The Comancheros

by Stephen Lodge

  “Ya know, huntin’ cattle thieves in Mexico ain’t gonna be no vacation, Charley,” said Feather. “Ye’re here alone ta do a two-Ranger job.”

  Charley nodded. “They told me at headquarters it was a one-Ranger job, son.”

  “Then all the more reason ta take me with ya,” said Feather. “I’m a grown-up man . . . have been fer a few years now. Gonna be a Yankee soldier boy in a couple a’ weeks, when I enlist. Take me along, Charley. I can shoot damn good. You know that. You taught me. Why, I can even—”

  Charley cut him off.

  “I’ll do right fine by myself, Feather. I just rode over here because I need to hire me a good pack mule, that’s all.”

  “Mules I got . . . good-mannered ones. C’mon around back and take a look-see.”

  Charley set off following the younger man until they got to the corner of the barn and were in shadow. That was when Charley stopped, raised his nose to the air, and took in a couple of good whiffs.

  Feather had stopped when Charley did. He turned and was now studying Charley closely, trying to figure out what was going on.

  “You all right, Charley?” he said.

  The Ranger held up one finger, meaning stop talking.

  Feather did.

  “You got any mojados working for you, Feather?” asked Charley, now whispering.

  Feather shook his head.

  “My daddy don’t like ta hire wetbacks, Charley. He’s had some bad experiences with ’em, stealin’ him blind.”

  “Are any living nearby?”

  “None,” whispered Feather.

  “What would you say if I told you there’s about five or six of those Mes’can cattle rustlers I’ve been following right close by to where we’re standing.”

  “How do ya know that, Charley?” asked Feather.

  “’Cause they’re all in need of a good bath, you might say.”

  “You can smell Mes’cans, can ya?” said Feather.

  “Only when they ain’t bathed in a while, I can. Right now,” Charley continued in a low voice, “I’d bet that gang of cattle thieves I’ve been following have set up some kind of ambush for me, right here beside your livery stable, Feather. Got a gun?” he asked.

  “Just this thirty-six-caliber Navy Colt I always carry on me.”

  He started to reach toward his belt, but Charley physically pushed his hand down to his side.

  “Don’t be showing your weapon to the whole damn, wide world, Feather. You never know who’s watching you.”

  “Sorry,” whispered Feather.

  “Now, let’s you and me turn around and march ourselves right back to the front of this barn, then on inside.”

  “What fer, Charley?” asked Feather. “Ain’t we better off out here where we can meet ’em head on?”

  “Being inside’ll give us cover,” said Charley. “Those rustlers’ll still be outside here, where the lanterns got it all lit up. It’s to our advantage to be inside.”

  Feather nodded.

  “Then, let’s go on in. There’s a couple a’ old Winchesters in there, too, if I’m rememberin’ correctly.”

  “All right,” said Charley. “Let’s go.”

  The two of them moved off toward the front of the barn.

  When they had reached a spot opposite the double doors, a shot rang out from the surrounding darkness.

  Charley had his own pistol out of his holster, and he fired toward where he’d seen the flash.

  They both heard a man cry out as they turned and raced for the double doors.

  Crashing through into the interior of the barn, both men were grateful that Feather hadn’t taken the time to latch the doors, making their entrance much easier than if he had.

  As they turned to look out the doors they had just come through, they saw a Mexican bandit stumble out of the darkness and into the pools of light made by the two lanterns. He grasped his bleeding stomach before crumbling to the ground.

  “There’s one down,” said Charley, grabbing Feather and moving in behind some hay bales for cover.

  Several more muzzle flashes exploded in the darkness outside.

  Charley returned fire, shot for shot. In moments, two more cattle rustlers hit the ground in the lighted area.

  “Don’t expect the rest of ’em to be that easy, Feather,” said Charley. “Do you remember where those Winchesters might be?”

  “I’ll go get ’em,” said Feather.

