by Sean Lynch
“Uh,” Pritchard stammered, “there’s no hurry, Cap’n. I understand the need to follow orders. I fully recognize that our higher-ups in the Texas Rangers believe it’s in our best interest to be posted in town, and I stand ready to do my duty here in Fort Worth.”
“I suspected you might feel that way,” Captain Franchard said, giving Caroline a wink. “Carry on, Ranger.” He tipped his hat and walked away.
It didn’t take long for the press to catch wind of the romance blossoming between the oversized blond Texas Ranger with the mysterious scar and the gorgeous young lady from Austin. The statuesque couple appeared to have “stepped from the pages of an Arthurian folktale,” as one reporter put it, and were bird-dogged by newsmen and curious onlookers wherever they went.
Pritchard and Caroline didn’t seem to notice. They were inseparable over the next several days, which didn’t make reporting on the progress of their relationship any more difficult. And after Mr. Benjamin Woodruff, the young lady’s chaperone and attorney, gave an interview to a spellbound group of reporters detailing the extraordinary circumstances of how Ranger Atherton had rescued Ms. Biggs, years before as a child, from the clutches of yet another slaver, the press went absolutely wild. The story was picked up by every newspaper from California to New York, with a corresponding photograph of the couple, of course.
Pritchard ensured, during each of the two photographs taken of him, one with his Ranger company, and the other with Caroline, that he wore his ten-gallon Stetson. And he was careful to lower his head, not difficult to do as a result of his height, just enough so the wide brim covered most of his face.
Some of his fellow Rangers playfully chided him, after viewing the newspapers featuring the photographs, for being so tall his face got lost in the clouds. That Pritchard may have deliberately shadowed his features with his hat during the photography was not lost on Captain Franchard.
One morning, desperate for time alone with Caroline without the prying eyes of others, Pritchard rented a buckboard and they escaped Fort Worth for the countryside. He brought a basket of food from the hotel kitchen, and they set out before dawn before anyone, save the livery attendant, noticed.
The first days of summer were upon them. They watched the sun come up, holding hands as Pritchard guided the buckboard out of town. They drove for more than an hour, until he found a creek surrounded by a lush stand of shade trees. He brought the buckboard to a halt and spread out a blanket.
They saw no evidence of others as far as the eye could see, but Pritchard nonetheless kept his Henry rifle handy. Breakfast was biscuits, blueberry tart, and clear, cool water from the stream.
“This place is so beautiful, Joe,” Caroline said after they’d breakfasted. “It’s the perfect spot.”
“The perfect spot for what?” Pritchard said, lying on his back and patting his satisfied belly.
“For this,” she said, rolling on top of him.
Despite her cumbersome dress and petticoat, and his boots and belted pistols, they were both soon naked and entwined in each other. They passed the rest of the morning in a maelstrom of passion, as they repeatedly slaked the desperate yearning that had been building to an almost unbearable ache since they’d first laid eyes on each other at Fort Worth’s Grand Hotel.
At times soft and gentle, and at others awkwardly, or like ravenous animals, they thrashed, moaned, giggled, and cried out. When they finally collapsed, gasping and spent, their clothes and breakfast scattered on the blanket around them, it was approaching noon.
“Is it lunchtime, yet?” Pritchard asked.
“Is that all you have to say?” Caroline laughed, playfully punching him in the shoulder.
“No,” Pritchard said. He stared up at the Texas sky, a hesitant look in his eye. “I’ve got something else to say to you.”
“What would that be?”
“My name isn’t Joe Atherton,” he said. “It’s Samuel Pritchard. I want you to know who I am—who I really am—before I ask you to marry me.”
“I’m listening,” Caroline said, resting her chin on his chest and looking into his blue eyes.
Pritchard told her. He explained his past, the scar on his forehead, and why he’d taken the alias. As he spoke, she held his face in her hands.
“You deserve to know the truth,” Pritchard finished, “before making your decision. It’s only right.”
“There’s something you should know about me, as well,” Caroline said, “before you seek my hand in marriage. It may give you pause to ask me to be your wife.”
