Alvin Fog, Texas Ranger

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Like I said, Mr. Hollingshead,’ Tombstone remarked. ‘You’ll have better luck anywhere else in the county.’

  ‘I’ll keep it in mind,’ Alvin promised. ‘Only I won’t be going anywhere until the horses are brought in tomorrow. Thanks for the advice, anyway.’

  Strolling towards the grove, the small Texan decided that the newcomer must be one of Softly’s employees who had been sent to ensure that the owner of the livery barn carried out the instructions which had been given. He did not know, however, that he had been talking to the man who had torn open the Duesenberg’s tires.

  ‘Nobody’s watching you, young man, are they?’ Mrs. Berkley asked worriedly, having opened the door which gave access to the living quarters at the rear of the post office in answer to Alvin Fog’s knock.

  ‘No, ma’am,’ the small Texan affirmed. ‘I’ve made sure of it.’

  ‘Come in then,’ the woman ordered.

  ‘Something tells me you could be a Texas Ranger,’ hinted Tombstone, who was sitting at the table in the spotlessly clean dining-room, after the visitor had entered and been settled in another chair.

  ‘That something’s telling it right,’ Alvin confirmed.

  ‘But I thought you fellers could only come into a town if you was asked by the marshal, or the sheriff,’ Mrs. Berkley objected. ‘Which Healey wouldn’t have done.’

  ‘We’ve been given special authority to come here without an official invitation, ma’am,’ Alvin explained. ‘But I’ve no written proof and I can only hope you’ll take my word for it.’

  ‘Whose word are we taking?’ the elderly man inquired.

  ‘I’m Sergeant Alvin Dustine Fog,’ the small Texan introduced, then smiled and added, ‘But I’ve been told I’m a heap better looking than Grandpappy Dusty was.’

  ‘Would you-all’ve been buying drinks for whoever told you afore they said it?’ Tombstone asked, also smiling and extending a work-hardened right hand. ‘No matter. My name’s Gabriel Wisdom Cole—’

  ‘And your daddy was U.S. Marshal Solly Cole,’ [71] Alvin supplemented, shaking hands with a man who had followed his father’s footsteps and become an equally famous peace officer. ‘But how come—?’

  ‘How come I’m living here in this one-hoss town and working as a gravedigger?’ Tombstone finished the question for the small Texan. ‘I wanted a quiet life after I turned in my badge is why. Maybe you don’t get young hot-heads coming after you to see if you’re’s good with a gun’s they’ve been told, like in pappy ’n’ Colonel Dusty’s day, but when you’ve picked up the kind of reputation I did for doing your job well, you make enemies and it’s a whole heap more peaceable happen they don’t know where you’re at. So I’ll be obliged if you don’t let on we’ve met ’n’ stick to calling me Tombstone same’s everybody else around here.’

  ‘You can count on it … Tombstone,’ Alvin promised. ‘Now, what’s going on in town and out at Brixton’s Canyon?’

  ‘Hogan Turtle’s took over the town, starting with the hotel,’ the elderly man replied bitterly. ‘Now everybody’s runs a business here, even my boss, pays off to him through Abe Softly.’

  ‘How about the canyon?’ Alvin inquired, watching the woman nodding agreement to the retired peace officer’s statement.

  ‘There you’ve got me,’ Tombstone confessed. ‘But, whatever it is, you can bet all you’ve got that Turtle and Softly’re up to their ears in it.’

  ‘You’ve no idea what it could be?’ the small Texan persisted.

  ‘Nary a notion,’ Tombstone insisted. ‘Except it’s big enough for them to be ready to kill to stop folks finding out.’

  ‘The young cowhand?’ Alvin guessed.

  ‘Young Ewen Silvers,’ the elderly man agreed. ‘What happened to him got beyond just somebody playing at ghosts to scare folks off. So I figured it was time something was done to find out what the hell’s going on out there. Which’s why I wrote to—Well, I reckon you-all know as much about that is I do.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to bet on it,’ Alvin grinned, for he had not been told to whom the letter was delivered any more than he had been informed of its writer’s identity. Then he became more serious and continued, ‘Are you sure he was killed in the canyon?’

  ‘I’d say it’s more yes than no to that,’ Tombstone answered. ‘Only I don’t have even a smidgen of proof on it. All I can say for certain-sure is he wasn’t killed the way that lard-gutted son-of-a… sheriff of our’n allowed it’d happened.’

