“That’s plenty,” Jim assured him. “It tells us which way to ride. Gracias. Reckon we’d better get movin’. They’ve already got a good jump on us.”
“No problem at all, Ranger. Good luck,” Sloane said. As he did, thunder rumbled in the distance. Smoky cursed.
“Jim, I don’t reckon we’re goin’ anywhere tonight, unless it’s to find a place to hole up and stay dry. Look at those clouds buildin’ up on the western horizon. There’s gonna be one whopper of a storm, and we’ll be ridin’ right into it.” He cursed again. “Those Ghost Riders seem to catch all the breaks.”
“And if it’s stormin’, that most likely means they’re gonna hit someplace again tonight,” J.R. added. “But Smoke’s right, Jim. We can’t trail ’em in that storm. We’ll just have to ride it out here, and start again fresh in the mornin’.”
“I hate to admit it, but you’re right,” Jim said. “Sloane, is there someplace we can put up our horses for the night, and roll out our blankets?”
Sloane rubbed his jaw before replying.
“Hmm. Lemme think. Let’s see. There’s a shed still standin’ behind what’s left of the depot. You can put your horses there. And you can sleep inside my office here. It’ll be crowded, and it smells of smoke. It nearly burned along with the rest of the town, but Floyd Shelby, my assistant, managed to put out the flames… just before he got shot in the back.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Jim answered. “C’mon, let’s get the horses put up, before the storm hits.”
“I’ll have stew heatin’ up when you get back,” Sloane called, as they turned their horses. “It ain’t much, but it’ll fill your bellies.”
“We appreciate that,” Jim said. “See you in a few minutes.”
Once the horses were unsaddled, rubbed down, and given hay and water, the Rangers shouldered their saddlebags and, carrying their rifles and bedrolls, returned to the freight office. The storm hit in full fury, wind whistling through the broken windows, causing the flame in the coal oil lamp to flicker and cast eerie shadows. Lighting flashed blindingly, while thunder cracked and rumbled.
“Reckon that means we won’t be able to talk with folks tonight,” Jim muttered. “They’ll all be takin’ shelter.”
“No one’d be able to tell you much more than I already did, Ranger,” Sloane said. “You boys might as well make the best of it. I’ve got some good sippin’ whiskey to go along with this here stew. It’ll warm your bellies just fine.”
Realizing they had no choice, knowing the fickle Texas weather had stymied their plans yet again, the Rangers ate a quick supper, then spread out their blankets and slid under them. Soon, their snores accompanied the fading rumble of the thunder, as the storm blew itself out.
● ● ●
The next morning dawned bright and clear. Jim and his partners took a short time to question some of the surviving residents of Millsap. As Sloane had said, no one could provide any more information. The raiders were dressed in white robes, wore white masks and hats, and rode white or light-colored horses. After raiding the town, they had headed west, and disappeared into the night. That was all anyone knew.
“I reckon we’ll just head in a westerly direction, and hope we can come up with some sign of those hombres,” Jim said, as he gave Sizzle a peppermint and a pat on the shoulder. “Seems like the only thing we can do. Mebbe that storm last night didn’t wipe out all their sign.”
“Hold on a minute, Jim,” Smoky said. “There’s a rider, comin’ hard.”
He pointed down the street, where a rider was whipping his exhausted horse, trying to get the last bit of speed out of the worn-out animal. He swerved his horse and slid the lathered bay to a halt when he spotted the Rangers. The rider had a bullet hole in the side of his shirt, which was streaked with blood. Another bullet burn marked the left side of his neck. His horse stood quivering, spraddle-legged, and head hanging low.
“You… you’re Rangers?” he gasped.
“We sure are,” Jim answered.
“Boy howdy, am I ever glad to see you,” the man answered. “The Ghost Riders hit Graham last night.”
“The Ghost Riders? Are you certain?” Jim asked.
“As certain as you’re standin’ there,” the man replied.
“All right. Get yourself patched up, mister, and your horse taken care of,” Jim answered. “Men, let’s go.”
He swung onto Sizzle’s back, dug his bootheels into the big paint’s ribs, and sent him leaping forward in a dead run.
