The Ghost Riders

by James J. Griffin

  “I’ll do that,” Hollings agreed. He and Charlie turned, as a man wearing a city marshal’s shield, and carrying a shotgun, walked into the house.

  “Evenin’, Marshal,” Hollings said.

  “Les,” the marshal answered, then settled his gaze on Charlie.

  “Ranger, what in the blue blazes happened here? There’s a body, or what’s left of a body, lyin’ in the middle of the bridge, I see two more in here, and folks tell me there was quite a gun battle goin’ on.”

  “Howdy, Marshal. Glad you got here so fast. My name’s Charlie Blawcyzk. There’s also another body up in one of the towers, and still one more floatin’ down the Brazos. Me’n my pard, Ty Tremblay, are takin’ the Haskell gang to Huntsville. Some of their kin set up an ambush for us, right here on the bridge. We were able to bust through it, with some help from a cattle outfit.”

  “Seems like you had a time doin’ that,” the marshal answered. “I’m Alf Neill. I’ll need a few more details than that.”

  “I’ll be happy to give you those, Marshal, but I have to get back to where I left Ty. He’s by himself with our prisoners. I can’t leave him there for long. Can you get a few men to take care of the bodies? That way, you can come along with me. We’ll want to put the prisoners up for tonight in the city

  “I can arrange all of that, sure,” Neill said. “Meet you outside.”

  He went to press some of the bystanders into service, removing the dead outlaws.

  “All right. Mr. Hollings, Mrs. Hollings, I’ll need to talk with you a bit later,” Charlie said. “If you need anything, just let me know, when I get back.”

  “We’ll be just fine, now, thanks to you, Ranger,” Hollings said.

  “Yes. We’re very grateful,” Mrs. Hollings added.

  “It’s all part of the job,” Charlie answered, with a shrug. “I’m just sorry you folks got caught in the middle.”

  ● ● ●

  Charlie had to wait a few minutes for Neill to get two men willing to climb the tower to retrieve the body of the man inside, then he and the marshal headed back to where Ty was waiting. Cummings and Purdy had rounded up most of the cows, which were now peacefully munching grass alongside the trail.

  “Everythin’ all right back there, Charlie?” Ty asked.

  “Sure is,” Charlie answered. “The keeper and his family were tied up. I turned ’em loose. They weren’t hurt, just frightened out of their wits. George, Floyd will be all right. He only took a slug through his arm. He’ll be along shortly, with the rest of your outfit. Everythin’ quiet here?”

  “Quiet as a church on Monday mornin’,” Ty answered. “I think losin’ their chance to break loose has taken the starch out of our boys. That, and seein’ their brother’s brain blasted out.”

  “Good,” Charlie said. “This here’s Waco Marshal Alf Neill. He’s got some men pickin’ up the bodies we left behind. He’s also gonna hold the Haskells in the town jail for us tonight. Dunno about you, Ty, but I could stand a night in a hotel room, and a good meal.”

  “Boy howdy, you’ve got that right,” Ty said. “Obliged, Marshal.”

  “Always happy to help the Rangers,” Neill answered. “I see you’ve got one more body for the coroner. One of you plug him?”

  “Nope. One of the men tryin’ to get me got him by mistake,” Ty explained. “It was close, though. Reckon I’ve got to buy me a new shirt, if any of the stores are still open.”

  “Quite a few of ’em stay open late, to accommodate the drovers comin’ up the Chisholm,” Neill explained.

  “That’s good to know,” Cummings said. “We were plannin’ on pickin’ up supplies tonight, until we found out we couldn’t get across the river. Guess we’ll still be able to do that after all.”

  “You will be,” Neill said. “But I will need to talk with you and your men, to get the information I need for my report. I assume you’ll be runnin’ your herd into the stock yard corrals for the night?”

  “That’s right, Marshal.”

  “Fine. Tell you what. Why don’t you do that, while me’n the Rangers get these hombres locked up for the night? After your cows are settled, meet us at the Frontier Saloon. They serve a mean steak, the drinks are good, and the gals ain’t hard on the eyes, either. We can palaver while you eat, and wash the dust from your throats.”

  “That sounds like a good plan to me, Marshal,” Cummings said. “We’ll get there soon as we can.”

  “You get all your cows back, George?” Charlie asked.