  ‘So you said in your letter,’ the small Texan drawled. ‘There’s some’s’d say the answer could be at the canyon,’ Tombstone commented.

  ‘That’s why I’m here pretending to be a geologist,’ Alvin replied. ‘Trouble being, I’ve no way of getting out there. Somebody’s slashed open three of my car’s tires and the jasper at the service station says he doesn’t have any to replace them. And when I went to hire a horse from the livery barn, I was told they’ve all been sent to graze on the range.’

  ‘Sid Joplin and Bernie Hislop aren’t bad hombres, but they know better than to go again’ Abe Softly’s orders,’ Tombstone apologized. ‘’Specially’s they’ve both got places’s’d take fire real easy should they do it.’

  ‘They’d have behaved differently if they’d known you was a sergeant in the Texas Rangers,’ Mrs. Berkley supplemented.

  ‘Likely, ma’am,’ Alvin conceded. ‘But I’d sooner that neither they nor anybody else outside this room learn who and what I am. By the way, I hope having me here won’t put you-all in any danger.’

  ‘Not so long’s nobody saw you come in, or sees you going out,’ the woman declared confidently. ‘Mr. Softly’s got good cause to reckon he can trust me. After all, you could say I’m on his payroll.’

  ‘It was my idea,’ Tombstone asserted, exuding protective defiance. ‘I cottoned on to what could be happening when all of a sudden Ollie Soskice started firing some of the folks’s’d been working for him since way back and taking on longhorns like Softly. Not long after, Softly got to hinting to Becky about how he sometimes’d be getting telephone calls he’d sooner nobody else was listening to. She wouldn’t never’ve agreed to leave the switchboard un’tended when such calls come in, even happen she’d’ve believed they was only from a stockbroker he deals with like he reckoned, only I talked her into doing it. Sure, she took something from him for walking out—’

  ‘I’ve never took money from him, mind!’ Mrs. Berkley injected, with an air of worried virtue, staring at the small Texan as if searching for his reaction to the admissions. ‘Only small things, like a new hat or such, from the store.’

  ‘We’ve listed everything and put money by to pay back Ollie Soskice should we be able to get Softly and his bunch jailed, or run out of town,’ Tombstone went on. ‘It had to be that way, Becky taking those things I mean. Softly’d likely’ve got suspicious had she done it free. Anyways, it wasn’t often that the switchboard was left completely un’tended. If I was next door, which I most times was, Becky’d wigwag to me and I’d sneak around the back way while she was going out front for Softly to know she’d left and I’d go on the Erie hoping to learn something I could use again’ ’em. Which I never did, ’cept enough to know that damned ghost wasn’t Brixton come back from the dead.’

  ‘They never mentioned what was doing at the canyon?’ Alvin asked.

  ‘They could have,’ Tombstone admitted ruefully. ‘Only most all the calls was in some foreign language.’

  ‘Most likely either Norwegian or Swedish,’ Mrs. Berkley offered. ‘If you speak one, you can get by in the other. I mind it was just after Softly found out my folks were Norwegian and I spoke the language that he started hinting’s how he’d take it kind if I’d leave the switchboard un’tended once in a while.’

  ‘And I said she should, when she told me, or they’d likely find some way of getting rid of her ’n’ putting in somebody who’d be more obliging,’ Tombstone continued. ‘It wasn’t until the first call come that we found ou
t Softly and the other jasper was talking a language I don’t understand. Fact being, it was only when that shyster’s clerk, Plant, called they spoke English. Which wasn’t often. I sort of got took with the notion that him ’n’ Softly weren’t what you’d call bueno amigos.’

  ‘I’ve heard tell Mr. Plant takes some folks that way,’ Alvin drawled, having been informed by Major Tragg of the animosity the lawyer’s assistant aroused amongst those with whom he came in contact.

  ‘Seems like you’ve heard a whole heap,’ Tombstone remarked, eyeing the small Texan speculatively and preventing him from asking whether the conversations between Softly and Plant had been informative. ‘How long did you-all say you’ve been a Ranger?’

  ‘I didn’t say,’ Alvin pointed out. ‘But it hasn’t been for long.’

  ‘Promotion must’ve come quick,’ Tombstone commented. ‘You making sergeant already ’n’ all.’

  ‘Could have been family influence,’ Alvin suggested.

  ‘Could have,’ the elderly man agreed unemotionally. ‘What Company did you-all say you was with?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ the small Texan repeated. ‘But Major Tragg’s my commanding officer. You’ll not have heard of the Company, it’s only newly formed.’

