High Wild Desert

by Ralph Cotton

  “Not so fast, Cisco,” he said. “Don’t get to one of them ahead of me. I wouldn’t want a gun jumping into your hand.”

  Lang slowed down and walked beside the Ranger to where Toy Johnson lay pulling himself along in the dirt, hand over hand.

  “Slow down, Johnson, let’s patch you up. It’s all part of the service,” Sam said dryly, placing a boot down firmly on the wounded outlaw’s shoulder. Johnson grunted and came to a halt.

  Johnson rasped, “You dirty son of a—”

  But Sam jostled him under his boot.

  “Don’t start with the name calling,” Sam said. “I might decide it’s easier to leave you lying here with buzzards waltzing on your belly.”

  Sam looked over and saw Adele and the mine manager roll Carnes onto his back and help him sit up.

  “This one’s got a big hole punched in him, but it looks like he’ll live,” the mine manager called out to Sam.

  Sam nodded and stooped down with Lang and rolled the groaning outlaw onto his back. His severed gun belt lay in the dirt a few feet away.

  Seeing Cisco Lang bent over him, Johnson growled, “You rotten bastard. Did you tell your pard here it was you who first told us about the reward on his head?”

  Sam looked at Cisco.

  “Is that so?” he said.

  Cisco averted his eyes and gave an embarrassed shrug.

  “I might have mentioned it to them. I don’t recall,” he said.

  Sam shook his head and appeared to dismiss the matter.

  “Let’s get them patched up and get into town, before Dankett starts wondering what’s happened to us.”

  • • •

  The usual heavy traffic on the streets of New Delmar parted for the Ranger and his party of five as he rode Black Pot forward at a walk. Adele Simpson was riding beside him, leading the roan carrying her belongings. Ahead of Sam on a long lead rope rode Cisco Lang, his eyes black, his jaw purple and swollen. Ahead of Cisco, the dead man was strapped across his saddle. And ahead of the dead man rode the two wounded men, both patched and bloodstained.

  “Uh-oh. Here’s the Ranger who’s taking charge for a while,” one miner said to another, the two standing in an alley drinking from a bottle of rye. “It looks like a good time to get headed back up the gully.”

  Pedestrians stopped instinctively along the walk planks. Riders veered their buggies and wagons to the side of the street and stopped there, staring at the approach of Sam’s ragged, bloody, dirt-streaked assortment of dead and wounded. The rattling twang of the piano resounding from inside the Number Five Saloon fell silent as the Ranger followed the dejected prisoners forward to the hitch rail out in front of the new jail.

  From the batwing doors of the saloon, Henry Teague and Sonny Rudabough stepped onto the boardwalk and stared toward the jail as Deputy Dankett walked out to meet the Ranger, his long-barreled shotgun in hand.

  “Well, well, Sonny,” said Teague. “There’s our Ranger, coming to watch over New Delmar just like I predicted he would.” He blew a stream of smoke he’d drawn from a thick black cigar.

  “Yep, you called it right, saying that he’d come here once Sheriff Rattler was dead,” Sonny said. “But don’t forget, I’m the one did the shooting.”

  “Damn it, Sonny, keep your voice down,” said Teague in a lowered tone. He looked all around quickly, then back to Sonny. “You know the spot outside town where Coyle said him and his men will make camp?”

  Sonny stood watching the Ranger, Adele and the prisoners step down from their saddles. Sam climbed down first to assist the woman.

  “Yeah, I know where it’s at,” Sonny said without taking his eyes off the Ranger and his prisoners, seeing Dankett line the men up and file them inside the jail.

  “I want you to ride out and tell Coyle the Ranger’s here,” Teague said. He grinned. “It’s time we start getting under the Ranger’s skin a little. Soften him up some, make sure he’ll step out on the street with Coyle when the time comes.”

  “I’m on my way,” said Sonny, making his way to where his horse stood at a hitch rail.

  • • •

  Inside the jail, a town councilman turned from the front window toward the Ranger as Dankett stopped the line of prisoners and closed the door behind them.

  “Councilman Childers,” said Dankett, “here’s Ranger Burrack, just like he said he would be.” He turned to Sam and said, “Ranger, meet Town Councilman Felix Childers.”

