The Ghost Riders

by James J. Griffin

  “That sounds good to me,” Smoky said.

  “Same here,” J.R. added.

  “Fine with me, but make mine a double order of everything, especially the apple crisp,” Jim said.

  Grandma shot him a look of incredulity.

  “Are you certain about that, Ranger? That’s an awful lot of food, and lookin’ at how skinny you are, you don’t seem to have enough of a belly to hold it all.” She patted Jim’s stomach. He blushed.

  “He’ll eat all of that, and then some,” Smoky said. “Count on it.”

  “I guess then it’s a good thing you didn’t take me up on that bet, Ranger,” Grandma said to Jim. “It appears you would’ve won… and I’d have plumb hated to hand over my blouse to you.”

  She glanced down at her bosom. Jim blushed even redder, while Grandma and his partners laughed.

  “I’ll go start makin’ your supper now,” she continued. “It’ll be ready right quick. You need anything else at the moment?”

  “I just have to ask you this,” Smoky said. “You sure don’t look like my grandmas did, or any grandma I’ve ever seen, for that matter. You don’t exactly dress like one, neither.”

  Grandma Hussey was at least eighty years old, her face, although covered with fine wrinkles, still attractive. Her hair, which she wore loose to her shoulders, had long since turned to silver. She was tiny, no more than five foot two. However, her sizable breasts were still round and firm, her figure slim, with a trim waist and hips. Her blue eyes sparkled with life. She was dressed in a low cut blue silk blouse, trimmed with silver spangles, and a flowing red, white, and purple striped skirt. Large silver hoops dangled from her ears, and her lips were painted bright red. Rouge emphasized her high cheekbones.

  “You mean this silly old thing?” she answered. “It’s just something I threw on this mornin’.”

  “Well, it sure fell in all the right places. And there’s got to be more to it than that,” Smoky insisted.

  “All right, Ranger, I’ll confess, there is. But you’ll have to squeeze it outta me,” she retorted, then sat on his lap. “Are you ready to question me?”

  This time, it was Smoky’s turn to blush.

  “I’d purely love to, but I’m a married man,” Smoky answered. “All of us are, for that matter.”

  “Didn’t realize that made a difference,” Grandma said, pouting. She stood back up, and smoothed her skirt.

  “It does to us,” Smoky said.

  “Just my luck. Three good-lookin’ lawmen wander into my place, and they’re all married. Oh well, you can’t blame a gal for tryin’. I’ll tell you the story behind this here cafe.”

  “I’m listenin’,” Smoky said.

  “All right. Seventeen years back, my husband up and died on me. Left me penniless. We had three kids, two boys and a girl, but one of the boys got himself killed in a stupid knife fight, over a woman, and the other boy and girl are grown and moved to California. They’ve both got a passel of kids, which means I couldn’t ask them for help. So, I took the only job I could find, waitin’ tables in this place. Scraped and saved until I had enough to buy it from old Mort Tucker, who owned it. Problem is, business was okay enough, but I was still strugglin’. Then, one day, Sam Peavey, who owns the Diamond SP Ranch about five miles west of town, was in having supper. I was complainin’ about how slow business was, so he told me, laughin’ about it, that I should change the name from Sandra’s Place to Hussey’s, which just happens to be my real last name. Sam said men would just flock in here to see the ‘hussies’, even though my name has an ‘e’ in it. Sam was jokin’, but I just looked him dead in the eye and said ‘Why not?’ So I fixed up the place like a French whorehouse, or at least what I think a French whorehouse looks like, renamed it “Grandma Hussey’s”, figurin’ most men don’t know how to spell anyway, so they wouldn’t notice the difference, fancied up my dress, and business went through the roof. Sure, some folks are laughin’ at me behind my back, but thanks to Sam’s idea, for which he gets free meals for life, I’m laughin’ all the way to the bank. Leastwise I was, until those raiders hit it. But unlike a lot of folks, I didn’t have all my money in the bank, so I had enough left to rebuild. I always keep a good chunk hidden away in my little house, out back. It’s behind a thick prickly pear hedge, so those hombres missed it. Me, too, since I was holed up back there. And because they struck after I was closed, no one was in the building to get hurt when those men attacked, and burned it to the ground.”