She looked away and placed her cheek against his chest. “I can’t bear you children, Samuel.”
It was the first time Caroline had spoken his true name. “Because of what happened,” she began, her voice barely a whisper, “before you rescued me, I’m barren. The surgery my father performed saved my life, but rendered me unable to conceive. I must, in good faith, tell you this, because a man has a right to a wife who will bear him offspring and provide him a family. This I cannot do.”
He felt her tears trickle down his chest onto his stomach. He reached down and turned her face back to meet his.
“You’re all the family I want,” Pritchard said, “or need. I’m askin’ you, Caroline, will you marry me?”
“Are you sure?” she asked, anguish in her voice. “You say that now, but someday, you might have regrets. You may want children of your own.”
“I want you,” Pritchard said. “Just you. I asked you a question. I’m waiting for an answer.”
“Yes,” she said, her tears of sorrow becoming tears of joy. “I’d be honored to marry you.”
Chapter 30
When Pritchard and Caroline returned to the Fort Worth Grand Hotel late that afternoon, Benjamin Woodruff was not a happy man. He was most displeased that Caroline, whom he reminded was his ward, had chosen to run off for the day without divulging her destination or whereabouts.
His mood lightened considerably when she told him she and Pritchard were engaged.
While Caroline and Woodruff went off to the telegraph office to wire her parents the good news, Pritchard sought out Captain Franchard. He found the grizzled Ranger inside the saloon across from the hotel, nursing a whiskey and holding court until supper, as had been his custom each day since arriving in Fort Worth.
“Captain Franchard,” Pritchard said, removing his hat. “I’d like to have a word with you, if you please?”
“Sure,” Franchard said, gesturing to an empty seat. “Sit down. You’re making me nervous, standing there with your hat in your hand. You look like you just swallowed a frog. What’s on your mind?”
“I’d like to request a leave of absence,” Pritchard said.
“We’ve been ridin’ together more’n five years, Joe. This is the first time you’ve ever asked for so much as a day off. Lord knows you’re entitled. You mind if I ask why?”
“I’m going to Austin,” he said. “To get married.”
“I see,” Franchard said. “No doubt to that pretty young lass I met in your company?”
“Miss Caroline Biggs.” Pritchard nodded. “That is correct.”
“Can’t say I blame you. And after the wedding?”
“I’m thinking about turning in my star,” Pritchard said, “and resigning from the Rangers.”
“Rangerin’ ain’t exactly conducive to a successful marriage,” Franchard said, “that’s a fact. I can attest to it personally. You sure this is what you want to do?”
“I’m positive,” Pritchard said. “She’s the one.”
“I don’t mean the wedding,” Franchard said. “I meant givin’ up the Texas Rangers.”
“I’ve got to think on it,” Pritchard said. “It’s why I’m asking for a leave of absence instead of turning in my star right now. I’d like to make my decision after the honeymoon.”
“Fair enough. You’ve been one of the most reliable Rangers I’ve ever had the privilege to ride with, and I’d sorely hate to lose you. But if ever a Ranger
was owed some time off to settle his affairs, it’s you. I’ll wire headquarters in Austin and see what I can do about your request.”
“Thank you, Cap’n.”
“Meantime,” Franchard poured two shots of whiskey and handed one to Pritchard, “please accept my congratulations. Here’s to you, the lovely Miss Biggs, and a long life of happiness to you both on the trail ahead.”
The Rangers drank.
* * *
Two sullen cowhands sat at table in the far corner of the saloon and watched a giant young Ranger speaking to a weathered old one. They’d already consumed most of a bottle of rye whiskey.
“You sure it’s him?” Wesley Boone asked.
“I’m sure,” the other cowhand, a hard-bitten fellow named Jim Collins, said around his cigarette. “That great, big, tall feller with the scar on his head ain’t somebody you’re likely to forget. He’s the one, all right. Him and that old Ranger buffaloed us when we tried to bust Wade out of jail in Bristow. Came ridin’ in with four of our hands slung over the saddle like beaver pelts. Then I watched him gun three more Triple B hands down, quicker than a rattler bites. Killed eight more of our boys when we tried to waylay ’em on the trail to Waco. You weren’t around then, bein’ locked up in Yuma and all.”