  “Ranger, we are glad you could make it,” said Childers, extending a hand to the Ranger.

  Shaking hands, Sam nodded and looked around as Dankett motioned the prisoners over behind the chalk line on the floor.

  “Ranger, as you can see, we’re in the process of building a dandy jail and sheriff’s office here. We hope to have it finished in due time.” He smiled with an air of patience toward the project.

  “By tomorrow morning,” Sam said quietly but firmly.

  “Pardon me?” said Childers. He looked taken aback.

  “You heard me right, Councilman,” Sam said. “Get a carpenter crew over here now and have a holding wall finished and in use by morning.”

  “But, Ranger,” said the stunned councilman, “we can’t possibly have it completed that soon. These things take time. Sheriff Rattler was a patient man. We’re all hoping that you would be the same—”

  “By morning,” Sam repeated. “That gives them today and tonight if they need it. If it’s not finished by morning I’ll give these men their guns back and set them loose on your streets. I’ll take my deputy and ride out of here.”

  Childers looked at Dankett, then back at Sam.

  “Dankett is going to be your deputy?” he said, still sounding shocked.

  “Yes, he is,” Sam said. “If that’s a problem, you and him walk out back and discuss it between yourselves. Otherwise, let my deputy and me get to work while you rustle us up some carpenters and make this place a jail instead of a joke.” He saw a slight grin show on Dankett’s pale face. He continued, saying, “If the jail was finished the way it should have been, Dankett could have handled this town by himself instead of sitting here warming a chair bottom, waiting for some prisoner to make a move on him.”

  “Ranger, I—” Childers managed to say before Sam cut him short.

  “If you want the law to work, Councilman,” Sam said, “you’ve got to give the lawmen what they need to make it work.” He looked at Dankett. “Do you agree, Deputy?”

  “Chapter and verse,” Dankett said. He took a step toward the councilman and said, “Or are we going to talk out back about me staying on as deputy?”

  “No! No indeed, Deputy,” said Childers. “If the Ranger wants you, it’s fine with me. I mean with the council. I mean with the town, that is,” he corrected himself nervously. He backed toward the front door, his derby hat in hand. “I best get going if I’m to get this holding cell completed by morning.” He started to leave, then caught himself and said in afterthought, “Oh, and I’ll have them bring lanterns, in case they have to work throughout the night.”

  “Good thinking, Councilman,” Sam said as the man hurried on out the door.

  “What do you want me to do, Ranger?” Dankett asked, looking excited at the prospect of getting a real and complete jail.

  “For now, string everybody together with handcuffs and cuff them to the iron ball, Deputy,” Sam said. “Then get us a doctor or whoever you’ve got here to take a look at their wounds.”

  “You’ve got it, Ranger,” Dankett said. He turned to the prisoners and said, “All right, everybody close together. Let’s get you cuffed until the doctor gets here.”

  Toy Johnson struggled to his feet and called out to Sam, “You’ve got no reason to hold me and Carnes. What’s your charge? We didn’t shoot you. You shot us.”

  “Believe it or not, Johnson, some call it a crim
e, trying to kill a lawman,” Sam said. “But that aside, I am setting you both free as soon as the doctor says you can ride.”

  Johnson and Carnes looked at the Ranger in disbelief.

  “With our guns?” Carnes asked.

  The Ranger just stared at him.

  “Shut up, Randall. That’s pushing our luck,” Johnson said.

  “You’re letting them go?” Dankett asked just between him and the Ranger.

  “Don’t worry, Deputy,” Sam replied. “They’re not leaving before we get this jail finished.”

  Chapter 13

  At a campsite outside New Delmar, Little Deak Holder and Blind Simon Goss had managed to scavenge a large, ragged canvas and make an overhead lean-to of it to shield them from the harsh sun. Between the lean-to and a large line of wind-sculpted sandstone rock, Sieg had built a campfire and set a pot of coffee to boil. Beside the coffeepot, he’d stood a kettle of water to boil for evening stew.

  As Sieg fed more broken-up brush into the fire, he looked up and saw Dave Coyle riding the trail back from town with a one-horse buggy rolling along beside him.