● ● ●
It was almost forty-eight miles from Millsap to Graham. That would ordinarily be a close to two day trip for most riders, traveling at a steady pace. The Rangers’ horses were far superior mounts than most, used to covering long distances at a brutal pace, with little food and water, circumstances which would kill most horses. In addition, Chuck and Eddie were also well mounted, on compact cowponies with plenty of mustang blood. Except for brief stops to allow the horses a breather, a chance to snatch some grass and a short drink, while their riders gulped down jerky and hardtack, washed down with swallows of tepid water from their canteens, Jim maintained a ground-covering lope for most of the day. A little more than eight hours after leaving Millsap, they rode into Graham.
Like every other ill-fated settlement to which the Ghost Riders had paid a visit, most of Graham lay in ruins. Jim stopped at the first place there was any sign of life, the blacksmith shop. The town blacksmith, who was banging an iron hinge on his anvil, attempting to straighten it, looked up from his work and set aside his hammer.
“If you’re more of that Ghost Rider outfit, comin’ back to get what little you might’ve missed, you’re wastin’ your time,” he said. “They didn’t leave nothin’.”
“Mister, we’re Rangers, on the trail of the men who did this,” Jim said. “We just rode in from Millsap. That bunch hit there, before raidin’ your town.”
“Oh. Sorry, Rangers. Didn’t notice your badges, with the sweat in my eyes,” the blacksmith apologized. “I’m Jace Harper.”
“Lieutenant Jim Blawcyzk. Don’t trouble yourself about that,” Jim said. “Which way’d those hombres head?”
“Almost due north,” Harper answered. “They took the Olney road. I’d wager my life savin’s they hit there next… if I had any left. The Ghost Riders got what little of those I had when they robbed the bank.”
“I sure wouldn’t take that bet,” Jim said. “How long ago was that?”
“I don’t rightly know,” the blacksmith answered. “Sometime before midnight. It’s less’n twenty miles from here to Olney. If they rode hard enough, they could’ve attacked there before dawn this mornin’.”
“Much obliged,” Jim said. “Boys, we’ll grab some chuck real quick, and give the horses a rest. Thirty minutes. Jace, is there any place we can find some grub?”
Harper wiped his brow before answering.
“I’m afraid not. They burned down both the café and the saloon, and killed the owners. Same goes for the mercantile. I’ve got some mutton and spuds you’re welcome to share, if you’d like. Got some grain for your mounts, too, if you want some. Corral’s out back. Put ’em away, feed ’em, and I’ll meet you back here.”
“Gracias. We’ll take you up on that,” Jim said. He and the others dismounted. The rest of the men were introduced, then led the horses around back. Chuck stopped, picked up his horse’s left hind leg, and cursed.
“Somethin’ wrong, Chuck?” Jim asked.
“There sure is. I felt Samson miss a stride or two a mile back. He straightened right out, so I didn’t pay it any more mind. But look. He’s got a deep gash just over his hock. It’s still bleedin’, and the leg’s startin’ to swell. He won’t be able to go any farther. And I’ll bet there’s not a decent mount left in this town. Not after the Ghost Riders raided it.”
“We’ll come up with a horse for you,” Jim said. “Lemme ask Jace if he knows where to find one.”
“Okay, Jim. I’ll be te
ndin’ to Samson in the meantime,” Chuck said.
“C’mon, Siz. Reckon you can wait a few minutes for your oats,” Jim said. “We’ve gotta see a man about a horse.”
Sizzle snorted indignantly, and nipped at Jim’s right ear.
“Not for me, you crazy cayuse,” Jim said. “And yes, I know you’re a horse. We need one for Chuck.” He went back to the shop. Several other men, having seen the Rangers’ arrival, were gathered in front of the shop.
“Somethin’ wrong, Jim?” Harper asked.
“Yeah, and I sure hope you can help us out,” Jim answered. “Chuck’s horse injured his left hind leg. He can’t be ridden, not without cripplin’ him up permanently, and he won’t make it far in any event. We have to leave him here for doctorin’ and rest. That also means Chuck’s gotta have a replacement mount. Any idea where he can find one? And is there a veterinarian in this town?”
“I’m the closest thing to a vet this town has,” Harper answered. “You can leave that bronc with me. I’ll fix him up, and Chuck can come back for his horse first chance he gets.”
