The Ghost Riders

by James J. Griffin

  There was no railroad between Austin and Brownwood, so the trip would be made entirely on horseback. Pushing hard, Charlie and Ty hoped to average around forty miles per day, covering the approximately one hundred and forty miles in less than four days. The first night, they made camp shortly after sundown alongside a small waterhole. The spring which fed it would provide just enough water for themselves and their horses, plus it watered a small area of bunch grass, which would give the mounts good grazing for the night. Splash, Charlie’s bald faced overo gelding, named for the white splotches which stood out starkly against his black hair, and Bandit, Ty’s palomino quarter horse mustang cross, were unsaddled and tended to, before their riders’ needs. A Ranger often depended on his horse for his very life, so keeping a mount in top condition was paramount. The two horses were thoroughly groomed, allowed to drink their fills, then picketed to graze before Charlie and Ty turned their attention to their own supper. After washing their faces, firewood was gathered, a fire started, and soon bacon and beans were sizzling in the pan, and coffee boiling. After eating, the dishes and utensils were scrubbed out, and placed alongside the dying fire for use the next morning. With the weather being warm, the fire wasn’t needed for warmth while Charlie and Ty slept. They spread out their bedrolls, pulled off their boots, gunbelts, and hats, and stretched out atop the blankets, their heads pillowed on their saddles. Their six-guns were at their sides, loose in their holsters, ready for instant action in the event of any intruders.

  “Sure is a pretty night,” Ty said, as he looked up at the stars. “Not too hot and sticky, neither. I reckon we’ll sleep good tonight, Chip.”

  “I reckon,” Charlie said, unconvincingly. “And don’t forget, I’m not called ‘Chip’ anymore.” For a while, the nickname “Chip” had been hung on Charlie, after his being called “a chip off the ol’ Blawcyzk” by Texas State Adjutant General W.H. King. Charlie decided he hated the nickname, and wanted no part of it. It took quite some time, and several fistfights with some of the other Rangers, to convince everyone to go back to calling him Charlie.

  “I’m sorry. Just a slip of the tongue, that’s all,” Ty said. “Somethin’ wrong, pard? You sound a bit down.”

  “Just that it’s my first night away from Mary Jane since we got married. It’s gonna take time to get used to leavin’ her behind,” Charlie explained. “I’m feelin’ kinda lonesome. You’ll understand, if you ever decide to finally ask Josie Montrose to tie the knot.”

  “I’m plannin’ on doin’ just that,” Ty said. “Gonna surprise her with a ring on her birthday. But what do you mean, you’re feelin’ lonesome? I’m here with you, ain’t I? Your old pardner, your buddy and best friend.”

  “It’s about time you asked her,” Charlie said. “As far as bein’ here with you, I hate to tell you this, Ty, but it ain’t the same,” he continued. “You’re nowhere near as pretty as Mary Jane, and sleepin’ next to you ain’t hardly the same as lyin’ alongside my wife.”

  “What do you mean?” Ty said, in mock indignation. “I think I’ve got a pretty good figure. I’ve been told my face is sorta handsome, too.”

  “I’m sorry, pard, but your curves ain’t in the right places, and your parts ain’t the same,” Charlie retorted. “And I don’t ever plan on kissin’ you, nor anyone who has to shave. Not even Moustache Gertie at the Hangman’s Saloon.”

  “I should hope not,” Ty said, with a laugh. “Hey, you haven’t told me about your honeymoon yet. Was it everythin’ you expected it to be?”

  “It sure was, and then some,” Charlie answered. “Galveston’s a real pretty town.”

  “How about the nights? When you and Mary Jane… well, you know.” Ty left his question unfinished.

  “There’s no adequate way to describe it,” Charlie said. “And it wasn’t just at night, either.”

  “You mean… durin’ the day, too?”

  “Yup. I think I enjoy makin’ love in the afternoon, with the sun shinin’, even more than at night.”

  “You’re a lucky man, Charlie.”

  “You will be too, Ty, if Josie says yes. And I’m certain she will. You two were meant to be together. Now, we’d better get some shut-eye. The sun’ll be up before we know it.”

  “All right. G’night, Charlie.”

  “G’night, Ty.”

