“I know, and I can accept that. But I’m a woman, and always will be. You can’t stop me from worrying when you’re gone.”
“I know. All I ask is don’t fret too much. Don’t worry yourself sick. Besides, now that I have you, I’ve got a powerful reason to come home without any bullets in me,” Charlie said.
“You’re not helping, Charlie.”
“Then perhaps this will.” Charlie rolled onto his side, took Mary Jane in his arms, and kissed her, once again.
3
While Jim and Julia made love in the tub, nearly one hundred and fifty miles to the west of their home, in the little settlement of Menardville, seat of sparsely populated Menard County, an entirely different scene was taking place. Under the cover of a vicious west Texas dust storm, a group of twenty raiders, dressed in white robes, with white, wide-brimmed hats on their heads and white bandannas pulled up over their faces, all mounted on white or gray horses, was attacking the town.
“Down every last one of ’em you can,” the leader ordered, as he gunned down the general store’s owner. “Fewer we leave alive, the fewer there are to follow us… or be witnesses. Jones, Martin, get in that store, clean out the cash drawer and whatever you can carry.”
A bullet fired from the two story county courthouse steps split the air just over his head. He ripped his horse around, fired twice, and Sheriff Tyler Dwight was slammed against the courthouse wall, with two bullets in his chest. Another of the raiders put a bullet through the belly of Deputy Mike Conrad. Conrad doubled over and somersaulted to the road. The only remaining deputy, Bill Hogan, managed to clip one of the raiders, hitting him high in his left arm, then return fire from the raiders left him riddled with bullets. He slumped over a hitch rail, bent double, blood flowing from his bullet-torn body running down his arms and fingers, off his head, and dripping to the road.
Methodically, the raiders looted the town, shooting everyone they came across, emptying the bank’s vault, taking every bottle of liquor from the saloon, stealing all the horses from the livery stable, even taking the dresses from the dressmaker’s shop and the hats from the milliner’s. When they had grabbed everything they could carry, they galloped off and disappeared into the dust storm, leaving most of Menardville in flames. Except for a few citizens who had reached safety in the courthouse, six or seven who managed to find hiding places elsewhere, and two who survived by playing dead, the raiders had wiped out almost the entire population of the town.
4
Two days later, in the dead of a cloudy night with a new moon, the raiders hit some thirty miles east of Menardville. This time, their target was the hamlet of Brady, which had just been chosen as the McCulloch County seat. Brady was so small it hadn’t yet hired a town marshal and deputy, instead relying on the county sheriff to provide deputies to protect the town.
The raiders started the attack by throwing a lit coal-oil lamp through the front window of the sheriff’s office. Two deputies, young Dave Kenedy, who had been appointed to his post only six weeks previously, and veteran Hugh Murphey, were on duty, but, at this time of night, once they had made their rounds of the town both were sleeping in bunks in the back room. County Sheriff Dale McIlroy allowed his deputies that privilege, as long as they slept fully dressed, with their boots on, and their gunbelts around their waists, in case of trouble. Of course, in the six years McIlroy had been sheriff, once the saloons closed down there had never been so much as a store broken into, let alone real trouble.
The lamp shattered when it hit the floor, the oil spreading and quickly taking flame. Kenedy and Murphey rolled out of their beds at the sound of gunfire, the crackling of flames, and the yells of the outlaws.
“We gotta get outta here, Dave, before we roast,” Murphey yelled. Already, both men were choking on the thick, black smoke filling the office.
“Listen to the gunfire out there, Hugh,” Kenedy shouted back. “We’ll be shot down soon as we hit the door. We ain’t got a chance, no matter what we do.”
“Take this! Mebbe we can blast our way outta this furnace.” Murphey pulled two shotguns off the gun rack and tossed one to Kenedy. “On the count of three, I’m gonna yank open the door. We’ll go out runnin’. Stay low, and blast the first gunmen you see. Once you’ve emptied both barrels of that scattergun, pull out your six-gun and keep shootin’. With any luck, we’ll get a few of ’em, and surprise those raiders enough we’ll scare ’em off.”
“It’s more likely we’re gonna get ourselves shot fulla holes,” Kenedy answered.
