by Bobby Akart
The chickens in this area were raising a ruckus. Major reached into his pocket to retrieve his two-way radio when he realized he’d left it in the charger back at the house. He had a regular morning routine that included retrieving his radio, but in his haste to address the emergency, he’d run out the door without it. He had no way to reach Preacher, which meant he was on his own.
Using the light from the truck’s headlamps to aid his vision, Major readied his shotgun and grabbed his Maglite flashlight. He tried not to overreact to the chickens. It didn’t take much to scare the hens. A small field mouse or a snake slithering past could send a whole coop into a frenzy.
He slowly worked his way around the hog pen and carefully approached a small shed used to store fertilizer. Major continued to work in the dark, feeling his way along the perimeter of the barnyard, using his knowledge of the layout to his advantage.
As a Texas Ranger, he’d stalked fugitives in close quarters before. He’d learned to rely on instincts and experience. He’d learned that certain methods of movement, firing stances, weapon positioning, and reflexive shooting were useful in any confined-area encounter.
It was that experience that led him to choose his shotgun over a rifle when he left the ranch house. Shotguns were useful for mid-range and close-quarters combat. Major used to describe close-quarter pursuits as eye-gouging distance. At twelve to twenty feet, the powerful impact of a twelve-gauge shotgun could not be denied.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A shadow seemed to dash from one of the chicken tractors to another. Once again, the chickens voiced their fear and concern. His mind raced to assess the size of the predator that had dashed across his periphery.
In the distance, he heard the sound of dogs barking. Preacher and his men must’ve employed the Texas gun dogs. Most hunters on the high plains of Texas had a variety of German shorthairs, English setters, and Labrador retrievers that were specially trained to ignore the loud sounds made by hunting rifles and be patient until the hunter gave instructions.
The dogs around Armstrong Ranch had been trained to hunt hogs and coons. None of the Armstrongs had ever showed an interest in hunting birds duck or quail. They were a beef-eating family.
Major trusted Preacher’s ability to flush out the intruders. If they were still on the ranch, he’d chase them in this direction. Major would have somethin’ for ’em when they arrived at the barnyard.
As the chickens calmed down again, Major decided to move forward alone. The battery on the truck was running down, causing his lights to dim. If it became totally dark, he’d lose his advantage.
He lowered himself and moved along the fencing that held the hogs. Then he heard a loud thud. It was the kind of sound when somebody ran headfirst into a low header in a barn. He knew this because he’d done it before.
He had to move fast. While there were no guns hidden in the barn, there were plenty of weapons, from long knives to machetes. If the guys were correct, he was dealing with two or more men. He had the upper hand by being armed, but they could get the jump on him if he wasn’t careful.
Major slipped the flashlight in his pocket and darted across the field to the first chicken tractor, careful not to get too close. If he bumped the cage, he’d give his position away. He crouched and walked behind the egg-laying boxes, the barrel of his shotgun leading the way.
He stepped into the open and dashed to the next chicken tractor. The barnyard was deathly silent. Major began to question whether he’d seen or heard anything at all.
Creak!
One of the barn doors was opening. It wasn’t the double front door, which hung on tracks. This sounded like the side doors on their rusty hinges. If I don’t move in, they’ll escape toward the lake. We can’t chase them down the ridge.
The barking dogs were getting closer. Major wanted to fire a warning shot into the air to notify Preacher to come to the barn, but what if he was wrong? His mind could be playing tricks on him. Sometimes the mind looks and listens for things that go bump in the night, and creates them subconsciously. If he distracted Preacher and his men from systematically clearing the thickets along the river, the men could get away or, worse, harm one of his men.
Patience. Think smart. They’re more afraid than you are.
Another creak of the barn door. Major swiveled his head back and forth as he sought any signs of wind. There was none. They were exiting the back side of the barn, the farthest point from his position. Whoever these men were, they were careful and fairly quiet. Somehow, they sensed Major was alone, and they were taking advantage of the time they had before the dogs arrived.
He started toward the barn and then he caught a break. The two men dashed for the pickup. They must’ve assumed the keys were still in it and planned on making their escape in the feed truck.
Wrongo! Major thought to himself with a grin as he thought about the keys in his pocket.
He revealed himself from behind the chicken tractor and yelled, “Stop!”
When the men continued running, he racked a round into the chamber of his shotgun and fired a round of birdshot into the air.
The booming sound of the Remington echoed across the ranch at this early hour. Hogs, chickens, ducks, and every other barnyard critter erupted in a panic. The explosive sound did not, however, deter the two arsonists. They continued to streak across the graveled area in front of the barn toward Major’s truck.
Although Major was at least fifty yards away, he racked another shell into the chamber. This one was double-ought buck. He always staggered his shells in the eight-round, extended-tube magazine. One bird, two buck. One bird, two buck. And so on. This enabled him to fire his warning shot and most likely shoot to maim rather than kill. The twelve-gauge double-ought was intended to be a game ender.
He fired again, this time directly at the fleeing men. At fifty yards, well beyond the maximum effective range for buckshot, he was not likely to kill them unless the unfortunate arsonists took some of the shot to the head.