  “It looks like your brother found us a doctor, Oldham,” Sieg called out to where Oldham Coyle sat on a blanket beneath the overhang, cleaning his big Colt.

  Oldham looked up from his broken-down Colt and out along the trail. But it was Chic Reye who replied from his seat atop a low rock.

  “About damn time,” he said in a weak, strained voice. “I wouldn’t have made it another hour, bad as I’m shot.”

  Oldham gave him a dubious look and blew through his gun barrel. He looked through the clean, shining barrel and snapped it back to the frame of the Colt.

  “Stop your bellyaching, Chic,” he said.

  “Bellyaching? Jesus, Oldham, I’m shot! Look at me here,” said Reye in a thick, pained voice. A bloody bandana circled his face, a knot tied atop his head holding it in place. His left hand clutched a large circle of blood on his navel.

  “Yeah, we all saw it,” said Oldham, sounding unconcerned. “If we hadn’t seen it, we all would have heard about it a hundred times since this morning.”

  “Not shot just once . . . but twice,” Reye went on, “by that sneaking, murdering little son of a bitch.”

  “It’s hard for us to draw up much sympathy when we’ve all watched you bully and gripe so much about Little Deak that he finally had to shoot you to shut you up.”

  Reye looked over to where Little Deak and Blind Simon stood picking through some cookware and eating utensils left by some former campsite inhabitants. The two turned toward Dave and the arriving buggy, then started walking to the lean-to.

  “I’ll shut up for now,” Reye said as Dave and the buggy drew closer to camp. “But soon as I’m able to draw and cock a hammer, I’m going to set things straight—”

  “Listen to you,” said Oldham. “You’re still bleeding from the last time the little fellow had to clean your clock. You’re already getting set for him to do it again.”

  “I’ll clean his clock next time,” Reye grumbled. “Not only clean it, I’ll stop it altogether—”

  “Shut up, Chic,” Oldham said in a dark warning tone punctuated by the sound of his newly assembled Colt being cocked in his hand. “I just cleaned this gun. Don’t make me dirty it on you.”

  Reye took the warning seriously and sat in silence as Dave Coyle and the one-horse buggy reined in close to the lean-to overhang and stopped. Dust bellowed in their wake. Finally Reye managed to take a deep breath as Dave stepped down from his saddle. A thin, short man wearing an eye patch hopped off the buggy carrying a black leather doctor’s bag.

  “I don’t know what gets me so upset like this,” Reye said, his fingers getting bloody pressed to his navel.

  “Are you apologizing?” Oldham asked.

  “Yeah, more or less,” Reye said humbly.

  “Then save it for Deak and Simon,” Oldham said dryly, standing up as Dave and the doctor walked under the overhang.

  “I take it this is my patient?” the doctor said, his patched eye slightly cocked to one side to give him a better view. He stooped beside Reye as he spoke and set the bag in the dirt.

  Reye gave him a sour look up and down. The doctor snapped the bag open.

  “Are you going to be able to see how to patch me up?” Reye said gruffly. “I’ve had my fill of blind fools and sawed-off little sons a’ bitches.”

  The doctor snapped the bag shut.

  “Well . . . all through here,” he said, standing. He started to turn toward his buggy, but Dave stepped in and blocked his way.

  “Whoa, Doctor, hold on,” Dave said. “We know he’s a damn fool. But if you won’t treat him, we’ll prop him against a rock and leave him for the night feeders.”

  “Suits me,” the doctor said. “Night feeders have to eat too. I have too many sick people to have to waste time being insulted.” He started to step around Dave, but the big gunman continued to block him.

  “Dr. Starr, we’re paying cash,” he said, but it was the sinister look on Dave’s face that stopped him more so than the promise of money.

  “All right, then,” said the thin doctor, turning back to Reye. “But he’ll keep his mouth shut unless spoken to. Agreed?” he asked Reye pointedly.

  “Agreed . . . ,” Reye said. He bowed his head a little. “I don’t know what makes me say things like that.”

