss and hollering afore now,’ Softly growled, despite silently conceding the point. Having had his hopes raised by deducing what was intended to follow the geologist’s arrival at the jailhouse, then seen them dashed again, he could not resist the temptation to make the sheriff squirm. Before he could say anything more, there was a knock on the door and he bellowed, ‘Come in!’

  ‘I’ve fixed it, boss,’ announced the man who entered and something in his attitude suggested to the sheriff that, whatever the task had been, it was not connected with his normal duties as assistant bartender.

  ‘He didn’t see you, did he?’ Softly demanded, giving added support to Healey’s summation.

  ‘He kept quiet about it if he did,’ the man replied, grinning broadly. ‘Which I don’t reckon he would have if he’d seen me.’

  ‘I don’t reckon he would at that,’ Softly confirmed, showing pleasure for the first time since the sheriff had arrived. ‘Go and make sure Joplin knows what to say.’

  ‘Sure, boss,’ the man assented and left, closing the door.

  ‘Where’re Mulley and the Skinners?’ Softly asked, as soon as he and the sheriff were alone.

  ‘Down to Minnie Morgan’s chicken ranch,’ [64] Healey replied, wondering what instructions were to be given to the owner of the town’s only service station.

  ‘How bad’s Dennis hurt?’ Softly inquired, before the sheriff could attempt to satisfy his curiosity.

  ‘The doctor allowed he might have a concus—something-or-other.’

  ‘Can he be moved?’

  ‘The doctor reckoned the best place for him’d be at home and in bed,’ Healey replied, deciding that the news brought by the assistant bartender had put Softly in a more amiable frame of mind. ‘But Mulley ’n’ David was threatening to come after Hollingshead with guns—’

  ‘The stupid bastards!’ the manager of the hotel snarled.

  ‘I figured you wouldn’t want it,’ Healey stated, relieved to hear that his handling of the situation had been correct. ‘So I told them you said they was to stay put and leave him be until you gave the word.’

  ‘Thank God you’ve done something right!’ Softly said, almost jovially. ‘Now you can go and tell them I said for them to get the hell back to their place and stay there until I pass word they can come into town again. Only, happen you get asked, say you sent them there straight after the doctor’d seen Dennis.’

  ‘I’ll see to it,’ Healey promised and, taking advantage of the other’s improved humor, continued, ‘Who’s likely to come asking about them?’

  ‘Don’t make no never mind who it is,’ Softly answered, ‘just so long’s you tell him what I said.’

  ‘I will!’ the sheriff affirmed. ‘But what about Hollingshead?’

  ‘You can leave him to me,’ Softly ordered and, watching the alarm which came to Healey’s face, went on impatiently, ‘Don’t worry. I’m not wanting you to do anything about him. I’ve just made sure he can’t get out to the canyon tonight and’ll have things rigged so he’ll not be feeling up to going any place except his bed for a spell the next time he has a meal here.’

  ‘You’re not going to have him pois—?’ the sheriff began nervously. ‘Hell, that’d bring Branch back on the run.’

  ‘Why’d he come back?’ Softly challenged, being unaware until that moment of the elderly sergeant’s departure. ‘You won’t be sending for him.’

  ‘He might come, just the same, should he hear,’ Healey warned. ‘I took the notion from what he said, him being close to having to retire through old age, he’d jump at the chance to do something’s’d likely put him in good with the Counter family.’

  ‘He would, would he?’ Softly growled, then was struck by a thought. ‘Hey though, if that’s what made the old bastard bill in, we could be worrying for nothing.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I was thinking Meeker could’ve had him sent along to make sure nothing happened to Hollingshead.’

  ‘I don’t reckon so,’ Healey objected and, having told of the deductions he had formed with regards to the sergeant’s nonintervention during the attack, went on, ‘Besides, from what Branch told me, he’s in Major Tragg’s Company. He’s one son-of-a-bitch who’s never been in anybody’s pocket and he wouldn’t be doing no favors for a longhorn like Meeker.’

  ‘So you don’t reckon he was sent to wet-nurse Hollingshead?’ Softly inquired.

  ‘I-I-I!’ Healey faltered, his instincts rebelling against making a definite statement on such an issue in case he should be proved wrong.

  ‘Why was he here then?’ Softly demanded.

  ‘He allowed he was just passing through on the way to San Antone to identify a feller’s’s been picked up by the sheriff and only stopped by for a beer,’ Healey replied. ‘But, to make sure he doesn’t just go along the trail a ways then come sneaking in again, I’ve told Callaghan to follow him until it’s certain he’s left the county and isn’t coming back.’

  ‘Bueno,’ Softly praised, although somewhat sardonically as he was surprised to learn the sheriff had shown such forethought in having the precaution taken. ‘And don’t look so worried. No matter whether Branch wants to foot-lick to the Counters or not, what I’ve got in mind for Hollingshead won’t look like anything he’ll figure needs for him to come back and poke his nose in should he hear about it.’