“Ranger, I’m Gordy King, owner of the saddle and harness shop,” one of the men said. “I’ve got a horse your man can have. He’s a bay gelding, with lots of speed, and plenty of bottom. He’ll do. You want me to fetch him?”
“I’d be grateful,” Jim said. “How much do you want for him?”
“Not one thin dime,” King said. “Consider it a loan. When your man comes back for his horse, he can just return mine. Think of it as my bit in helpin’ round up those Ghost Riders.”
“Much obliged,” Jim said. “Sure, bring him around.”
“I’ll be right back with him,” King said.
“Take him around to Jace’s corral,” Jim said. “We’ll be back there, carin’ for our mounts.”
Jim led Sizzle back to the corral and brought him inside.
“Any luck, Jim?” Chuck asked.
“Seems so,” Jim answered. “There’s an hombre gonna loan you his saddle horse. We’ll have a look at it, and if it’s any kind of a halfway decent animal, we’ll take him up on his offer. How bad’s Samson’s leg?”
“The cut’s pretty deep, but I think he’ll be okay, with bandagin’ and rest,” Chuck said.
“That’s good. Jace says he doubles as the town vet, and he’ll look after your horse.”
Jim gave Sizzle a peppermint, poured a good measure of oats into a bucket, and stripped the gear from him. While the horse ate, he brushed dirt and sweat from his hide. After a few minutes, Gordy King appeared.
“Here’s your horse, Ranger,” he called.
King was leading a blocky, heavily muscled bay gelding.
“Go ahead, Chuck. Look him over,” Jim said.
“All right.” Chuck went over to the saddle shop owner.
“This here’s Cooper,” King said. “He’ll treat you right, and give you everythin’ you ask of him and then some, long as you treat him right. He’s got a real light mouth, so don’t you be jerkin’ hard on the reins.”
“He’s a fine lookin’ bronc,” Chuck said. “Easy, Cooper.” He ran a hand over the horse’s neck, then lifted his right front leg to examine the hoof. He continued around the horse, looking for injuries or flaws.
“Well. What do you think, Ranger?”
“He’s a good one,” Chuck said. “Seems real sturdy. Are you certain you don’t want to sell him? I’d hate to see you lose what he’s worth, if somethin’ should happen to him.”
“I’ll take that chance,” King said. “You sure can’t ride a hurt mount, chasin’ after the Ghost Riders.”
“Then I’m obliged,” Chuck said. “As long as you agree, if anythin’ does happen to Cooper, to take Samson in his place.”
“We’ve got a deal, Ranger,” King said. He held out his hand, which Chuck readily took. King passed Cooper’s lead rope to Chuck.
“You do me proud, Coop,” he told the horse. “Help this here Ranger bring back some of those Ghost Riders’ scalps.”
● ● ●
Once the horses were cared for, the Rangers went back inside the blacksmith shop. Harper had already set out plates of steaming mutton and boiled potatoes, as well as a pot of coffee. The men eagerly tucked into the hot meal.
“Jim,” Smoky said, as they ate. “Looks like I might’ve been right, when I hazarded a guess that the Ghost Riders would start makin’ a run for it. It sure appears like they are. I figure, after leavin’ Olney, if that's indeed where they did ride next, they struck out northwest, headin’ for Ike Stormfield’s old stompin’ grounds. Even if Ike ain’t leadin’ the group, he’s convinced whoever is that’s the perfect hideout. There’s plenty of canyons and river breaks to hole up in, and it ain’t all that far out of Texas from that territory. That’s where I’d head if I were leadin’ that outfit.”
“I’ve gotta agree with you. That’s a good theory,” Jim answered. “It sure looks like they’re headed that way. They seem to be bypassin’ any large towns, which only makes sense. They rode right past Mineral Wells, and if they did head for Olney, they’ll also skip over Wichita Falls. They’ve probably realized we’re on their trail by now. I’d bet my hat they hit a few more small settlements, then make a beeline for Briscoe County.”
