“Thanks.”
“On your way to Camp Mead?”
“That’s right.”
Drake grimaced slightly. “Grim work ahead for you. Godspeed and I’ll see you in Geneva in a few days.”
. . . . .
The train going south departed midmorning and stopped at many places along the route, including Fort Towson where Jim and Carson’s mules disembarked. After saying goodbye to the young man, Jack was en route west and arrived in Camp Mead by the middle of the afternoon.
He found space for Jenny in the Ranger stables, and after getting a hand receipt from the hostler for her and his riding tack, went to visit the operations center.
Jack stepped inside and could see things were different now. With the Ranger mission transitioning from military style operations to peace officer duties, they had added a duty desk since he was last there. Behind the desk was a man named Ringo. Jack met him a few years before while employed at Gunther Salas’ gun store in Geneva. Jack had worked on a pistol for the long-serving Ranger.
Ringo smiled when he saw Jack. “Sergeant Traipse. I missed you when you were here last. How are you?”
Jack noticed Ringo now had corporal’s stripes on his star, something new since they had last met. “I’m fine. That pistol of yours still serving you well?”
“Sure is, only I lost the excuse of a bad trigger to explain my bad shooting.”
Jack laughed. “When did they make you a corporal?”
“When we ended up with the biggest gathering of Rangers ever here at Camp Mead. They said they needed some of us with experience to take up leadership positions and I got picked.” He leaned toward Jack, glancing from side to side. “To be honest, I think they made me a corporal just so they wouldn’t have to call me Ranger Ringo anymore. I suspect they were getting tired of it.”
Jack laughed again. “I’m looking for a salvager named Kay Rush. I was told she was here at Mead.”
“Seen her awhile ago. She was looking for something or somebody, but I didn’t hear what it was. If she’s not around now, she probably went back to Durant. I think she has a hotel room over there. Wish I could tell you which one, but I can’t. Ask around, someone ought to know.”
Jack walked to the railroad tracks and waited for the shuttle train that ran between Mead and Durant. The tracks to Kings Town were still under repair, but the word around camp was the work was going well.
The shuttle, an old military two-and-a-half-ton truck commonly known as a deuce-and-a-half and equipped with rail wheels, came from Durant and let passengers off at the platform. Those departing from Mead waited until the old truck rolled to a nearby turntable and quickly returned facing the opposite way.
Jack climbed aboard joining several other people and they were soon rolling eastward. Jack disembarked at the second stop, which was the main train platform in Durant, and walked into the Merton Hotel half a block away. He stepped into the lobby and crossed to the front desk, asking if Kay Rush was a guest.
The desk clerk glanced at Jack’s star. “This Ranger business?”
“Yes.”
“She’s not a guest. Sorry.”
“Then why did you ask if I was on Ranger business.”
He shrugged. “Nosy I guess.”
“What’s the next closest hotel?”
He pointed. “The Chuckwa. A block west around the corner, but it’s not as nice as the Merton.”
Despite the temptation, Jack didn’t ask why how that was pertinent to his question. He thanked the man and walked to the Chuckwa Hotel.
He waited for the desk clerk to finish signing in a guest. He looked around the lobby and felt he liked the Chuckwa better than the Merton.
“May I help you, sir?” the clerk asked.
“Is Kay Rush currently a guest here?”
“She is. Are you here in an official capacity?”
“Yes. She has some information she wished to relay.”
“Two-D, or would you prefer me to send someone for her?”
“I’ll go up.”
The clerk looked at the nametape over the right breast pocket of his BDU jacket. He wrote something on the register. “Traipse. Are you the Ranger responsible for the relief of Kings Town?”
Jack shook his head. “No. It was a team effort.”
He climbed the stairs and knocked when he arrived at Room 2-D. Several seconds later, a well-weathered and middle-aged woman opened the door. She looked at Jack’s star, then the nametape on his BDU jacket.
“Traipse. You’re Gordon’s nephew?”
“Yes, ma’am. Hardin’s son. Our family is in your debt.”
She waved him inside and gestured at a chair. “It was nothing. I never met your father, but I know Art from way back and spoke with Gordon at length when I brought him Hardin’s note. They say your father was a good man. He deserves a decent burial among his own. Salvagers find a lot of people out there. It goes with the trade, but I’m sure you know this. Jim and Debby Hays have mentioned you and your family. You owe me nothing, but if you feel the need to return the favor, you might help me find someone who could escort a group of us going to Old Sulphur. It’s north of here. Word is there have been raiders seen west of there around Old Davis. We should be able to dodge them, but just in case….”
“I’ll do it. It’s the least I could do. I’m going to go recover Hardin’s remains. I need to find Chuck Harstens first. He may be on mission, so it might take a few days.”
“It’ll be at least that long before we’d be ready to go.” She smiled. “I can’t prove it, but I think sometimes things work out for a reason.”
“How did you find him? My father I mean.”