The lead runner groaned, spun around and fell into the grill of the truck. The other man continued to run, tripping over his partner’s legs, and then quickly scrambled to the side of the truck. He crawled around the open door and pulled himself into the front seat behind the steering wheel.
Major now assumed the men were unarmed. He took off around the hog pen, with his shotgun pointed directly at the truck. Inside the cab, the uninjured man was frantically searching for the keys, rummaging through the glove box, under the floor mats, and above the visor.
“Get out of the truck with your arms up! Now!”
The man continued looking for the keys, and when he couldn’t find them, he tried to scoot across the cab and out the passenger-side door. It was too late.
Major ran past the front of the pickup and the rapidly dimming headlights. He glanced down at the other man, who was alive, but writhing in pain, blood streaming down his arm and jeans.
Clumsily, the man emerged from the passenger side only to be thrown to the ground by Major.
“Please don’t kill me! Please!” the man begged as he lay crying facedown on the gravel drive.
“Spread ’em! Spread your arms and legs out like a snow angel, which you aren’t. Do it now or I’ll put you down, I swear it!”
The man quickly complied, and after kicking the truck door closed, Major slowly walked backwards to check on the other man while keeping a close eye on his crying partner. Much to Major’s delight and appreciation, the wounded man had complied with Major’s orders too.
“We’re comin’! Major, is that you?”
“Yeah, come on in, boys! I’ve got these two.”
Major allowed himself to relax, exhaling a long puff of foggy condensation from his lungs into the cold air. He hadn’t chased down any fugitives in a dozen years. Somehow, he didn’t think this would be the last time.
Chapter 54
November 30
The Armstrong Ranch
Borden County, Texas
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Preacher quickly dismounted, and one of the hands tied off his horse. With his pistol drawn, he reached Major first and immediately slid to his knees next to the injured man.
“Where’s the woman?” he shouted as he pressed the barrel of his sidearm into the back of the man’s head. “Answer me!”
“I dunno. We got split up,” the man said with a moan.
Preacher pulled on his jacket until he found where the man’s wounds were. Switching the gun to his right hand, he pressed the barrel against the base of his skull and began to squeeze the blood-soaked sleeve of the arsonist.
“Tell me! Don’t mess with me, boy! Where is she?”
The man screamed in agony as Preacher pressed his fingers into the wound. “The river. She tried to cross the river. We told her not to. I swear, mister. Please, I swear!”
Preacher gave the man’s arm another squeeze and then mashed his shoulder into the gravel.
He stood and turned to Major. “We’ve got this, right? I need to send the men back to the river to find the girl.”
“Yeah, send ’em.”
Preacher shouted orders to his men, and Antonio led the way back toward the riverbank where they’d just abandoned their search. The sun was beginning to rise, which would make their task easier.
Preacher stomped back to the pickup and growled at both of the men. He was angry.
“Don’t either of you move or I’ll shoot you. Hear me? I’ve killed before and I will kill you, God help my soul. Got it?”
“My arm, it’s burnin’,” moaned the man in front of the truck. “Can you please help me?”
Preacher pulled his leg back and kicked him in the ribs as hard as he could, causing the man to writhe in pain. “There! That’ll make you forget about your arm.”
Major watched Preacher, slightly alarmed at his longtime friend’s hostility. Then again, he supposed what Preacher was doing was less painful than the buckshot that peppered the man.
Keeping an eye on the two men, Preacher and Major backed away several paces so they could catch their breath and decompress from the chase.
Preacher wiped the sweat off his forehead and adjusted his hat. “I don’t think the girl is armed, but we don’t know for sure. We need to find her before she causes any more trouble.”
“The boys will find her. What happened out there?”
“You know, we’ve got those three homes on the far western edge of the ranch,” started Preacher. “They’re the only homes on that side of FM 1205. Anyway, Jose was on patrol and he saw the fire from a distance. He called for backup on the two-way, but by then, flames were coming out of the windows, and he saw these two bailing out of the house and running this way along the river.”
“It seems you all were on top of them pretty quick,” interrupted Major.
Preacher nodded as he wandered over to his horse. He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out two bottles of water. He gave one to Major.
“Jose raised me on the radio, and I was out the door,” said Preacher. “Listen, I ain’t made a big deal about it, but I haven’t been sleepin’ much. This whole thing kinda has me spooked, I guess. Anyway, I’ve been sleepin’ in my clothes, and it took me all of thirty seconds to mount up to ride toward the fire.”
“What about the house?” asked Major.
“I don’t know, but the way it was burnin’, probably nothin’ but block and ashes now.”
This seemed to build up the rage in Preacher again and he stomped over to the arsonists, who were still spread out on the gravel.
“Why did you burn the house down?” He shouted the question.
Neither man responded.
“Tell me!” Preacher demanded as he kicked the injured man again.
“We were cold and hungry. We’d been walking since Clovis, tryin’ to get to my friend’s place in Abilene. We’re just tired, dude. You know. Lookin’ for food and a place to stay warm.”
“I ain’t your dude!” Preacher yelled at the man and then stomped his boot on the man’s hand, forcing it into the half-inch limestone gravel.