“Pa’s gonna want to hear about this,” Wesley said. “He’ll know what to do.”
“I already know what to do,” Collins said. “Wait outside, and when them two lawmen come out we’ll blast ’em straight to hell.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Wesley said. “You just told me those two buried fifteen of our hands. You think we’re gonna take ’em ourselves? Besides, this whole town is crawling with Rangers. Even if we got lucky and plugged that pair of lawmen before they got us, we’d be captured or shot before we got out of town. You itchin’ to hang?”
“Nope.”
“Then shut up. We’ll keep an eye on ’em and bide our time. Ain’t gonna be hard to find ’em, since they’re all stayin’ at that fancy hotel across the square on account of being the big heroes of Texas. I’ll get a wire to Pa in Bristow. You go tell the other hands to be ready and to keep quiet. I don’t want none of ’em getting too drunk and drawing attention to us while we’re here in town. We’ll wait to hear what Pa has to say. Then we’ll see about them Rangers who strung up Wade.”
* * *
Pritchard’s request for a leave of absence from the Texas Rangers was granted. The wedding was to be held in two weeks, in the capital. Their engagement was announced in both the Fort Worth and Austin newspapers.
Pritchard bought a diamond and gold wedding ring, for five hundred dollars, from a jeweler in Fort Worth. All he owned was his horse, saddle, guns, and a few clothes, and he’d saved every penny of his Ranger pay over the last five years. This savings included his share of countless reward bounties on various outlaws he’d brought to justice, dead or alive. As a result, he had accumulated a sum of over ten thousand dollars. The money and ring, a surprise for Caroline on her wedding day, were secreted inside his saddle, in a pocket under the lining. It was his plan to use the money to buy a cottage for he and Caroline, in Austin, near her parents.
The smiling couple, along with Mr. Woodruff and three other passengers, boarded a stage on a warm July morning to begin the three-day journey to Austin. Caroline’s trunk and Pritchard’s saddle were packed on top with the other passengers’ luggage. Rusty was tethered to the rear of the coach.
Pritchard’s fellow Rangers were there to see him off, as well as a large crowd of onlookers and well-wishers. Captain Franchard shook Pritchard’s hand, kissed Caroline’s, and the entire Ranger detachment escorted the stage out of town, whoopin’ and hollerin’, Texas style.
Two people who were not at the stage’s raucous send-off were Wesley Boone and Jim Collins. They, along with the other hands from the Triple B who’d been dallying in Fort Worth, had already left town the night before.
Chapter 31
The stage rolled into its first stop, sixty miles south of Fort Worth, at sundown. The shotgun messenger blew his bugle a half mile out, as was customary. This was to alert the station manager and his family, if he had one living with him at the remote outpost, of the coach’s impending arrival.
Pritchard got out first, to assist Caroline and the other female passenger in disembarking, and to help the driver and shotgun messenger with the luggage. He noticed the corral, some distance from the adobe building that served as the station house, was chock-full of horses; at least thirty, to his count. He’d never before seen so many animals at a single coach station, but gave it little thought as he handed down luggage from the roof of the stage.
The driver herded the passengers, led by Mr. Woodruff, into the station house. Accompanying Caroline and her chaperone was a middle-aged farmer and his matronly wife, en route to Austin to visit her sister, and a sour-faced surveyor going to the capital to file claims. By the time Pritchard and the shotgun messenger retrieved the luggage, everyone else had already gone inside.
As soon as Pritchard entered, ducking through the doorway due to his height, the first thing he realized was the station house was packed with people. The second thing he felt was the barrel of a pistol against his neck.