  ‘It’s none of my never-mind, anyways,’ Tombstone declared, but without any suggestion of suspicion, deducing that the young man must have sound reasons for being reticent. ‘Anyways, Plant made a call today. Which’s how I got to know about you-all being here, Mr. Hollingshead, and what you’re reckoned to have come for. The Forked Box boys had passed word they wanted to see me at the hotel, but I’d aimed to drop by and see what Softly had in mind for you. I’d a pretty fair notion what was coming when I saw that table set up for eating and was trying to figure out how to stop it. Only you and old Jubal Branch saved me from needing to bill in.’ A frosty grin came to his face and he continued, ‘Like I said out to the livery barn, way you fight puts me in mind of Colonel Dusty.’

  ‘He had me taught some of his tricks,’ Alvin explained briefly.

  ‘That’s as maybe!’ Mrs. Berkley put in, clearly having no time for what she considered to be masculine digressions. ‘What I want to know is, how do you aim to go about getting us our town back?’

  ‘I wish I knew, ma’am,’ Alvin admitted. ‘Doing it won’t be easy.’

  ‘Why not?’ the woman challenged indignantly. ‘You’ve seen and been told about what’s happening here.’

  ‘I have, ma’am,’ Alvin replied. ‘But, trouble is, I’ve no proof that Softly’s broken the law.’

  ‘That’s as right’s the off side of a hoss, Becky,’ Tombstone seconded, before the woman could make the comment she was obviously contemplating. ‘Even what I heard today wasn’t anything that’d pass as acceptable evidence in court. No names were mentioned to connect Softly with Mulley and the Skinners. And, knowing him, I don’t reckon’s he cut open young Fog’s tires his-self. Nor that anybody’d admit to seeing whoever it was did.’

  ‘How about Sid Joplin and Bernie Hislop?’ Mrs. Berkley asked the small Texan. ‘They was both told they hadn’t to do any business with you-all.’

  ‘We might know that,’ Tombstone answered, before Alvin could speak. ‘But they’re not going to stand up and admit it in court.’

  ‘Not if was Sheriff Healey’s put them there,’ the woman admitted. ‘But they would if they knew Softly had been arrested by a Texas Ranger.’

  ‘Trouble is, ma’am, even a Texas Ranger has to have proof before he can make an arrest,’ the small Texan explained. ‘And, like Tombstone said, we haven’t got anything stronger than suspicion against Softly.’

  ‘He’s been having me leave the switchboard un’tended,’ Mrs. Berkley pointed out.

  ‘And, unless Tombstone’s heard Plant saying something incriminating to him,’ Alvin countered, ‘he’d just stick to his story that he didn’t want to chance you hearing confidential information from his stockbroker.’

  ‘Gabe heard him telling Plant what he was going to have done to you,’ Mrs. Berkley declared, looking at the retired peace officer for confirmation.

  ‘I heard him say’s how he was going to have Mr. Hollingshead stopped going out to the canyon was all,’ Tombstone corrected. ‘Sure Plant said something about there hadn’t got to be no more killings ’cause he was more again’ their’n such the cowhand, but it’d only be my word again’ their’n such was said.’ Pausing, he slapped his right hand on his thigh and went on, ‘Well I’ll be ’ternally damned if I hadn’t forgot how there was something said about a collection being made tonight.’

  ‘Where?’ Alvin asked eagerly.

  ‘Out at the canyon, way they talked,’ Tombstone supplied. ‘But there wasn’t no mention of what it might be, or when it’d be picked up.’

  ‘Blast the luck!’ Alvin growled. ‘Seeing that ghosts don’t show themselves in the daytime, I was figuring on going out there tonight.’

  ‘What’s stopping you?’ Tombstone inquired.

  ‘It’s not that I couldn’t walk the ten or so miles to get there,’ Alvin claimed. ‘But, should things go wrong, I’m not what you’d call enthusiastic about the notion of having to run back, or trying to follow whoever collects what on foot.’

  ‘Your daddy ’n’ Colonel Dusty never took kind to being afoot, so it’s likely born in you-all,’ Tombstone drawled. ‘And, happen that’s allus’s stopping you, you can start figuring on going. I’ve got me a hoss’s’ll get you there and back easy.’

  ‘I can’t ask you to take the chance of lending it to me,’ Alvin protested.

  ‘Lending it!’ Tombstone ejaculated. ‘Who-all said anything about lending it to you? Not me. But can I help it happen I’ve got him saddled up ready to go out hunting and some sneaky young sidewinder takes off with him?’