  “What about that table in the corner?” J.R. asked. “The one behind the curtains?”

  “Oh, you mean the one with the handsome cowpunchers’ pictures on the walls,” Grandma answered. Her blue eyes lit up, mischievously. “That’s for the ladies. You men shouldn’t have all the fun. Of course, a lot of the women in town claim to be scandalized by those paintings, but most of them seem to wander in here, on a regular basis. And I painted those pictures myself. It wasn’t too hard to persuade some of the young cowboys around here to take off their shirts and make a few extra dollars. Especially for a harmless old lady. Ah, if I were only sixty years younger.”

  “I’d imagine you could still give some of those cowboys a run for their money, even now,” Smoky said.

  “Darn straight I could, if I were that kind of woman. You too, for that matter,” Grandma answered. “But I’m not, at all. This place is just for good, clean fun, a spot where folks can relax and have a good meal at a fair price, and maybe let their imaginations run a little bit wild, thinkin’ of what they might be doin’ in here, besides just eatin’. I’ve got two young waitresses, Debbie and Dahlia, who will be comin’ in shortly, pretty young things. Debbie’s a cute, blue-eyed blonde, while Dahlia’s a fine-lookin’ colored gal. And a good-lookin’ feller, name of Joe, as a waiter. The gals dress like I do, and the feller like one of those cowboys in the pictures, leavin’ his shirt half-unbuttoned. But nothin’ happens. Folks know they can look, but not touch. I keep a shotgun under the counter in case anyone gets an idea to start trouble, and Joe wears a gun on his hip. I know how to use that shotgun, and Joe’s real quick with his pistol. No one’s gotten out of line in my place yet.”

  “Sounds like you’re doin’ quite well,” Jim said. “I’ve gotta admit, you have a clever concept here.”

  “I’m doin’ just fine,” Grandma answered. “I serve good food, at reasonable prices, with a bit of entertainment thrown in. But, as I said, it’s all just good, innocent fun. That’s why I’m not bothered, at least not by most folks. Even Reverend Hutton, the circuit riding Methodist preacher, stops by for a meal when he’s in town. As far as those who don’t like what I’m doin’, they can just darn well stay away… which they do. Now, enough about me. I’d imagine you boys are real hungry, so let me get started on your supper.”

  “Mrs. Hussey…” Jim began.

  “Grandma. You want something else.”

  “Yeah… Grandma. I’ve got just one quick question, if you don’t mind,” Jim said.

  “Go ahead. Shoot.”

  “You said you were in your house when those raiders attacked the town. I don’t suppose you heard any of ’em say anythin’ which might help us track ’em down, or mebbe catch a glimpse of one of ’em.”

  “I wish I could say I had, Ranger, but I’d be lyin’ to you. All I heard was a whole lot of shoutin’ and shootin’, and all I saw was a bunch of flames and smoke. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

  “You wouldn’t have been any help if you’d gotten yourself killed,” Jim answered. “Don’t fret yourself about not seein’ those renegades. If you had, you’d most likely be dead.”

  “Well, that’s a comforting thought,” Grandma retorted. “Now, you boys just relax and enjoy your coffee while I get your supper.”

  “That’s the feistiest ol’ gal I’ve ever run across,” J.R. said, once Grandma was in the kitchen, out of earshot. “Those renegades would have bit off more than they could chew if they tangled with her, I’m guessin’.”

 
“Boy howdy, you said a mouthful,” Smoky answered. “She’d have given ’em what for, then tied ’em in knots and turned ’em inside out.” He stubbed out the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray at the center of the table, then rolled and lit another smoke.

  Jim took a swallow of his coffee. “If the food’s as good as this coffee, we’ll be eatin’ real well tonight,” he said. “This is one fine brew.”

  The three men relaxed over their coffee, Smoky enjoying his cigarette, until Grandma returned, carrying plates piled high with food.

  “Dig in, boys,” she ordered, as she placed their meals in front of them. “I’ll be right back with your bread, butter, and molasses. Your second helpin’, too, Ranger,” she added to Jim. “Let me know if anythin’ ain’t right.”

  “I’m sure everything will be just fine,” Jim assured her.

  “Well, you just let me know if it isn’t.”

  The bell attached to the door jingled as another customer entered. Grandma hurried off to welcome him.