“I was traveling down an old trail and saw a glint of sunlight coming off of something metal. Never would have noticed it otherwise. It was his Ranger star. I saw the name on a cloth tape beside the star and knew who it was. I’d heard about the day that Pete Anders and Captain Logan died, so I knew. I found the packet he carried, then gathered his remains and buried them. I’m afraid I didn’t recover them all, they were scattered from being exposed for so long, but I gathered all I could find. I left another note explaining who was buried there in the off chance someone else came across it. I left his star there as well. I was originally going here, but I thought to get them to Gordon.”
“You snuck through the raiders to get into Kings Town. A pretty neat trick.”
“Looking back, I should have found Art instead, but salvagers have to be sneaky. Besides, I thought Gordon should have those things as soon as possible. It was his brother.”
Jack stayed for a while. Kay told him how to find his father’s remains and a little bit about the terrain in the area while he took notes. He thanked her and returned to Camp Mead, headed for the operations center. He found Corporal Ringo was still on duty.
“Do you know where I can find Chuck Harstens?”
“In a general sort of way. He went west day before yesterday leading a team on warrant service.”
Jack grimaced in frustration.
“You could wait here for him to come back, or you could go look for him.”
“You need help here?”
“Not really, but Chuck might need help out there.” He held up his hand with his thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. “We have a stack of warrants about this high. You might come across some of these folks if you venture out there.”
“I’ll leave in the morning.”
Ringo laughed. “And here I thought I might have to sell you on the idea. I’ll get you a copy of his planned route.”
Within a minute, he returned with a piece of paper in his hand. He slid it across the counter to Jack. It read, Patrol shall proceed west approximately fifteen miles to salvager camp/trading post near Old Ardmore, then in unknown direction in pursuit of person/s unknown named on warrants. Will return upon failure or when stocked up on fugitives.
Jack smiled and shook his head. “That’s not particularly detailed, is it?”
Ringo pointed out numerous points of interest and routes Harstens and his team might follow.
Before he left, Ringo provided him a list of the most wanted criminals. Some were just names with nothing else to identify them, but many had accompanying descriptions. Each name had at least a rudimentary description of acts for which they were wanted. Jack scanned the list and saw a few names with which he was familiar.
Jack went by the stable and asked the hostler to have someone groom Jenny for tacking by midmorning. He would see to her tack himself. It was too late in the day for Jack to get provisions for his trip, so he intended to take care of that as early as possible. He found quarters, checked his gear, and then went to bed.
. . . . .
3
Sowing and Reaping
. . . . .
Jack and Jenny were on the road well before noon. He had food and forage for four days and Freeland gold currency should he need it. They rode west and took a winding road that meandered north-northwest. When the road intersected with an old highway running to the northwest, he followed it toward the salvage camp.
Jack slowed his horse. A freshly painted sign sat at the edge of the place. WELCOME TO EASTWOOD it read. He moved into the camp. There were dozens of permanent buildings, some old, some new, with more under construction. Much of the lumber looked to be reclaimed dimensional stock from the ghost town nearby, but the smell of fresh-cut timber indicated there was a lumber mill present.
Jack dismounted and tethered Jenny to a rail in front of the Rojo Saloon. A man passing by stopped and greeted him with a “welcome.”
“Thanks. How long has this place been called Eastwood?”
“Must be four or five days now. For the longest time this place had no name. Hell, it’s as much town as camp these days, so it needed one.”
“Much raider presence?”
“Some. More during the unpleasantness at Kings Town, but it’s better. A lot of raiders who’ve given up the fight pass through and get supplies, but it’s mostly transient. There’s enough folks live and work here that the raiders don’t generally cause much trouble. They buy, sell, and trade here. Lose the salvagers and they’d have to go find and recover it for themselves. That’s too much like work,” he said with a wink. “Keep your nose clean and you won’t have no trouble.” The man touched his hat and walked away.
Jack opened the screen doors to the Rojo and stepped inside. He was looking for a bartender named Tracy Wallace, one of the names Corporal Ringo had provided. He saw the bartender was speaking with two men at the far end of the bar. The place was not crowded, a pair of men sat at a table in the back, a man and a woman spoke quietly while leaning close to one another at a different table. A quartet of rough looking men sat near the bar at another table. Jack walked to the center of the bar where there was a cracked mirror on the wall behind rows of bottles. He waited and watched the barroom in the reflection.
The group of men nearest Jack were talking about scavenging and salvage operations and the current demand for certain items. He was unable to hear the other conversations.
The bartender came toward him. “Sorry to keep you waiting. What can I get you?”
“Are you Wallace?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m looking for a group that might have passed through here in the last couple of days.”
“Lotsa folks passing through lately. A lot of’em don’t want to be followed on account of men with stars coming after them.”
“I’m looking for four men and a woman. Each one wears a star.”
“You know Chuck Harstens?”
Jack nodded and pulled his star from his pocket.
The man nodded. “Ah. Any friend of Chuck’s. Let me get the gents down the way their drinks and I’ll tell you what I know.”
The bartender picked up a bottle of whisky and two glasses and walked toward the patrons at the end of the bar. A snippet of the nearby quartet’s conversation caught Jack’s attention.