  ‘I reckon you can’t at that,’ the small Texan admitted. ‘Where’ll he be, should that sneaky young sidewinder come looking?’

  ‘Yeeah! Come on out ’n’ show yourself, you goddamned ha’nt. Here’s one Forked Box hand’s ain’t scared of you-all!’

  Swinging from the saddle of Tombstone’s big bay gelding at the conclusion of the challenge he had yelled, Alvin Fog was confident that he would pass as what he was pretending to be. He had altered the crown of his Stetson until it was more suitable to be worn by a Texan and, apart from his footwear—which was unlikely to be noticed in the far from extensive illumination given by a half moon—was dressed as a cowhand. His actions while approaching and dismounting, aided by his tone, suggested he had been drinking.

  After acquiring all the information about Brixton’s Canyon and its surroundings possessed by the retired peace officer, the small Texan had ensured he was not observed as he left the living quarters of the post office. In addition to the facts he had been given, he had discovered why Tombstone was willing to accept his bona fides in spite of the questions about his length of service. The trust had been fostered by Branch’s participation in the affair, which the elderly man had declared was convincing evidence that he was who and what he claimed to be.

  Pleased by the tribute to his partner’s integrity, Alvin had made his way to the town’s small cafe. In passing, he had noticed that the Dodge Brothers’ Four coupe belonging to the Sheriff’s Office was nowhere in sight and concluded the deputy had not returned. This implied that Sergeant Swift Eagle’s summation of Callaghan’s character was correct in so far as his failing to notice how the blowout had occurred was concerned, but wrong in claiming he would use the mishap as an excuse to stop following Branch. However, the small Texan felt sure his companions had dealt with the latter contingency and hoped the deputy’s continued absence would not arouse the sheriff’s suspicions. There had been nothing to suggest it had when Alvin had met Healey on reaching the hotel. On the other hand, the sheriff’s obvious disappointment and the desk clerk’s barely concealed relief as he had explained why he could not make good the invitation extended at the jailhouse had suggested his fears about the food bein
g tampered with, if he ate on the premises, could have been justified.

  Telling the clerk that he intended to have an early night and asking to be called at seven o’clock in the morning, Alvin had gone upstairs. Finding the thread on the door still in position, he had decided Softly did not doubt his assumed identity and had seen no point in having his belongings searched. There was nothing about the appearance of the room to indicate it had been entered during his absence and the thread replaced on departure by the one who had paid the visit.

  Before making his preparations for setting out later that night, the small Texan had not restricted himself to merely locking the door. He had jammed the room’s only chair under the handle, making an unauthorized entry even more difficult. With that precaution taken, he had discarded the spectacles and changed his clothing for a dark blue shirt, a pair of Levi’s pants and a waist length brown leather jacket which he had brought in his baggage. In addition to putting four fully loaded magazines in the latter’s pockets, he had tucked the second Colt automatic pistol in his waistband. Although he had placed a cartridge in the Very pistol, he had decided against taking more ammunition for it. With everything he could do at that time completed, he had turned out the light and laid on the bed to wait for darkness to fall.

  Despite being encumbered by carrying the Very pistol suspended on his back with the strap of its holster, as well as his more formal armament, leaving the hotel undetected had presented few difficulties for Alvin. Having made sure there was nobody keeping watch, he had used the rope provided in the room as a means of escape in case of fire and had descended from the second window into the alley. As he had left, he contrived to draw down the window until it was almost closed. When he was on the ground, he had liberated the loop of the rope from the hook on the wall to which it was attached and, pulling it down, he had carried it away with him to lessen the chance of his departure being discovered from outside the building.

  Collecting the bay gelding from where Tombstone had left it hitched at the rear of the undertaker’s premises, after having ascertained that Healey’s deputy still had not returned, the small Texan had ridden from Grouperville without being challenged. The journey to the vicinity of Brixton’s Canyon had proved equally uneventful. Although he had waited in concealment for over an hour, his hope that the mysterious collection would take place had not materialized. Nor had he seen or heard anything of the rest of Company “Z”, but that had not caused him any anxiety. The plan called for them to approach as near as possible without allowing their presence to be detected and remain in hiding until he discharged the Very pistol before closing in. If there was no need for the signal to be made, they would withdraw before daylight and, contacting him in the morning, make fresh arrangements. His decision to move forward was not caused by impatience but through his belief that doing so was the best course to adopt.