  “Don’t hardly know where to start, there’s so much food here,” Smoky said. He and his partners started working on their meals.

  ● ● ●

  “I’m plumb full,” Jim said, as he pushed back from the table an hour later. “Can’t squeeze in another bite. My belly’s about to bust.”

  “J.R, we’re seein’ history bein’ made, right in front of our very eyes,” Smoky said. “Mark this date down. The day Jim Blawcyzk finally admitted he wasn’t hungry. It’s never happened before, and most likely never will again.”

  “Yeah, I have to admit, I never thought I’d live to see the day when Jim said he couldn’t eat some more,” J.R. answered. “This is a first, all right.”

  Grandma came hurrying over.

  “I see you boys are just about done,” she said. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “Just our bill,” Jim said. “Everything was plumb tasty. Best meal I’ve had in a month of Sundays.”

  He had downed not only his double order, but an entire pan of apple crisp.

  “Same goes for me,” Smoky added. “The meal was wonderful.”

  “I’ll second that,” J.R. agreed. “You’re a fine cook, Grandma.”

  “Why, thank you, Rangers. You’ll turn a gal’s head, with talk like that.”

  “Wouldn’t have said it if we didn’t mean it,” Jim answered.

  “And here I thought folks came in just for my good looks,” Grandma said, with a laugh.

  “Those are merely an added bonus,” Jim said. “And as much as we’d like to stay for some more coffee, if we could fit it under our belts, we’ve got to meet the McIlroys over at the saloon. We’re already a bit late, so we really do have to get movin’.”

  “I understand,” Grandma said. “I’ll have your bill ready in a jiffy. And make certain to stop by for breakfast.”

  “We’ll do just that,” Jim assured her.

  A few minutes later, the bill was paid. Jim and his partners left the café for the short walk to the Brady Saloon.

  ● ● ●

  “Rangers! Over here!” Chuck called, when they pushed through the batwings and stepped into the bar. He and his brother were seated at a table in a back corner, along with several other men.

  “Sorry we’re a few minutes late,” Jim apologized, when he, Smoky, and J.R. reached the group. “The food was so good at Grandma Hussey’s place we just couldn’t tear ourselves away.”

  “Jim means he couldn’t tear himself away,” Smoky corrected.

  “That’s right,” J.R. added. “Besides a double order of everything, Jim also polished off an entire apple crisp, all by himself… as well as two pots of coffee.”

  “I reckon that’s so,” Jim conceded.

  “Well, pull yourselves up chairs and we’ll palaver a spell,” Chuck said. “These men here are Mike Sutton, owner of the saddle shop, Sven Jorgenson, the blacksmith, and Jesse Holms, who runs the feed store. Men, Rangers Blaw… Blah…”

  “BLUH-zhick,” Jim helped, as he settled into a chair. “Told you it’s easier to just call me Jim.”

  “And you’re dang right about that,” Chuck agreed, with a laugh. “Rangers Jim, Smoky McCue, and J.R. Huggins,” Chuck concluded.

  Handshakes were exchanged all around.

  “Glad to see Austin’s finally tryin’ to do somethin’ about those Ghost Riders,” Holms said. “I hear tell they’ve been raisin’ Hell all over half the state.”

  “Yeah, but even you Rangers can’t do anythin’ about them, although we appreciate your tryin’,” Sutton said. “Those riders just come outta nowhere, strike, then disappear into thin air, seems like. You’ll never catch ’em.”

  “Oh, we will catch up to ’em, you can bet your hat on that,” Jim said. “It might take a while, but we will run them to ground.”

  “And when we do, they’ll be sorry for ever startin’ up trouble, and causin’ so much death and destruction,” Smoky added.

  “You mean you’re gonna gun them down, rather’n takin’ the chance of bringin’ ’em in for trial, and them mebbe gettin’ away with what they’ve done?” Jorgenson asked. “That’s a fine idea, although even that’s more’n they deserve.”

  “Smoky didn’t say that,” J.R. answered. “It depends on what those men do when we finally find ’em. We’re duty bound to bring ’em in alive, if we can. But, if they try’n fight, rather than surrender, well…”

  “Enough said, Ranger,” Eddie said. “You men want a drink?”

  “I can stand a beer,” J.R. said.