  ● ● ●

  Late in the afternoon three days later, Charlie and Ty rode down the main street of Brownwood. Since their badges were in their shirt pockets, and they showed no other signs of being Texas Rangers, but appeared to be merely just two more grubline riding cowboys, most of the passersby paid them no attention. Both were young and lanky, close to the same height and weight, but different in coloring and complexion. Charlie was as fair as his father, with the same blonde hair and crystalline blue eyes, while Ty had brown hair and eyes. In addition, unlike Charlie, his usually clean-shaven friend, who now had several days worth of whiskers stubbling his jaw, Ty had grown a full beard. They rode up to the horse trough in the town square, allowed Splash and Bandit short drinks, then rode across the street to the Brown County Sheriff’s Office and Jail. They dismounted, tied their horses, then ducked under the hitch rail and entered the office. The young deputy at the front desk put aside the report he was working on and glanced up when they stepped inside. He had a fresh bullet burn across his forehead.

  “Can I help you fellers?” he asked.

  “Mebbe,” Charlie answered. “Is the sheriff in?”

  “He is,” the deputy confirmed. “But mebbe you don’t need to see the sheriff. I can probably handle whatever business you’ve got with him. I’m Deputy Judd Brandon.”

  “We appreciate the offer, Deputy; however, we really need to see Sheriff Thornsby,” Charlie said. He took his badge from his shirt pocket and showed it to the deputy, then pinned it on his shirt. “I’m Texas Ranger Charlie Blawcyzk. My pardner is Ty Tremblay. We’re here to pick up the Haskells and haul ’em down to Huntsville.”

  “You’re here for the Haskells?” the deputy exclaimed. “Boy howdy, will the sheriff ever be glad to see you. Sheriff!”

  “What is it now, Judd?” a tired voice called from the back office. “I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

  “There’s a couple of Rangers here for the Haskells.”

  “Why didn’t you say so? I’ll be right out. Just give me a minute.”

  “Okay, Sheriff.”

  “I sure don’t envy you boys, havin’ to try’n get that Haskell bunch down to Huntsville, no, sir, not at all,” Brandon said. “We lost several good men capturin’ them. I nearly got killed myself. It was one of them who gave me this scar across my forehead. Another inch and…. Toughest bunch I’ve ever come across. And the Rangers only sent two of you?” He shook his head. “Don’t see how you’re gonna make it all the way. No sir, I purely don’t.”

  Brandon would have continued his rant, but stopped when the sheriff came out from his office.

  “Rangers. I’m Sheriff Merle Thornsby,” he introduced himself, shaking their hands. “I’m plumb glad to see you.” Thornsby was a short, stocky man, in his mid-forties, with dark green eyes and auburn hair, which curled under the flat-brimmed Stetson he wore.

  “Charlie Blawcyzk.”

  “Ty Tremblay.”

  “Do you have your identification, and orders?” Thornsby asked.

  “Got both right here,” Charlie assured him. He pulled the paper Captain Storm had given him from his vest pocket, and his commission from his billfold. Ty also took out his badge and commission. Once Thornsby had examined all the documents, he returned them. Ty also pinned his badge to his shirt.

  “Well, everything seems to be in order,” Thornsby said. “Would you like to see the prisoners now, or wait until a bit later?”

  “We’ll see ’em now,” Charlie said. “We figure this is the last chance we’ll have to relax in a town until after we deliver those men to Huntsville, so we’d like to get this part over with. That way, we don’t have to d
eal with ’em again until we pull out in the mornin’.”

  “That makes sense,” Thornsby agreed. “Let’s go. Judd, anyone comes in that door until we’re back, you don’t let him outta your sight. I’m not takin’ any chances with the Haskells.”

  “All right, Sheriff.”

  “This way, men.” Thornsby lifted a large ring of keys from a peg, then gestured to a thick oak door. He unlocked the door, revealing a bank of several cells. Three of those each held a pair of men. They all got up from their bunks and stood glaring at the three lawmen.

  “There you are, Rangers,” Thornsby said. “Joshua, Samuel, Obadiah, and Ezekiel Haskell. And their cousins, Isaac and Moses. Six of the sorriest excuses for human beings to ever walk the face of the Earth. Obadiah’s the ringleader of the bunch, so you’ll need to keep a close watch on him, especially.”