  “You don’t know, and I don’t care,” Dr. Starr said curtly. He set the bag back on the ground, pulled Reye’s hand away from his bleeding belly and peeled off the blood-sodden bandana. “This is most rare,” he murmured. “A perfectly centered hole in the navel—has to hurt like the dickens, I’ll wager.” He glanced around. “But well aimed nevertheless.”

  “Wait until you see his face,” Little Deak said with a slight smile. He stood watching from the edge of an overhang, Simon standing right beside him.

  The doctor looked at the dwarf, who stood not a lot shorter than he did, and at the blind man, who had only one less eye than himself. He nodded, connecting these two to Reye’s prickly attitude.

  “I dread looking . . . ,” he said almost under his breath, spreading Reye’s bloody shirt open. “But first things first. Whoever shot you here most fully intended to kill you, fellow,” he said to Reye.

  “Don’t I know it?” Reye said, staring past the doctor’s shoulder at Little Deak, who gave him a thin smile and clicked his short thumb up and down toward the wounded disgruntled gunman.

  Dave stepped around the doctor and his patient and stooped down beside Oldham’s blanket.

  “I expect I might just as well tell you, I saw the Ranger heading into town while the doc and I were leaving,” he said.

  Oldham looked surprised that Dave had shared the information with him, yet he nodded and let it go, glad that his brother was starting to accept his idea, if not warm to it.

  “Did he see you?” he asked.

  “Would it matter if he did?” Dave asked.

  “No,” said Oldham. “Just wondering.”

  “I doubt he saw me,” Dave replied anyway. “We were well out one end of town. I looked back and saw him guiding a string of riders in off the desert floor. He had one strapped over his saddle. Two more looked shot up some.” He paused, then added, “The two upright looked like Toy Johnson and Randall Carnes.”

  “Johnson and Carnes . . . ,” Oldham mused. “He does stay busy, that Ranger.”

  “Yes, he does,” said Dave somberly. “And he’s not a man to treat lightly.”

  “I know that, brother Dave,” Oldham said more seriously. “That’s why I need you and Deak, both with your bark on, watching my back until I get this thing done.”

  Dave shook his head and let out a tense breath.

  “I’m there,” he said. “Let’s just get it done quick and get it over with.”

 
“We will, brother,” Oldham said. He gave him a grin. “But not so quick that we can’t have some fun with it.”

  “Fun . . . ? Damn the fun,” Dave said angrily. “There’s nothing going to be fun about it.”

  “We’ll see, brother Dave,” Oldham said. He was still grinning, hefting the shiny, clean Colt he still held in his hand.

  • • •

  Sam sat watching the prisoners when Deputy Dankett returned from Dr. Starr’s office alone and closed the front door behind him. Adele Simpson had left earlier, leading her black barb and the roan and all of her belongings to a weathered half-pine-board, half-adobe hotel named the Desert Rose at the end of the block.

  “Dr. Starr’s gone on a visit, Ranger,” Dankett said, his long-barreled shotgun cradled in his left arm. “He left a note on his door. Didn’t say when he’d be back. I stopped by the Number Five and asked a dove named Lila to come give a hand. She’s good at birthing, cutting hair, treating fever and whatnot. Said she’d be right along, soon as she finishes trimming a miner.”

  Sam stood and took a breath, staring at the three sweaty, wounded prisoners who gazed back at him. They sat leaning against the plank wall, the big iron ball on one end of the chain, the men strung wrist to wrist by handcuffs on the other end.

  “There you have it, men,” Sam said to the three prisoners. “Help is coming, soon as a miner gets his hair trimmed.”

  The three groaned as one. Johnson sat with his leg stiff and covered with dark dried blood beneath the wound in his hip.

  “Damn it,” he said. He struggled to his feet, jerking Lang’s cuffed hand up with him. “Can I at least get out back to the jakes before I spring a leak here?”

  Dankett and the Ranger looked at each other.

  “What about you two? I suppose you both have to go also,” he said to Cisco Lang and Randall Carnes.

  “I’ve been needing to,” Carnes said. “I just didn’t want to say so, especially while the lady was here.”

  “That’s well mannered of you, Carnes,” Lang said with a bitter tone. “But that woman couldn’t care less if you’d pissed on the wall.”