  “Same here,” Smoky answered.

  “Sarsaparilla for me, or water if this place doesn’t have that,” Jim said.

  “We’ll have Marty bring your drinks right over,” Chuck said. He turned and signaled to the bartender, who hurried over to their table, wiping his hands on his apron.

  “I see the Rangers have arrived,” he said. “Glad to have you in Brady, gentlemen, at least what little bit those Ghost Riders left of it. I’m Marty Halloran. This is my place. What can I get for you?”

  “Jim Blawcyzk. Sarsaparilla,” Jim requested.

  “Nothin’ stronger?” Halloran asked.

  “Nope,” Jim replied. “I don’t begrudge any man his liquor, but I never touch the stuff. Just never developed a taste for it.”

  “All right, one sarsaparilla,” Halloran said. “What about you two?”

  “Beer for me,” J.R. said.

  “Same here,” Smoky added.

  “Comin’ right up.”

  “And when you come back with those drinks, Marty, plan on stayin’ with us for a couple of minutes,” Chuck said. “The Rangers are lookin’ for any information which might help lead ’em to those Ghost Riders. I know there’s a thing or two you can tell ’em.”

  “Glad to do anything I can do to help,” Halloran answered. “Be right back with those drinks. And they’re on the house. No arguments,” he said, when Jim started to object. “Your runnin’ down the men who destroyed this town is more’n enough payment. Not that I think you’ll be able to. I figure, even if you do catch up with the Ghost Riders, they’ll cut you down before you ever have a chance to get off a shot. And I hate takin’ money from dead men.” Shaking his head, he headed for the bar.

  “Nice to see he has so much confidence in us,” Smoky muttered.

  “It’s not that, so much,” Sutton said. “We’ve all seen firsthand what those men can do, while you haven’t. I know how tough you Rangers are, and if anyone can bring those men to justice, it’s you boys. But you’re buckin’ mighty long odds… mighty long.”

  “We’ve bucked those before,” Jim said. “Ain’t lost so far… although we’ve been roughed up a mite. But that hasn’t stopped us yet, and these Ghost Riders, whoever they are, ain’t gonna stop us either. We’ll get ’em, one way or the other.”

  “I hope you’re right, Ranger,” Sutton said. “Well, here’s Marty with your drinks.”

  Halloran placed mugs of beer in front of Smoky and J
.R., and a bottle of pop, along with an empty glass, in front of Jim. He pulled a chair from under the next table, reversed it and straddled it.

  “Enjoy the drinks, men, and there’s plenty more if you want,” he said. “Now, I’ve got to get back to my other customers, so ask your questions and let me return to work.”

  “Of course,” Jim said. “There’s really only one. Did you hear or see anythin’ which might help us identify any of those men?”

  “Just this,” Halloran said. “The man who appeared to be leadin’ the outfit had a kind of unusual voice. It was sort of thin and reedy-soundin’. But it was also a voice that you’d listen to, when it gave an order.”

  “Marty’s right,” Sutton agreed. “The leader had a distinctive voice, all right. Kinda like mebbe his vocal cords had been damaged or somethin’. There was a bit of a wheeze to it. He rode kind of funny, too. Sat a bit twisted in the saddle, kinda like he was hurt, or mebbe crippled up a bit, in his right side. Of course, I could be wrong. Mebbe it was just the way the robe he was wearin’ was bunched up, or blowin’ in the wind. But it seemed to me he definitely had a problem of some sort, perhaps a broken bone or cracked ribs that didn’t heal quite right.”

  “Well, that’ll help,” Jim said. “Marty, unless you’ve got somethin’ else to add, I’m finished questionin’ you.”

  “Wish I could give you more, Ranger, but that’s all I can say,” Halloran answered. “I’d better get back to the bar. A couple of hands from the Double D just came in, and they look mighty thirsty.”

  “Go ahead, and we’re obliged,” Jim answered.

  “Glad to help,” Halloran said.

  “Ranger, I’ve got somethin’ which also might help,” Holms said. “I heard the hombre leadin’ the bunch call out a couple of names. One was Hack. The other was Mayberry.”

  “Now we’re startin’ to get somewhere,” Jim said. “We have a voice, a man who might be partially crippled, and now two names.”