The luggage was torn from his grasp, and rough hands grabbed his arms. Both his pistols were taken. As Pritchard’s eyes adjusted to the dim interior, he realized men, many of them, were holding Caroline, the driver, shotgun messenger, and the other passengers at gunpoint. He presumed another man, tied to a chair in the corner, was the station agent.
The men had obviously been waiting, cramped inside the station, for the stage to arrive. He suddenly realized why so many horses were in the corral. He surmised their saddles and bridles had been stashed behind the station house.
A kerosene lantern was lit, and the room filled with light. “Good evening, Ranger Atherton,” one of the men croaked.
The speaker was short, bowlegged, and bent with age. The face under his ten-gallon hat was lined, and Pritchard saw no teeth in his mouth when he spoke. Pritchard looked slowly from face to face, burning the features of each gunman into his memory.
“Do I know you?” Pritchard asked.
“We haven’t formally met,” the man said. “My name is Winston Boone. This here,” he motioned with his pistol to a younger man beside him who bore resemblance, “is my boy Wesley. You already met my older son, Wade, when you strung him up in Waco, five years back.”
Pritchard’s heart sank as he realized this was no ordinary stage robbery. He glanced at Caroline, across the room, and read the fear in her eyes. She, too, recognized what was transpiring as no mere theft and that these men were not common highwaymen.
“I understand,” Pritchard began, “iffen you hold a grudge against me. These good folks got nothing to do with what’s between us. Let them go. We can settle our differences without them.”
“Are you askin’ me to grant mercy?” Boone said.
“I am,” Pritchard said.
“Why, sure,” the old cowboy said. “I’ll be glad to. I’ll grant these folks the same mercy you showed Wade.” A round of filthy laughter echoed throughout the station house.
“Read about your upcoming nuptials in the newspaper,” Boone went on. He walked over to Caroline. “Actually,” he said, “I had somebody read the paper to me. Can’t read, myself. Never saw no point to it. Fine-looking woman, your fiancée.”
He grabbed her cheeks in one calloused hand, and ran the barrel of his revolver over her breasts. “Nice figure, too. You’re a lucky man, Ranger.”
Caroline spit into his face. Boone smiled, wiped his face on his forearm, and turned back to Pritchard.
“Newspaper said your wedding was gonna be the ‘social event of the season,’ down in Austin. Even said the governor might attend, on account of the bride’s pa is a wealthy doctor and the groom is a bona fide Texas hero.”
“Let them go,” Pritchard repeated. “Do as you will with me, but these people don’t deserve to su
ffer harm on my account. Let them be on their way.”
“Don’t you worry none, Ranger,” Boone said. “I’m going to send them on their way, all right.”
“All the way to hell,” Wesley said. More hard laughter ensued.
“But before they depart,” Winston Boone continued, “I thought we might have a little wedding celebration right here in this station. At least a honeymoon, anyways. And you’re gonna watch, Ranger. Put her on the table, boys,” he ordered, “and line up. Who’s first?”
Cowhands carried Caroline, thrashing and fighting, to the big table in the center of the room, still covered with dishes and utensils. The cowboys began to whoop and holler. Pritchard started forward, enraged. Several revolvers, with their hammers back, jabbed into his gut, halting him.
“Leave her be!” Benjamin Woodruff shouted, breaking free of the man restraining him and lurching toward Caroline. He’d almost reached her when a single gunshot rang out. Wesley Boone shot the attorney in the back. He slumped to the floor.
The farmer’s wife began to cry. Everyone paused for an instant, to stare at Woodruff’s lifeless body.
Caroline seized that moment to grab a steak knife from the table. She thrust it, hilt deep, into the neck of the cowboy who’d been holding her. He screamed, and when he let go of her to clutch his throat, she dashed across the room to Pritchard.
Several of the cowboys, distracted and still gawking at the attorney lying dead at their feet, were startled by Caroline’s actions and instinctively fired. A hail of bullets tore into her and Pritchard, just as they embraced.
Both went to the dirt floor. Pritchard felt the searing agony of multiple bullets entering his body, but could think of nothing but catching Caroline. He landed on his back, with her limp form draping over his.