  ‘Just what are you going to do?’ the sheriff wanted to know.

  ‘There’s no time to tell you all about it now and, if you don’t know, you’ll look surprised when you hear,’ Softly answered, drawing amusement from keeping the clearly perturbed peace officer in suspense, particularly as he now considered his affairs were at last progressing in a satisfactory manner and the danger of further intervention by the elderly sergeant was removed. ‘You’d best go and send those three useless knuckleheads out of town. And, should you be asked, don’t forget that they left at least a couple of hours back.’

  ‘I’ll remember,’ Healey promised sullenly, accepting that any further attempt to elicit in
formation would be futile.

  Leaving the room, the sheriff drew what small consolation he could from the thought that he had done his best. He could now only await developments and hope that, whatever they might be, they would not lead to the return of Branch. However, like Softly, he was satisfied that he had done all that was necessary to prevent this happening unexpectedly in the immediate future.

  Neither of the conspirators would have been so complacent about having ensured that the elderly sergeant could not remain in the vicinity of Grouperville without their knowledge if they had been able to witness what was taking place at that moment some fifteen miles along the road to San Antonio.

  Driving a dirty black 1918 Dodge Brothers’ Four coupe at a pace suitable to his needs, Deputy Sheriff Waldo Callaghan was paying little attention to his surroundings. Although the vehicle was the property of the Grouper County Sheriff’s Office, its neglected and dilapidated condition was discreditable to the two peace officers who should have been responsible for its upkeep and maintenance. For all that, it seemed to be a match for its solitary occupant’s appearance. A big, flabby, shambling man in his early fifties, he had thinning white hair and unprepossessing features. Dressed in a mixture of range and town clothes, all of which were in need of cleaning, he clearly neither washed nor shaved too regularly.

  Despite being even more lazy and incompetent than the sheriff, Callaghan was performing his current duty at least acceptably, if resentfully. Not that it made any greater demands upon his limited intellect than was necessary to drive at a sufficient distance to prevent the man in front, in the aged-looking Ford Model-T sedan, from becoming aware that he was being followed along the narrow dirt road. Callaghan was helped by the rolling terrain they were traversing and was satisfied that he was achieving his purpose.

  A loud popping sound, followed by the hiss of escaping air, jolted the deputy out of his complacency. Although the coupe swerved, he was not traveling at such a high speed that what he knew must have been a blowout posed any threat to his safety. Putting aside his speculations on how he might avoid completing the drive to the county line, particularly as the man he was following was showing no sign of returning or even of halting with the intention of returning later in the day, he had no difficulty in bringing the vehicle to a halt. Hauling himself laboriously from the driver’s seat to the ground, he lumbered around the bonnet. Halting, he glared at a deflated tire which long use had left entirely bereft of its tread.

  ‘Goddamn it!’ the deputy snarled, bestowing a kick to the wheel and walking to the rear of the coupe without examining the damage. His only thought on the matter was that the tire, in common with the others on the vehicle, was in such poor condition he was surprised a blowout had not happened sooner. Glowering at the spare wheel attached to the trunk compartment for a moment, he turned his gaze in each direction along the road and found that, apart from the Ford—which was disappearing over a rim about three-quarters of a mile away—there was no sign of life. ‘Just my son-of-a-bitching luck. There’s nobody around I can make change ’em for me.’

  A more observant person than Callaghan would have noticed that, instead of having pierced the bearing surface of the tire as might have been expected, whatever caused the damage had passed through the walls leaving round holes just over a quarter of an inch in diameter, the one on the outside being slightly higher. Being idle by nature, he was too annoyed by the prospect of having to change the wheel himself to pay any attention to what otherwise might have suggested something unusual had taken place to produce the puncture. Instead of giving thought to the cause, he did nothing more constructive than mutter a string of profanity as he raised the lid of the trunk compartment and lifted out the tools with which to effect the transfer.

  While seeking assistance, the deputy had not troubled to extend his search as far as the ridge to his right which formed a bush-covered skyline something over a quarter of a mile away. Nor, even if he had looked there in the course of his scrutiny, would he have detected anything to have aroused his suspicions. To be fair, even while the blowout was being produced, a much more alert and keen sighted person than Callaghan might have been excused for overlooking the means by which it was caused.

  Despite the need for extreme accuracy, there had been little more than an inch of the barrel protruding beyond the bushes in which the weapon’s user was hiding as he was taking aim and dispatching the bullet that pierced the coupe’s tire. Nor had there been an audible notification of what was happening. The somewhat bulbous nature of the muzzle, compared with the size of the aperture at its center, indicated it was equipped with a device capable of reducing the sound of the cartridge’s powder charge being detonated to no more than a sharp hiss which could not be heard on the road. Furthermore, although the clacking of the bolt being operated to eject the spent case and thrust a live round from the magazine into the chamber could not be silenced, it was drowned by the noise from the coupe’s engine and the blowout, so went unnoticed by the deputy. As a final precaution against discovery, there was no sign of the weapon to be seen by the time its victim was leaving his vehicle.