“Please stop hurting him!” the other man shouted.
“Okay, I’ll hurt you instead,” responded Preacher as he stomped around the truck toward the man, who immediately curled up in a ball.
Major stepped in to stop the impending beat-down. In Preacher’s state of mind, he might just beat the man to death for interrupting the interrogation. It was a side he’d never seen in Preacher and something he intended to discuss with him when his temper simmered down. For now, Major attributed it to sleep-deprived stress.
“Preach, hold up. Come back over here, and let’s talk about what to do with these two.”
Preacher stopped, exhaled and shook his head side to side. He holstered his pistol and slowly walked back to Major. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “Can we hang ’em?”
Major laughed. “Even in the old days, they didn’t hang a man for stealin’ or burnin’ down a house.”
“What did they do to them?”
“Well, they didn’t hang them all,” replied Major. “Most times, they held them in jail and then stuck ’em on the next train out of town. Eventually, territorial prisons sprang up around the West, where the prisoners were locked up in their cell all day until somebody decided to push them out and make room for another. Every once in a while, thieves would be flogged in the town square as a deterrent.”
“That’ll work,” said Preacher with a devious chuckle. “Let me flog ’em with a horse whip.”
Major laughed and shook his head. “No, Preach. I think it would be best if we chained them in the back of the pickup and deliver them to Sheriff Allison up in Gail. We’ll let Benny deal with them.”
“Do we still have courts?” asked Preacher.
“I think we do. The president declared martial law, but the state seceded from the union first. As far as I know, we’re officially a country, and Borden County is, well, like a state now.”
“The state of Borden. Has a nice ring to it.”
“I don’t know if that’s the case, Preach. That would mean Texas has two hundred fifty-four counties, um, states. I don’t think its gonna work like that, but either way, we’re taking these two to Gail and dropping them off on Benny’s doorstep.”
The sound of horses grabbed their attention, and they swung around to see who was approaching. It was Jose and Antonio followed by two hands riding on a horse together and a fourth horse carrying the body of a woman slumped over the saddle.
The two prisoners turned their heads toward the riders and began to shout.
“Mary! Mary!” yelled one.
“What’s wrong with her?” asked the other.
Preacher made them stay on the ground while Major went to investigate.
He slowly approached the body and saw the woman’s blood-soaked hair. He felt for a pulse and didn’t feel one.
“Where’d you find her?” he asked Antonio.
“She was tangled up in the beaver dam. She must’ve hit her head and drowned. The current carried her downriver until she got stuck.”
“Wonderful,” Major mumbled to himself sarcastically. Then he gave instructions to the ranch hands. “Boys, grab some chains out of the barn and a couple of padlocks. Meet me over at the pickup.”
He grabbed the reins of the horse carrying the girl’s dead body. Slowly, he returned to the prisoners.
“Well, boys, hope you’re proud of yourselves. Your friend here, Mary, hit her head on a rock and drowned.”
“Oh no,” the injured man wailed. “She was my girl. How could this happen?”
“It happened ’cause you tried to steal something that wasn’t yours and burned a house down in the process. Mary paid the ultimate price for your stupidity!”
The man was delirious as he cried. The emotional outburst touched Major’s heart, who handed the reins to Preacher and helped the injured man off the ground.
“Say goodbye to your friend,” Major whispered into the man’s ear.
“Then get your mind right. You’re goin’ to jail.”
Chapter 55
November 30
Korea Bay
South of Sinmi-do, North Korea
Duncan fought back tears as Sook and her father broke their embrace. Even the stoic, proud North Korean man managed to frown and well up with tears. Duncan didn’t have to understand Korean to know that he was giving his daughter his blessing and final words of encouragement.
Duncan had pulled the whaler alongside Chae’s trawler and tied it off to the cleats after placing the dilapidated bumpers in between the two boats. Chae grabbed Duncan by both arms and looked him in the face. He mustered a few words of broken English. Sook good girl. You help.
“I will, Chae. I’ll get her to safety. Thank you.”
The two men hugged and Chae smiled. “Go. Go. Sun. See.”
Duncan looked to the east, and the sun was peeking over the Korean Peninsula. The two boats needed to hurry in separate directions before they were noticed by others. As Duncan scrambled to untie the lines, Sook fired up the powerful Evinrude engine. Duncan climbed aboard, and she began to slowly pull away from her father’s trawler. The old man gave a final wave, and Sook returned the gesture with a smile.
The scene was surreal for Duncan. He witnessed father and daughter saying goodbye to one another knowing full well they’d never see each other again. It made him think of his parents and family. When he left them to report to duty, it was always presumed he’d return to them when his tour was up. There was no permanency about their separation. It was just their oldest son going away to work before returning to the ranch.
Then Duncan put himself in his parents’ shoes, recalling the day his brother Dallas left for the Middle East. Everyone thought Dallas was going off for a nine-month stint in Afghanistan. Everyone thought he was coming home afterwards. He didn’t.
A chill ran over Duncan’s body as he shook these thoughts out of his head. It was time for him to focus, as the next few hours would dictate whether he returned to the Armstrong Ranch alive, in a casket, or not at all.