  He moved away, using the natural shadows of the barn’s interior as cover. He retrieved the two rifles and a box of cartridges, loaded a few bullets into each rifle, then started back to join Charley.

  As he passed a small window in the side of the barn, another muzzle flash caused him to duck back, while glass shattered.

  A quick return of fire by Feather, directed through the window, took out another rustler. Like the others, this one also stumbled out of the shadows before he fell face forward.

  “That’s number four, Charley,” Feather yelled across to the Ranger.

  Feather eventually made it back to where Charley was waiting. There had been no shots fired from outside in several minutes. Feather handed Charley a rifle and a handful of ammunition. Both of them began loading more ammo.

  They noticed a deadly silence that now surrounded them.

  “I know there’s more,” said Charley. “One . . . if not two, out there, thinking just like we are.”

  “An’ it’s our job ta start thinkin’ like them, if we wanna come outta this alive,” said Feather.

  “You’re sounding more like a Ranger all the time,” said Charley. “Ever thought about becoming a Ranger?”

  “Like you, Charley?” he asked. “All the time.”

  “Well, maybe, when this little confrontation is all over, I’ll have a little talk with my captain—find out if he could use another good man.”

  “Gee, Charley,” said Feather. “Then I’d hafta quit the Army before I even started.”

  “You haven’t signed anything yet,” said Charley. “If you have, then I’m afraid—”

  A loud creaking sound came from the loft above.

  Charley ducked back. He raised his eyes to the loft. “Tell me what you think they’re gonna do, Feather?”

  “Well,” Feather began, “if I was them, I’d move around to the other side of the stable and find a way ta go high . . .”

  BLAM, BLAM!

  It was Feather’s Winchester. A moment later, two bodies fell past them, dropping from the loft above, to the floor at their feet.

  Feather continued. “Oh, I ain’t dumb enough ta sign anything, unless I’ve made up my mind on my own. And besides, that recruiter fella was kinda pushy about me signin’ up right then.”

  “So you’re still free to walk away. Is that right?”

  “S’pose so, Charley,” said Feather, “’specially if somethin’ different opens up fer me. The recruiter fella I talked to told me I should forget about the Army and keep my job here at the livery. But then he also told me if I’d really made up my mind ta be a soldier boy, ta come back next month. But I’d like it a lot better if I was workin’ alongside you an’ Roscoe for the—”

  BLAM, BLAM, BLAM!

  Charley’s Winchester this time. Three more bodies dropped from the overhead loft.

  “. . . for the Texas Rangers,” Feather continued, completing his sentence.

  “So,” said Charley, “I talked to Feather’s old man that night, and by the next day he was ridin’ back up to Alpine with me, a week away from filling out the papers that would make him a Texas Ranger for good.”

  “And he rode together with us two until we all retired.”

  “I’ll bet that wasn’t easy getting your captain to let Feather ride with you two, without any training,” said Henry Ellis.

  “In the history of the Texas Rangers, there are more than a few good men who only had on-the-job training. And Feather was one of ’em.”

  “Still turned inta a mighty fine lawman,” said Roscoe. />
  “Feather Martin was what we call in the Rangers, a Natural,” added Charley.

  When Charley and Roscoe went down to the barn the next morning to feed the livestock and milk the cow, they had to fight another raging thunderstorm along the way. They both wore their slickers, with hats pulled down over their ears to keep the sharp wind from blowing them off.

  Henry Ellis watched their advance on the barn from his bedroom window, upstairs in the ranch house. The rain was coming down at such a slant, it beat against the windowpane with the staccato of a military drummer.

  As the two men entered the barn, the boy’s eyes were pulled to the opposite end of the entrance road, where several silhouetted figures on horseback were making their way toward the house.

  By the time the riders reined their mounts to a stop in the ranch yard, Henry Ellis had gotten dressed and run downstairs to greet whoever it was come a calling.

  Charley and Roscoe had seen them, too. They interrupted the feeding and milking and stepped out into the storm, crossing through the mud to the house. Their guns were drawn and hidden in the folds of their slickers.