“I’d guess they won’t even hit any more towns, Jim,” J.R. said. “There ain’t really many, in fact none than I can recollect, between Olney and Quitaque, if they take the shortest route. It’s wide open country, still pretty unsettled, and real rugged in a lot of spots. I believe they’ve already made their move. Think on this. They raided here in Graham, and mebbe over to Olney, last night, despite the fact it wasn’t stormin’. In fact, it was a clear night, with a nearly full moon. That storm which rolled through Millsap would’ve come through here a few hours before the raid happened. That’s not how they’ve operated, at least up until now. They might be thinkin’ we’re gettin’ closer to findin’ ’em, and will soon have ’em on the run. If they do figure we are after ’em, and mebbe not all that far behind, they’ll most likely hit some ranches along the way, but mostly keep movin’, hopin’ they can outrun us to the Caprock canyonlands. Once there, they’ll plan on givin’ us the slip, or mebbe ambushin’ us, which’d be real easy in those badlands. Then, once they think we’ve given up on ’em, or we’re all lyin’ dead, with their bullets in us, they’ll light out for New Mexico, or the Territories.”
“I sure wouldn’t bet against your theory, either, J.R.,” Jim answered. “Well, let’s finish up our chuck, and hit the trail again. We’re wastin’ daylight, sittin’ here while those renegades are still ahead of us.”
The Rangers quickly finished their meal.
“Jace, thanks for the grub. It was sure tasty,” Jim said. The others added their agreement.
“Anytime, Ranger,” Harper answered. “And good luck, to all of you. Vaya con Dios.”
Forty minutes after riding into Graham, the Rangers were in the saddle once more. They kept the horses at a walk for half a mile to warm up, then once again put them into their tireless, mile eating lope.
● ● ●
When the Rangers reached Olney, they found it in the same condition every other town hit by the Ghost Riders had been left. The majority of the buildings were in ruins, piles of still smoldering rubble. Ten citizens were dead, many more wounded. They stayed in town only long enough to give their horses a brief rest, ask a few questions, and determine that the outlaws, eighteen in number as could best be guessed, had indeed headed out of town to the northwest. A few men had managed to organize a brief pursuit, but had lost the raiders in the few low hills, west of town.
“Seems like you’re right, Smoke. You too, J.R.,” Jim said, as they tightened their cinches. “Looks like those hombres are gonna ride for Quitaque.”
“Let’s hope we catch up to ’em first,” Ty said.
“We’re gonna do our darndest. Bet your hat on that,” Jim said. He gave Sizzle a peppermint, then swung into his saddle. “Let’s get m
ovin’.”
With the thundering of hooves and a cloud of dust, the Rangers galloped out of Olney, each with a fervent prayer on his lips they would track down the Ghost Riders before they made good their escape.
● ● ●
The hundred and fifty miles between Olney and Quitaque was mostly wide open, level to gently rolling plains, except for grass sparsely covered with vegetation, interspersed with a few low mesas, occasionally cut by canyons and arroyos. Dependable sources of water were hard to find, most of those being small seeps or shallow creeks, the majority of which went dry by mid-summer. The Rangers pushed their horses to the limit, certain now they were on the trail of the Ghost Riders. The remains of several ranches they came across confirmed this. They had all been completely destroyed, with no signs of life. Every building had been burned, all the livestock run off, and every man, woman, and child killed. The outlaws had made certain continued pursuit would be difficult. The carcasses of a number of light-colored horses, which had been run until they broke down, then shot and left at the ranches, made it plain they had obtained fresh mounts, while their pursuers would have to rely on their tiring animals. Despite their anxiousness to catch up with their quarry, knowing every delay meant the Ghost Riders got that much farther ahead of them, Jim and his partners did take the time to bury the dead, and say a brief prayer over their graves.
Two days out of Olney, Jim pulled Sizzle to a halt.
“Look up there,” he said, pointing to a flock of large black birds, circling and wheeling in the sky, slowly descending.
“Buzzards,” Smoky said, with a curse. “Somethin’s dead up ahead, that’s for certain.”
“More likely someone,” Jim answered. “Guess we’d better find out.” He kicked Sizzle into a lope. A few minutes later, he and his partners pushed through a thin screen of brush, which surrounded a small waterhole. Several buzzards, disturbed from their feast of the corpse they’d been working on, squawked a protest, as they slowly flapped their wings and rose into the sky.
The Ghost Riders Page 23