  His statement was met with a round of vicious cursing from the prisoners.

  “Settle down, or you might all just get killed tryin’ to escape before you ever have the chance to get to Huntsville, if you get my drift,” Thornsby ordered. “It wouldn’t take much of an excuse for me to plug the lot of you, right here in this jail. No one’d care if I did, in fact, they’d probably give me a medal. Now, in case you’re interested, these here are Rangers Blawcyzk and Tremblay. They’ll be startin’ you on your way to Huntsville, soon as the sun’s up tomorrow.”

  “I wouldn’t count on gettin’ very far, Rangers,” Obadiah said, with a curse. “Our kinfolk ain’t gonna let us rot in jail. I’d advise you to make it easy on yourselves, and turn us loose as soon as we’re outta town.”

  Charlie stepped closer to the cells, his blue eyes glittering like chips of ice.

  “Mister, let me put this simple enough even someone dumb as an ox like you are can understand it. Anybody who tries to take you from us is gonna end up good and dead. As far as you and your brothers or cousins, as soon as any shootin’ starts, you’ll catch the first slugs. And I’ll make certain you get it first.”

  Obadiah slammed himself against the bars, reaching for Charlie’s throat. Thornsby pulled out his pistol and leveled it at the outlaw’s stomach.

  “Back off, Obadiah, or I’ll gut shoot you right now,” he ordered. “Back off, I said.”

  Muttering curses, Obadiah stepped away from the bars.

  “You seen enough, Rangers?” Thornsby asked.

  “I reckon so,” Charlie said. “Let’s go. We’ll be back for these men before sunup.”

  They left the prisoners and went back to the office. Charlie and Ty removed their badges and slipped them back into their shirt pockets.

  “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Thornsby asked.

  “We’ll want to put up our horses, then get a room,” Ty answered. “It’ll probably be the last one we see until after we reach Huntsville.”

  “Fine, fine,” Thornsby said. “Tell you what. I’ll take you over to the livery stable. Hank Little runs it. He’ll take good care of your horses. While we’re there, you can look over the team and wagon you’ll be transportin’ your prisoners with. Then, we’ll get you settled in at the Brownwood Hotel. It ain’t much of a place, but it’s clean.”

  “We spend most of our nights sleepin’ on the hard ground, so most any hotel’s an improvement,” Charlie said.

  “I reckon,” Thornsby answered, grinning. “Now, as far as your meals, I’d go to the Brown Cow. Best chuck for miles around. And if you want to wet your whistles, head for Whiskey Jack’s.”

  “We’ll take your advice on all three, Sheriff,” Charlie said. “We’ve also got to stop by the telegraph office and send a wire to Cap’n Storm, lettin’ him know we’ve arrived.”

  “Good. Now, let’s go meet Hank.”

  Charlie and Ty retrieved their horses, and Thornsby led them down two blocks, to an old, but well-maintained, stable.

  “Hank, you around here somewhere?” he called, when they stepped inside.

  “I’m out back, Merle,” the hostler called. “Checkin’ over this rig that’ll be haulin’ the prisoners, one last time.”

  “Good. Keep on doin’ just that,” Thornsby called back. “The Rangers who’ll be escortin’ ’em to Huntsville are here. They want to look it over.”

  He took Charlie and Ty out the back door of the barn. Hank Little was in the wagon bed, checking the restraints which would hold the prisoners one final time. He gave a tug on one chain, then jumped to the ground.

  “There she be, boys,” he said. “Solid as me and Pete Houley, the blacksmith, could make her. I guarantee you no one’s gonna get loose from those shackles.”

  Little was in his late fifties, tall and thin, with a toothy smile, teeth stained from years of chewing tobacco, and a whisker-stubbled jaw.

  “Rangers Blawcyzk and Tremblay, Hank,” Thornsby said. “They’ll need stalls for their horses.”

  “That’s not a problem,” Little said. “What time are you plannin’ on pullin’ out tomorrow?”

  “Just after sunup,” Charlie said.

  “I’ll be ready and waitin’ for you,” Little promised. “Let me take your cayuses. I’ll get ’em settled while you inspect the rig. You’ll want to see the horses that’ll be pullin’ it, too. They’re the big bays in the first two stalls on the right when you come back inside.”