  As Charley and Roscoe approached the new arrivals from the side, Henry Ellis bolted out the screen door wearing his slicker and hat against the rain.

  The boy held his right hand over his eyes, as if he were saluting, to keep the rain away so he could identify the newcomers, who were now all facing the back porch.

  Charley and Roscoe arrived, coming up on their right side.

  The four riders, still sitting their saddles, all wrapped from top to bottom in their shiny, wet slickers, with hats pulled down to ward off the weather, were suddenly exposed when a bright flash of lightning illuminated their faces for all to see.

  A roll of thunder followed, and fluttering hearts were put at ease, when the riders were identified as Rod and Kelly Lightfoot, Feather Martin, and Plunker Holliday.

  “Anyone mind if we get offa’ our horses and come inside, before we drown out here?” said Holliday. “Feather told us you was havin’ some trouble up here, so we thought we’d pay you a visit.”

  Henry Ellis backed up to the back porch screen door and opened it wide.

  “C’mon in,” he said. “You, too, Grampa and Roscoe. I’ll make sure their horses are put away and rubbed good.”

  “Can ya finish up feedin’ the livestock and doing the milkin’, too, Henry Ellis?” asked Roscoe.

  “You bet,” said the boy. “I’ll be with you all in a little while.”

  He took the horses’ reins in two hands and began pulling them toward the barn.

  By the time Henry Ellis made it back to the house, Charley and Roscoe had finished filling the others in on the whole situation with Dr. and Mrs. Campbell. They had also been advised of the several encounters Charley and Roscoe had experienced with the gang of ruffians who had used force in their several attempts to discourage them from living on Charley’s property.

  “Did I understand you to say,” said Rod, “that these Campbell people say they are not connected in any way to this gang of thugs?”

  “That’s what they say,” said Charley. “But they weren’t in any court of law when they said that . . . not under any oath.”

  “I’d sure like to talk to these people,” said Rod, “so I can see it all from a lawyer’s point of view.”

  “Flora Mae hired me a lawyer, Rod,” said Charley. “I knew you were still going to law school, and I needed someone real fast to meet with my opponent’s lawyer. I saw no reason to bother you, son.”

  “Well, you’re right about my still being in law school,” said Rod, “but I probably could have answered any questions you might have had since I’m taking my classes by mail.”

  “Believe it or not, Rod,” said Charley, “but Henry Ellis was able to help me with the legal questions I had. He’s been studying certain aspects of the law in that private school he goes to up in Austin.”

  “Well,” said Holliday, cutting in. “I ain’t been schooled in the law, in any way, shape, nor form. But it still seems awful fishy that someone can make claim to land that’s been in your name for so many years.”

  “Problem is,” said Charley, “I am not in possession of the document that legally says I’m the owner. Oh, I got the deed, all right, and some other papers that say I’m the rightful owner, but Mrs. Campbell wants to see the actual transaction signatures . . . and they are filed in the capitol building in Austin.”

  “Why don’t ya send someone from both sides up to the capitol ta look at the ledger?” said Holliday. “I’ll go, if ya want me to.”

  “That’s all right, Holliday,” said Charley. “If anyone goes, it’ll be me.”

  “Why don’t you call them on your telephone?” asked Henry Ellis.

  “The telephone lines are down between here and there,” said Holliday. “I saw them myself when I was ridin’ down here.”

  “We got a telegraph office right here in Juanita,” said Roscoe.

  “Well,” said Kelly, “Charley can ride into town and send a telegram to the state capitol. Have someone up there find the ledger in question and witness the signatures. Then they can wire us back with their answer.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Charley. “Roscoe?”

  Roscoe crossed over to where Charley was standing.

  “You wanna ride into town with me tomorrow morning and send that telegram?”

  Roscoe nodded that he would.

  “Me too,” said Henry Ellis. “I want to go with you, Grampa. Can I?”