“I hate to admit it, but you’re probably right,” Murphey admitted. “Still, I’d rather die from a bullet in my guts than burnin’ to death. You goin’ with me, or you gonna stay here and fry?”
“Well, since you put it that way… let’s go.”
“All right. One… two… three!” Murphey pulled open the door, and both deputies burst outside.
Kenedy got off one barrel of his shotgun before at least half-a-dozen bullets ripped into him. Somehow, he remained on his feet, and managed to pull the trigger of the second barrel. The buckshot didn’t have a chance to spread before it hit one of the raiders, the close-bunched shot raking across his back. The raider let loose a high-pitched screech, slumped over his horse’s neck, and rolled to the street. Kenedy dropped to his knees. Several more slugs hit him, slamming him back, dead.
Murphey’s first shot tore two raiders out of their saddles. A third galloped his horse up to the deputy, leveled his pistol, and put two quick bullets into Murphey’s belly. Murphey pulled the second trigger of his shotgun as he jackknifed. The buckshot plowed into the dirt at his feet, then Murphey followed it, pitching to his face in the small crater the shot had dug out.
“Couple of you pick up the three of our men those blasted lawmen gunned down,” the apparent leader of the group ordered. “We can’t chance anyone identifyin’ ’em. Gotta take ’em with us, and get rid of ’em later. Hack, Mayberry, follow me. The rest of you, start cleanin’ out this town.”
The leader and the two men he’d chosen galloped to a small, white-painted house at the far end of the main street. Sheriff Dale McIlroy was inside, along with his wife and two teenage sons. Roused from his sleep by the initial gunfire, McIlroy had thrown on his boots and gunbelt, and attempted to rush to the aid of his town. However, the raiders had stationed four men outside his house, and as soon as McIlroy opened the door a fusillade of lead drove him back inside. Now, he and his two sons, Chuck and Eddie, were exchanging shots with the outlaws.
“Get ready to pull back, men,” the leader ordered, as he rode up to the house. “We’ve wasted enough time on this small-town lawman already. Keep me covered.”
He reached inside the white robe he wore, and pulled out a stick of dynamite and a bundle of lucifers. He snapped off one of the matches from the bundle, scratched it to life on his saddlehorn, and touched it to the dynamite’s fuse. He waited to make sure the fuse took, and, once it spluttered to life, tossed the dynamite through the sheriff’s living room window.
“Let’s git, men!” The raiders turned their horses and raced for safety. A moment later, the sheriff’s house exploded with a tremendous roar.
“They’ll be pickin’ up pieces of that lawman all over half of Texas,” one of the raiders said, laughing.
“Never mind that,” the leader said. “Time to finish what we started, and get on outta here.”
Twenty minutes later, the raiders raced out of town, leaving behind a ruin of burning buildings, looted businesses, and death.
5
Julia had been searching everywhere for Jim, to no avail. He’d seemed especially restless the past few days, even more so than usual when he’d been home for too long, rather than out riding the trails for the Rangers. She was used to him getting antsy after he’d been home for a while. However, this time he seemed particularly troubled. The faraway look in his blue eyes when she’d tried to talk to him at breakfast told her she might as well have been talking to one of his horses, fo
r all the response she got. In fact, she had told Jim she was indeed going outside to talk to Sam, his old paint. Jim’s reply had been a “That’s nice, dear,” followed by an unintelligible mumble.
Julia gave up attempting to make conversation with him, and did head to the corrals. Like Jim, it always soothed her to just watch the horses as they nibbled at hay, chased each other around, or dozed in the sun. However, she didn’t have the almost mystical connection to horses he did. She’d never seen another person who could communicate with the equine species as well as her husband. Charlie came close, but even he didn’t have quite the ability with horses his father did.
When Julia came back inside, Jim was nowhere to be found.