  “All but two, that broke their legs,” Cummings answered. “Don’t worry about reimbursin’ the Circle M for two cows. We’ll butcher ’em for the boys to eat along the trail. And it was worth losin’ two cows to bust that Haskell outfit.”

  “Couldn’t have done that without you,” Charlie said. “See you in town. Ty, Marshal, let’s get movin’.”

  ● ● ●

  The surviving Haskells, still uttering little protest, were ensconced in the Waco jail. Once they were locked up, Neill took Charlie and Ty to the Brazos Bend Mercantile, where Ty purchased a new shirt, and both replenished their cartridges. After giving Alf Neill their reports, then having supper and a few beers, they left their horses at the Waco Livery. Now, they were in their room at the Hueco Hotel. Ty was sitting in a straight backed chair. He had slipped off his ruined shirt, washed out the bullet burn along the top of his shoulder, and was now coating it with salve. Charlie was at the wash stand, cleaning up.

  “Boy howdy, it’s been a day, hasn’t it, pard?” Ty said.

  “It sure has been,” Charlie agreed. “I hope we don’t have another one like this, for a long, long time. I’m bushed. How’s that shoulder?”

  “It’ll be fine,” Ty answered. “I skinned my knees worse’n this when I was a kid, lots of times.”

  He replaced the top on the tin of salve, pulled off his boots, then stretched out on his bed.

  “This is the softest mattress I’ve been on in a coon’s age,” he said. “I’m gonna sleep real good tonight.”

  “I sure hope I can,” Charlie said, as he ran a washcloth over his chest. “There’s somethin’ stickin’ in my craw, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How’d those hombres know when we’d be crossin’ the Brazos?”

  “That’s been gnawin’ at my guts, too. You reckon someone tipped ’em off? Mebbe someone back in Brownwood?”

  “I wouldn’t bet my hat against it, Ty. Mebbe even one of the deputies. And we’re sure gonna find out.”

  “You figure one of the Haskells can tell us, Charlie?”

  “Yup. And we’ll get it out of ’em, any way we have to.”

  “Not here in Waco, though.”

  “No. Not here in Waco. We’ll wait until tomorrow night, after we set up camp.”

  “After what they put us through today, I’m lookin’ forward to that.”

  “So am I, Ty. So am I.”

  Charlie finished washing, then toweled himself off. He sat on the edge of his bed, removed his boots, and settled in the bed, lying on his back and gazing at the ceiling, while reciting his evening prayers. Exhaustion soon claimed both he and Ty. Despite their still-jangled nerves, both were soon fast asleep.

  ● ● ●

  The next day passed uneventfully enough. The surviving Haskells rode sullenly for the most part, although by late afternoon they had regained some of their bravado, and were once again claiming they would break loose before ever reaching Huntsville.

  Camp that night was a dry one, in a shallow wash cut through the mostly level prairie. There was no sign of rain, and this far away from the hills no threat of a distant thunderstorm suddenly filling the wash with a flash flood. The wind had been blowing hard, and hot, all day, so the low walls of the wash would provide at least some relief.

  “About time to find out how those drygulchers knew when we’d be crossin’ the Brazos, ain’t it, Charlie?” Ty said, once supper was finished. He gazed balefully at their prisoners.
>
  “I reckon it is at that,” Charlie agreed. “How about it?” he called to the Haskells. “Any of you care to explain how your friends knew exactly when we’d be hittin’ the Waco bridge?”

  He was met with stony silence.

  “It’s up to you boys,” he said. “There’s still three more days from here to Huntsville. We can make ’em as easy on you, or as hard, as you’d like.”

  “And I, personally, hope you sidewinders choose the hard way,” Ty added.

  Again, they were met with silence.

  “Okay, if that’s the way it’s gonna be,” Charlie said. “Pick out one of ’em, Ty.”

  “With pleasure.” Ty looked over the prisoners, then walked up to Isaac.

  “I think you’ll do just fine,” he said. He unlocked the chains holding Isaac in the wagon, but left his wrists and ankles shackled.

  “Out,” he ordered.

  “What if I say no?” Isaac retorted.

  “That’s not an option.” Ty cracked the barrel of his pistol across Isaac’s jaw, then dragged him out of the wagon and dumped him to the dirt. The gun’s sight tore a long gash across Isaac’s chin.

  “Now, get up,” he snarled.