  “Much obliged,” Charlie said. He and Ty handed their horses’ reins to Little, who led them into the stable, while they began their inspection of the wagon.

  “This sure seems solid enough, Charlie,” Ty said.

  “It sure does,” Charlie agreed. The wagon had been fitted with double oak planks for its sides and floor, to which were secured heavy eyebolts, six each in the floors and sides. Heavy chains connected to those eyebolts would be attached to the shackles fettering the prisoners’ wrists and ankles. “I wish it was a covered and barred prison wagon, but it’ll do.”

  “I told Hank and Pete to make is as strong as they possibly could,” Thornsby said.

  Charlie and Ty went over the wagon with a fine-toothed comb, checking everything from the tongue, to the bed, to the springs, wheels and brakes, and, most importantly, any possible flaw in the restraints.

  “Well, is the rig satisfactory?” Thornsby asked, once they were done.

  “It’s as ready as it’s gonna be,” Ty answered. “Reckon we might as well head inside to check out the horses.”

  “Might as well,” Charlie agreed. They went back into the barn, where Hank had already unsaddled, rubbed down, and fed and watered their horses.

  “Those are the horses you’ll be usin’, right next to you,” Little said. “Mack and Mabel.” He indicated two heavy-boned draft animals.

  “We’ll look ’em over,” Charlie said. He checked out Mabel, while Ty inspected Mack. The bays were solid, well-muscled, and appeared suitable for the long journey to Huntsville.

  “What d’ya think of them?” Little asked.

  “They’ll do,” Charlie said. “It’ll be a slow trip, with them havin’ to pull that heavy wagon, but they appear capable of handlin’ the chore.”

  “They will,” Little assured him. “There’ll be a sack of oats in the wagon for ’em before you leave.”

  “That’ll sure help. Obliged,” Charlie said.

  “What’ll we do with the rig once we reach Huntsville?” Ty asked.

  “The state’s already paid for it, so it’s Texas’s property,” Thornsby explained. “You’ll leave it at Huntsville.”

  “Ty, everything’s as ready as it can be. Let’s get our room and supper,” Charlie said. “Haircuts, shaves, and baths, too, if the barbershop’s still open. We probably won’t get those again until after this job is done.”

  “Right,” Ty agreed. They left their horses, with pats to their noses and chunks of leftover biscuits, in Little’s capable hands, and went with Sheriff Thornsby to arrange their own lodging for the night. Knowing they would be getting an early start, Charlie and Ty, after getting shaves, haircuts, and taking baths,
then having supper, spent only a short time in the saloon, nursing a couple of beers, declining an invitation to take part in a game of poker. Most of the conversations in town seemed to revolve around the Haskell gang, and the Rangers’ odds of actually getting them to Huntsville. Bets were being taken on their chances, with most being placed against the Rangers. For Charlie and Ty, the talk quickly grew tiresome, so they finished their beers, excused themselves, and went back to their room. They were sleeping before the clock struck nine.

  ● ● ●

  Charlie and Ty ate an early breakfast, got their horses, and were at the jail forty minutes before the sun rose. Hank Little brought the wagon over for them. Sheriff Thornsby, along with several heavily armed deputies and volunteers, was waiting.

  “We’ll bring those boys out whenever you say, Rangers,” Thornsby said.

  “There’s no point in wastin’ time. Bring ’em on out,” Charlie answered.

  “Judd, let’s get ’em out here,” Thornsby ordered.

  “Right away, Sheriff. I’ll sure be glad to see those s.o.b.’s taken off our hands.” Thornsby, Brandon, and the rest of the deputies went inside to get the prisoners. Charlie and Ty, holding their rifles at the ready, waited near the wagon. A few moments later, the prisoners, heavily shackled at wrists and ankles, surrounded by lawmen, emerged from the jail. They shuffled down the steps and over to the wagon.

  “Climb on up there, one at a time. You first, Ezekiel,” Charlie ordered.

  Muttering under his breath, Ezekiel Haskell clambered into the wagon, then sat down. His shackles were attached to an eyebolt in the sides and floor of the wagon, and locked.