“Jim?” There was no answer. Julia had searched through the house, finding no sign of him. There was not a sign he’d been in the bathtub he’d grown to enjoy even more than she did. She then looked through the pastures, corrals, and barn. Sizzle and Sam were still in the main pasture, so she knew Jim couldn’t have gone far. No horseman, cowboy, or Ranger ever walked if he could ride his horse. She tried the swimming hole in the creek, thinking perhaps he had decided to cool off with a swim, but he wasn’t there, either. Frustrated and a bit angry, Julia returned to the house. If Jim wanted to disappear, so be it. She got along just fine without him for weeks on end anyway, thank you very much. But he’d better not expect any supper tonight, either. She wasn’t about to sit across the table from a man whose thoughts were a million miles away.
Pal was waiting on the porch for her. He thumped his tail when she climbed the stairs, then followed her inside. He ran down the hall, whining, and went into Charlie’s bedroom.
“Pal, Charlie’s not here,” Julia called after him. “He’ll be home in a few days. Get back here, boy.”
When Pal didn’t respond, Julia followed him. She stepped into Charlie’s room, and found Jim, sitting on the edge of their son’s bed. He held the same tintype of Charlie and his horse that she’d been crying over just a few days earlier. Lying in his lap was the rusty old Colt which had been Charlie’s toy gun as a youngster. Jim’s eyes were moist. It was obvious he also had been crying. Pal was sitting at his feet, licking his hand.
“Jim, I’ve been looking all over for you. Where have you been?”
“Just took a wander around the place, then came back here, to Charlie’s room,” he answered.
“You miss him, don’t you? Perhaps even more than I do. I can see you’ve been crying, at least a bit,” Julia said. She sat alongside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Of course I miss him,” Jim said. “He grew up so quick. It just seems like yesterday I was teachin’ him how to ride and shoot. Now he’s all grown up, and married. Pretty soon he and Mary Jane’ll be havin’ kids of their own.”
“If he’s ever home long enough to manage that,” Julia answered. “After all, it takes two people to make a child.”
“Hey, we got Charlie, didn’t we?” Jim said.
“Of course. And I don’t blame your being away so much for us not having additional children,” Julia said. “If it was in God’s plans, we would have had more.”
“Well, at least we got a good one,” Jim said, with a sigh.
“We certainly did,” Julia answered. “Listen, you’ve been moping around this place long enough. Why don’t you ride over to the McCues’, find Smoky, then head into town? Smoky can have a few beers, you can have your sarsaparillas, and you can play some cards. Get supper while you’re there. That will give me a night off from cooking. A change of scenery might be just what you need.”
“I get plenty of those ridin’ for the Rangers,” Jim said.
“You know what I mean, Jim. Since you haven’t gotten any orders, and it’s been almost three weeks at home now, you’re starting to act like a caged bear. So go get Smoky and have some fun. In fact, I think I’ll ride over to Smoky and Cindy’s with you. I’ll visit with Cindy while you and Smoky are in town. I haven’t seen her since Charlie and Mary Jane’s wedding, so it will give us the chance to catch up on some gossip. What do you say?”
“I say it couldn’t hurt,” Jim answered. “Let’s go saddle the horses.”
● ● ●
Forty minutes later, they rode up to the small ranch owned by Jim’s long-time Ranger partner, Sergeant Smoky McCue, and his wife, Cindy. They were on the front porch when Jim and Julia came into the yard.
“Jim, Julia! Howdy,” Smoky yelled out. “What brings you by? Jim, don’t tell me you’ve heard from Cap’n Storm, and we’ve got orders.”
“No, it’s nothin’ like that, Smoke,” Jim answered. “Julia decided she was tired of havin’ me underfoot. She thought perhaps a night in town, playin’ cards and havin’ a few drinks, would help me settle down a mite. I have to admit, I’ve been pacin’ around the house like a cornered mountain lion.”
“So I said we’d come over here, and I could visit with Cindy while you two headed into town,” Julia added.
“Julia, that’s the best idea I’ve heard in weeks,” Cindy said. “Smoky’s been gettin’ pretty restless too. And it’s been far too long since you and I have had a nice, long visit, just the two of us. In fact, my darling husband, why don’t you and Jim just spend the night in town? That will give me and Julia a night to ourselves, also. And Jim, don’t worry about your stock. Julia can spend the night here, then I’ll ride over to your place with her in the morning, and help her tend to the animals. Is that all right with you, Julia?”
“It sounds like the perfect plan,” Julia answered.