  Isaac rolled onto his belly, then pushed himself up to his hands and knees. He shook his head, sending blood splattering from his ripped-open chin.

  “I ain’t goin’… nowhere, Ranger,” he muttered. Ty kicked him in the gut, driving the air from his lungs. Isaac rolled onto his back, moaning. Ty aimed his six-gun right between his eyes.

  “I said get up, or I’ll kill you right here and now. No one’ll be sorry about that, and no one’ll doubt my story that I shot you while you were tryin’ to escape. What’s it gonna be?”

  His eyes filled with hate, Isaac managed to pull himself upright, He stood hunched over, struggling for breath.

  “This one yours, or mine, Charlie?” Ty asked.

  “You chose him, so he’s all yours, pard,” Charlie answered.

  “Thanks,” Ty said. “Let’s go, you.” He grabbed Isaac by the shoulder, spun him around, and marched him around a bend in the wash.

  “What… what’s your pardner gonna do to my brother, Ranger?” Moses stammered.

  “Depends.” Charlie shrugged. “If he answers Ty’s questions, nothin’. If he doesn’t, then…”

  As if in answer, a screech of pain came from down the wash.

  “You get the idea?” Charlie concluded.

  ● ● ●

  “What the devil was that all about, Ranger?” Isaac asked, after Ty let loose with that blood-curdling yell.

  “Far as your kinfolk know, that was you doin’ the screechin’,” Ty said. That’s to give ’em somethin’ to think about. You, too. Now, how can I convince you to tell me what I want to know… how those drygulchers knew when to wait for us back in Waco.”

  “You… you can’t, Ranger. Besides, I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?” Ty said. He slapped Isaac across the mouth.

  “It don’t matter whether you believe me or not,” Isaac insisted. “I just don’t know.”

  “I guess I’ll just have to make you talk.” Ty took his Bowie knife out of its sheath, and poked its sharp tip into Isaac's belly, just above his belt buckle. A splotch of blood appeared on his shirt.

  “You want me to gut you, like a hog bein’ butchered?”

  “No… no, Ranger.”

  “Then are you gonna talk?”

  “I told you I don’t know nothin’!” Isaac cried. “Don’t do this, Ranger. Please, don’t shove that knife in my guts.”

  “Why shouldn’t I, after what you and your outfit have done to so many innocent folks, and after you tried to have us drygulched?”

  “’Cause… cause you’re a Ranger. You ain’t built that way.”

  “Boy howdy, have you got that wrong,” Ty said, with a wicked grin. “I’d as soon gut you as look at you. But mebbe you’re right.” He pulled the knife away from Isaac’s belly.

  “Thanks… thanks, Ranger,” Isaac gasped. Sweat was beading on his forehead, and made dark circles under his armpits. A dark stain appeared on his pants, where he had wet himself.

  “Mebbe I’ll just slit your throat from ear to ear, instead.”

  Ty put the point of his knife against the soft tissue at the base of Isaac’s throat. Again, he pricked the skin, just enough to draw blood.

  “Go ahead and kill me, Ranger,” Isaac whimpered. “You’re gonna do it anyway, so get it over with. But you’re not gettin’ another word out of me.”

  “Have it your way, then, Mister,” Ty snapped. He drove his knee into Isaac’s groin, jackknifing him, then kneed him in the chin as he doubled over. Isaac fell to his face, out cold.

  “Reckon I underestimated you,” Ty muttered. “I figured you as the weak one of the bunch, the one who’d most likely break. Guess I was wrong.”

  He grabbed the unconscious man by the collar and dragged him back to the campsite. Once there, he let go of his grip. Isaac dropped limply to the ground.

  “He tell you anythin’?” Charlie asked.

  “Nope. Claimed he didn’t know anythin’,” Ty answered. “So I cut out his lyin’ tongue. Reckon it’s your turn to give ’er a whirl.”

  “I was kinda hopin’ he wouldn’t talk, so I’d have a chance to work on one of these skunks,” Charlie said. “Only question is, which one?”

  He looked over the other four prisoners. They all looked at him stoically, but he noticed Ezekiel swallowing hard. Fear shone in the man’s dark eyes. Charlie pointed at him.

  “You.”

  “Me. I don’t know nothin’. Nothin’ at all,” Ezekiel answered.