  Charley reached over and tousled the boy’s hair.

  “Of course you can come along,” he said. “You can be our scout if you’d like.”

  “We’re goin’ along with ya, too,” said Feather. “Me, Rod, and Holliday wanna ride with ya in case there’s any trouble.”

  Charley chuckled.

  “There won’t be no trouble at a telegraph off ice, fellas.”

  “But there could be goin’ and comin’,” said Rod. “Kelly’ll stay here with Roscoe in case those riders decide to come this way.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Wind-blown sleet was now stinging the horses’ velvet-like noses, as well as their riders’. Clumps of the wet, frosty material were stuck to bib-fronted wool shirts and cowhide jackets. Holliday’s hat appeared to be white instead of its usual faded black, but these old members of Charley Sunday’s original Texas Outfit were on their way to town, and nothing was going to prevent them from getting there, whether it be the elements or man.

  Feather spurred out from behind and joined Charley and his grandson, who were in the lead. His horse was kicking and swatting at the sleet, as if it were flies in the summertime.

  “If this weather gets any worse,” he said, “we’ll be slidin’ inta town, instead a’ ridin’.”

  “We’ll get there all right,” said Charley. “It just surprises me that we haven’t been attacked by that gang.”

  “Don’t be too sure of that, Grampa,” said Henry Ellis. “Look up there.”

  He pointed off to what appeared to be silhouettes of seven men on horseback, fading quickly into gray outlines because of the heavy sleet.

  “That could mean trouble,” added the boy.

  Charley tightened the knitted neck scarf he was wearing around his neck. Then he reached into his boot top and removed his Walker Colt.

  “All right, men,” he called out. “Get your weapons ready; it looks like we may be having us some visitors.”

  The rest of the outfit unholstered either their pistols or their rifles, making sure the hardware was loaded to capacity.

  In the near whiteout conditions, both parties of men continued to advance toward the other.

  Revolvers were cocked. Bullets levered into Winchesters.

  Horses’ hooves from either side didn’t break cadence, they just kept on advancing. Closer and closer.

  Almost at the moment of contact, there was recognition.

  “Charley Sunday, is that you?” a voice
called out from the whiteness.

  “It’s Sheriff Dubbs,” said Charley, turning to those around him. “Hold your fire.”

  The sheriff shouted the same words to his group of riders.

  Both factions reined up their horses, as they were now close enough to recognize the faces of their friends.

  “What in the hell are you doing out in weather like this?” said the sheriff as he faced Charley.

  “We’re headed into town,” said the ex-Ranger. “What’s it look like?”

  “Well, we were on our way out to your place to tell you that Sam and Dale Cropper escaped from custody while they were transferrin’ them from train to train in San Antonio. Because of this weather we’re havin’, they got clean away.”

  “Sheriff figured since you had a part in puttin’ them both away,” said a deputy, “they just may be headed back your way.”

  Charley threw a look to the sky.

  “That’s all we need,” he mumbled.

  “Anyway,” said the sheriff, “consider yourself warned. Now, I hope you won’t mind if we ride along with ya back to Juanita. I’ve been dreamin’ of a hot bath ever since this sleet started flyin’, and now that you’ve been made aware of the threat to your life, I intend to go home and take one.”

  He reined around, followed by his men, and the two groups joined up for the rest of the ride into town.

  The outfit waited outside the telegraph office while Charley and Henry Ellis went inside to send Charley’s telegram to the state capitol. Because of the weather, they had all dismounted and were standing on the porch of the tiny Western Union office. The rain continued to fall—light at times, heavy at others—and the incessant wind, with its added chill, didn’t help anyone to stay warm.

  Charley and the boy stepped outside for a moment, just to let them know that the message had been sent and an answer would be forthcoming. Then he went back inside, followed by the boy.

  A half hour had passed when the telegraph key started rattling. Five minutes later, Charley and Henry Ellis stepped out onto the porch again. Both carried bewildered looks on their faces.