“So as long as you two are agreeable, everything is set,” Cindy said.
“Boy howdy, you won’t have to ask me twice,” Smoky said. “I’ll saddle Midnight and be ready to ride in a jiffy.”
● ● ●
Jim whistled as he rode along, while Smoky, as always, had a cigarette dangling from his lips. The two Rangers couldn’t have been more opposite in appearance. Jim was tall, lean, and fair, not handsome but ruggedly good-looking, with unruly blonde hair under the tan Stetson he wore, and clear blue eyes. His face usually wore an easy smile, and his eyes were almost always sunny. However, his face grew hard, and those blue eyes could glitter like chips of ice, whenever he faced a lawbreaker. He was also left-handed, so the heavy Colt Peacemaker he carried hung at his left hip. Unlike many of the Rangers, he didn’t wear a second six-gun for a spare, but preferred to reload in the middle of a gun battle if necessary. His predilection for brightly colored shirts was well known, and the subject of much teasing from his fellow Rangers.
Smoky, his long-time riding partner, was a bit shorter than average, with a wiry build. He was dark-complected, and had eyes of such a deep brown hue they almost appeared black. He sported a pencil-thin moustache, of which he was inordinately proud. However, his most distinctive feature was his hair. It was jet black, but through some freak of genetics had gone prematurely gray not at the roots, but at the tips. This gave it an appearance of a puff of smoke, which had supplied Smoky his nickname. His given name was known only to a very few. His wife Cindy, and Jim, were two of those. Even after all these years, Jim, sworn to secrecy, had not revealed that name to anyone else, not even Julia. In contrast to Jim’s fondness for bright shirts and plain old blue denims, Smoky always dressed mainly in black, except for a bright red neckerchief looped around his neck. One of the few men who wore two guns, and who could shoot equally well with either hand, his twin Colts rested in black holsters, attached to a black gunbelt around his waist. And unlike Jim, who never smoke, cursed, or drank anything stronger than sarsaparilla, Smoky enjoyed his tobacco and liquor, and had been known on more than one occasion to let out a violent string of cuss words. While Jim had always been a one-woman man, loyal only to his wife, Julia, Smoky, until he met Cindy Lou, had been a ladies’ man, ever ready to spend a night with a woman. The only things the two had in common were their love of cards, particularly poker, and their determination as Texas Rangers to bring outlaws to justice. That, and their
unquenchable friendship.
Even their horses were different. For years, Jim had ridden Sam, a one-man animal, a palomino and white splotched tobiano paint with a vicious temper. After Sam had been crippled by outlaws during a raid on Jim’s ranch, Jim continued to use him as a pack horse, and another paint, Sizzle, an overo with sorrel and white patches, became his riding horse. Sizzle was as gentle and sweet-natured as Sam was vicious. However, like Sam, he was also a one-man horse, allowing no one to ride him but Jim. Smoky favored dark horses, the first being his steeldust gray, Charcoal. Once Charcoal got too old to carry Smoky for weeks on end, he was put out to pasture, and replaced with Midnight, the jet-black gelding Smoky was now riding.
However, as different as they were in appearance and personality, both men were exactly alike when it came to dealing with outlaws: Tough as bulldogs, and tenacious as terriers. Once they were on the trail of desperadoes, they never quit until their quarry was brought to justice… or dead, with Jim’s or Smoky’s bullets, or both, in them. It didn’t matter how much they were outnumbered, or how great the odds against them. The only way Jim and Smoky would ever return without the men they were after would be in coffins, riddled by the renegades’ bullets. So far, that hadn’t happened, although both had been severely wounded more than once in the course of their Ranger careers. Their commanding officer, Captain Earl Storm, usually saved his toughest cases for them.
“Where do you want to have supper, Jim?” Smoky asked, once they reached the edge of town.
“I’m thinkin’ we’ll head over to O’Malley’s place,” Jim answered. “I’m ready for a nice, thick steak, smothered in onions, with some of Don’s fried potatoes on the side. And Ellen’s pecan pie to finish up.”
“That sounds like a good choice to me,” Smoky answered. “Then the Shenandoah for drinks and cards?”
The Ghost Riders Page 2