  Having played his part in helping to establish Alvin Fog’s identity, Sergeant Mark Scrapton had had a good reason for his hasty departure from Grouperville. Despite being aware that the deception might put the small Texan in jeopardy, he had had to make preparations for another duty and knew Jubal Branch would be available to provide any protection that might prove necessary.

  The second, potentially as important, task which the young sergeant had been given was a further example of the foresight employed in devising Company “Z”s’ plan of campaign. Having surmised that the presence of a known Texas Ranger claiming an acquaintance with, and interest in, the welfare of the geologist would arouse suspicion, probably to the extent of causing Branch to be followed when he left the town to ensure he did not slip back instead of going straight to San Antonio as he had announced was his intention, Major Tragg had thought up a way to counter the eventuality. The idea was based on Sergeant Swift Eagle’s estimation of which local peace officer would be sent to keep Branch under observation and his assertion that, if he was correct, the man in question would prove too stupid to realize something other than an accident had caused the blowout. He had also suggested what action Callaghan might take after making the coupe fit to travel.

  However, the success of the plan hinged upon whether a tire could be punctured!

  Although Scrapton had only acquired the Holland & Holland .375 Magnum rifle shortly before joining Company “Z”, he had attained sufficient knowledge of its handling traits and proficiency in its use to be considered the best man for the vitally important duty. Nor, in his opinion, could he have employed a more suitable firearm to carry it out. Not only was it fitted with the latest type of telescopic sight, which permitted the greatest utilization of the powerful cartridge’s potential for accuracy at long ranges, but it also had a Moran silencer [65] attached to the muzzle and there was no superior device of that nature available.

  Possessing hereditary instincts which supplemented the thorough training in such specialized work he had been given during his formative years and which, in part, had gained him selection for Company “Z”, Scrapton had known what precautions he must take against being detected. He had chosen his firing position with care, making sure that he would be able to shoot from its concealment. As soon as he was satisfied he would not need to fire again, he had withdrawn the Holland & Holland from the forked stick upon which it had rested as an aid to aiming until it too was completely hidden by the foliage. Now, watching what was happening on the road, he was convinced that his actions had not betrayed his position. His fear that the damage to the tire might arouse the deputy’s suspicions had not yet materialized, but he had been told he might be fortunate in that respect and could only hope for the best.

  ‘Looks like Dave’s called it right about him so far,’ the young sergeant mused, as Callaghan removed and shoved aside the punctured
tire, still without submitting it to any examination. Glancing affectionately at the weapon he was holding, he continued, ‘Dutchy-boy, you’re one hell of a straight shooting gun. Happen he’d been alive to see you-all, I reckon Grandpappy Lon [66] would have wanted to trade me that old One Of A Thousand of his for you.’ [67]

  Having duplicated a sentiment which had frequently occurred to him when using the Holland & Holland rifle—a present from his parents and godfather, Sheriff Jackson Fog, to celebrate his promotion to sergeant—in less demanding conditions, Scrapton settled down to maintain his surveillance. While he was ready to employ the patience he had learned was required for the kind of work he was doing, he hoped that he would not be compelled to puncture another of the coupe’s tires. Even if the deputy was as incompetent as Swift Eagle had suggested and events appeared to be bearing out, he would be unlikely to overlook the cause of a second blowout. In fact, he was almost certain to become suspicious if another one should occur. However, if the need arose, the young sergeant was confident that he could fire with equal accuracy and produce the desired effect.

  What was more, although they were not yet as close as their respective maternal and paternal grandfathers had been, Scrapton and Alvin Fog had become good friends since their enrolment in Company “Z”. So, knowing that the small Texan’s life might depend upon preventing Callaghan discovering that Branch was rejoining the other members of the Company instead of going to San Antonio, Scrapton was willing to employ even more severe measures to keep the meeting a secret.

  ‘Where the hell are those three goddamned drunken sons-of-bitches who tried to jump me at the hotel?’

  Listening to the wrathful words and staring at the speaker, as he brought his feet down from resting on his desk, Sheriff Healey realized that the inquiry he had been warned would be forthcoming was taking place. He also concluded that the way could be opening for him to do as he had intended, during the open phases of the conversation which had followed the abortive assault, in the hotel’s barroom. Having burst into his office at the jailhouse without even knocking on the door, the geologist had delivered the demand for information in a manner to which he might be justified in taking exception. Nor, as his deputy’s continued absence suggested that Jubal Branch had spoken the truth about going to San Antonio, was it likely anybody would inquire too closely into his reason for attacking Hollingshead in the immediate future and, provided he took precautions, the news might not even reach the elderly sergeant at all.