“—with all these guys coming from Kings Town way.”
“Don’t know what happened, but it sounds like the Rangers got the raiders whipped.”
“They sure as shit do. One minute we had it all in the bag, next thing you know, we were running for our lives.”
“You were at Kings Town, Buck? Why’s that? You ain’t no Cuervo.”
“Not a Cuervo, but yeah, I was at Kings Town. Found a better gig than scavenging, pays better too. We had that whole area west of the lake in our fucking pocket up until Joe Crow got himself dead.”
“Rangers got him, right?”
“Yeah, but we was outnumbered two-to-one.”
“I know about that, Buck. That’s bullshit. Honcho Bill and his crew was there too. He and what was left of them passed through a couple days ago. Said it wasn’t more than twenty Rangers on that hill that faced down hundreds of raiders. I’d trust him more than you.”
“What does it matter now? Crow’s dead and the Cuervos is ten kinds of messed up. Still, we had us some fun.”
Jack could see the man scowl. “Yeah? Like what?”
Buck smiled broadly. “In Tishomingo and Madill we had our choice of women or men to do with what we wanted.”
Jack grimaced as he remembered the conversation he overheard while hiding in the brush the night he and the cousins Dando snuck into Kings Town while the siege still held. A man called Buck bragged to a fellow Cuervos member named Jazz about the gang rape of a redheaded woman in Madill. He recognized the voice as the same he heard then. The raider’s comments confirmed to Jack that he was one of the many raiders with an arrest warrant. His name was Buck Scuddie.
As Buck started his tale, Jack pulled his Ranger star out of a breast pocket and affixed it to his BDU top. “Tell’em about the redhead, Buck,” he said loudly, still facing away from the men.
“Ha!” Buck said looking to see who spoke. “Were you there? That was some fine sport. She screamed till she could scream no more,” he said with excitement. “We used her up. I tell ya—”
“Enough,” Jack said loudly as he turned to face the men at the table. His draw was fast and smooth, ending with his .45 caliber pistol aimed at Buck’s face. A silence fell over the few patrons in the room.
The men stared wide-eyed when they saw the star on Jack’s chest.
“Buck Scuddie. You’ll be coming with me,” Jack said in a cold, calm voice. “The rest of you stay very still.”
“A Freelands lawdog ain’t got no juice here. You ain’t taking me nowhere,” Buck growled.
“I ain’t getting into it with no Ranger over you,” said one of Buck’s table-mates. “Your troubles are yours, especially if you were raping folks. You got something coming for that.”
The other two men at the table agreed.
“The hell with you then,” Buck said to the other men before glaring at Jack. “You’ll have to kill me to get me back to the Freelands.”
“Fair enough,” Jack replied flatly.
Buck sucked in a breath and put his hands flat on the table. “Don’t! I’ll go,” he said in a fearful voice.
“Stay as you are, Buck. You other three, get up slowly and move to where I can see you.”
The men moved away.
“Buck, you are going to raise your arms straight over your head, hands open. You make any sudden moves, I drop you. Understand?”
Buck glared at Jack. “Got it.”
“Proceed.”
Jack moved to the back of the raider and handcuffed his hands behind his back. He searched him thoroughly, secured the few weapons the raider carried, then led him to the bar.
The bartender glared at Buck for the trouble he’d brought to the saloon, then looked to
Jack. “Chuck said he was going south to investigate a rumor of a possible raider camp near Ordnance Creek down toward the Red River. Wish I knew more.”
Jack thanked the man and led Buck outside. As he untethered Jenny he said, “You have a horse?”
“If I don’t, do I ride yours?”
“Nope, you run alongside.”
“I have one. At the livery.”
“Let’s go.” Jack grabbed a handful of shirt just below the back of the collar and guided Buck down the street with Jenny trailing behind.
“Boys, It’s Buck,” the raider yelled loudly. “Get this lawdog off me.”
“You want me to gag you? Keep that up and it will happen.”
Buck gave his captor a dirty look. “The son of a bitch is solo. C’mon,” he yelled.
Jack grumbled and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Buck resisted and cursed and spat, but Jack gagged the raider. When Buck tried to kick him, he knocked the raider to the ground. “We’ve done this once. Let’s try again. You try kicking me just once more and I’ll hobble you.”
He pulled Buck to his feet and bulled him toward the livery. Jack led him past the Time of Your Life Bawdy House. Several women sat in the shade of a veranda on the front of the building near the street.
“You might let him have one before you take him away,” a tall blonde said with a gesture at Jack’s prisoner.
“You could have one while you wait,” another woman said.
“He can’t afford it and we don’t have the time,” Jack replied. “I’m sure you’d prefer a higher level of clientele anyway.”
The women giggled and laughed.
Another woman, leaning on a low picket fence that edged the property, gestured with her hand at their approach. “If you’re going back to the Freelands, you might take some friends along or find another route.” She pointed at Buck. “His bunch are gathering at the way out to the east.”
“Oo muking ore,” Buck growled from behind his gag. `
The Blastlands Saga Page 36