  “Let’s find out exactly how much you ‘don’t know’,” Charlie retorted. He unchained Ezekiel from the wagon wheel, then pushed him toward a mesquite, fifty feet away. Once they reached it, he spun Ezekiel around, shoved him up against its trunk, and jabbed his Colt into the man’s gut.

  “I ain’t gonna waste as much time with you as my pardner did with your worthless cousin,” Charlie growled. “I know every one of you was waitin’ for that ambush to happen, which means you also knew how your friends would know when to find us at the bridge. Either spill your guts, right now, or I’ll let my gun spill’em for you.”

  “I can’t… I mean, I didn’t know there was gonna be an ambush,” Ezekiel stuttered. “You gotta believe me, Ranger.”

  “Wrong answer.” Charlie stepped back, thumbed back the hammer of his gun, pulled the trigger, and sent a bullet into the mesquite’s trunk, just alongside Ezekiel’s head. The slug took a chunk out of his left ear, and deafened it.

  “You want to try and give me the right answer this time?”

  “Can’t… can’t.” Ezekiel shook his head.

  Charlie aimed lower, this time putting his bullet between Ezekiel’s legs, just below his groin. It burned a path through the crotch of the prisoner’s pants before burying itself in the mesquite’s trunk.

  “I’ve got four bullets left in my gun, and a cartridge belt chock full of ’em,” Charlie said, coldly. His eyes, so much like his father’s, glittered like chips of blue ice. “My next shot’s gonna be an inch or so higher than that one. The one after that’ll be another inch higher. You’re gonna die real slow, hard, and painful, if you don’t talk… and I mean right now.”

  “All right, all right.” Ezekiel said, sobbing. “Just don’t shoot any more, Ranger. Please. We set up that ambush.”

  “How?”

  “Our cousin, Jude, was watchin’ the jail ever since we got caught. The others were camped in the brush outside of Brownwood, waitin’ for him to tell ’em we were bein’ moved. We knew the odds were whoever took us to Huntsville would cross the Brazos at Waco, and that the bridge would be the perfect spot for a drygulchin’. We figured we had a foolproof scheme.”

  “The others were your kin, too?”

  “Yeah, yeah. All cousins.”

  “They trailed us from Brownwood?” />
  “That’s right. Jude can trail without bein’ spotted as good as any Comanche. He stayed about an hour behind. The rest hung back of him, about two hours. Once Jude saw where we stopped for the night, he rode back to the others. That way, they were far enough behind you wouldn’t discover ’em, but were close enough they wouldn’t lose us. Once we were a day out of Waco, they rode on ahead, so they’d be waitin’ for you.”

  “Which one was Jude?”

  “The one you shot into the Brazos.”

  “Any more of your kinfolk waitin’ to bushwhack us between here and Huntsville?”

  “I… I can’t tell you, Ranger.”

  “You’d better.”

  Charlie stuck the barrel of his pistol up Ezekiel’s left nostril.

  “All right, all right. Don’t kill me, Ranger,” Ezekiel pleaded, then broke down, blubbering. “There’s no more left. They all got killed, back in Waco.”

  “That’s what I wanted to know,” Charlie said. He pulled Ezekiel away from the mesquite, shoved the barrel of his gun against his spine, and walked him back to the wagon.

  “Well?” Ty said.

  “He spilled his guts. We were bein’ trailed, all the way from Brownwood,” Charlie answered. “He claims they’ve got no kin left, after we got those bushwhackers. Says there won’t be any more ambushes. But we’re gonna be real careful. Somehow, I don’t believe that, one bit. Soon as I get him secured, I’ll give you the whole story.”

  Ezekiel was chained back to a wagon wheel, then Charlie told Ty everything the Haskell brother had divulged to him.

  “You’re right, Charlie,” Ty said. “I reckon they’ve got some more friends, or kin, who are gonna make one more attempt to help ’em escape. Well, at least we’ve only got three more days to Huntsville. Once this bunch is safely behind bars, we’ll finally get to relax. Speakin’ of which, since you’ve got first watch tonight, I’d better try’n get some shut-eye. I’ll see you in four hours.”

  “See you then,” Charlie said. He poured himself a cup of coffee, picked up his rifle, and settled with his back against a fallen cottonwood. Ty went over to his bedroll, spread out his blankets, and crawled under them.