by Sean Lynch
“I told you I’d think it over,” Pritchard said, “and I have. I’ve got unfinished business up north.” He unpinned his cinco-peso star and slid it across the table.
“So I heard,” Franchard said. “Your conversation with Rube Gaines was very enlightening. Always wondered about that scar on your noggin. Now I know where you got it, and how you earned your last name.”
“I figured Atherton was as good a name as any.”
“Well,” Franchard said, looking over at Maggie, “guess what? You ain’t the only Ranger turning in his star. I’ll be quittin’ the Rangers, too.”
Pritchard’s eyebrows jumped.
“Don’t look so surprised. I was gettin’ tired of rangerin’. It took almost thirty years of fightin’ battles out of a saddle to finally find a place and somebody worth fightin’ for.” He reached out and took Maggie’s offered hand. “I believe I’ll be stayin’ in the New Mexico Territory. Gonna make this here town my home.”
“I’m happy for you,” Pritchard said. “If there was ever a couple of folks who deserved their bite at the apple, it’s you two.”
“Why don’t you stay?” Maggie said. “Most of your Ranger friends are staying. They’re going to make Magdalena their home, also.”
“Is that true?” Pritchard asked.
“It is,” Franchard confirmed. “Sergeant Finley is going to marry that ginger gal he’s sweet on, and at least fifteen of the other Rangers have decided this is where they want to settle down. I think the women they’re settling down with have something to do with it.”
“I reckon so,” Pritchard said.
“Finley was a miner,” Franchard went on, “before he was a Ranger. He checked out the mine. He says the vein’s still rich with silver. He told me it wouldn’t take much to blast away the debris covering the entrance. We could dig those men out, bury’em proper, and get the mine operatin’. Magdalena could have a future again. You’re welcome to be part of it.”
“I thank you for the offer,” Pritchard said, “but I’ve got to be movin’ on.” He looked over at Bina, smiling at him, and gave her a smile in return. “It’s about time I sorted things out between the feller I am and the feller I used to be. Not to mention, there’re some folks got a reckoning comin’.”
“I’ll bet they do,” Franchard said. He pushed the cinco-peso star back across the table.
“Keep it,” he said. “At least for now. I’m keepin’ mine, for a while, anyways. So are the others who’re staying on here in Magdalena. They don’t know back in Austin we vanquished Stiles and his gang so soon. Our superiors believe we’ll be weeks, if not months, hunting them down throughout the territories. We ain’t expected back in Texas until autumn, at the earliest. The boys a deserve a vacation from rangerin’, although they’ve got a lot of work ahead of them puttin’ this town back together.”
“Why keep the star, if I’m leavin’ you and your Ranger company?” Pritchard asked.
“Because it’s a long way to Missouri,” Franchard said. “Doors will be opened to a Texas Ranger that might be closed on a saddle tramp. Also, if you’re settin’ out to do what I think you’re gonna do, you may need to be Smokin’ Joe Atherton a while longer.”
Pritchard pinned the star back on his shirt. “Didn’t think of that,” he said.
“You can resign, along with me and the rest of the boys, come autumn,” Franchard said. “Might as well draw your Ranger pay until then. Also, I’m pretty sure you’ll run into a few outlaws on your journey who might need your brand of Texas justice.”
“I might,” Pritchard agreed, “at that.”
“What will you do?” asked Maggie.
“I reckon I’ll try to catch up with Ditch and his outfit. It’s almost May. He’s probably on his way up to Kansas with his cows, and could use a hand.”
Pritchard stood. Bina, Franchard, and Maggie walked him out of the saloon to his horse.
“I almost forgot,” Pritchard said, reaching into his pocket. “Got a present for you, Captain.”
“You can’t call me Captain anymore,” Franchard said. He put his arm around Maggie. “It’s just Tom again.”
Pritchard handed the ring he’d bought for Caroline to Franchard. “I figure you’ll be able to make use of this.”
“I can’t accept this,” Franchard said. “It cost you five hundred dollars. Besides, it was the ring you were gonna—”
“Those ghosts have been put to rest,” Pritchard cut him off. “You helped me bury them. It would mean a lot to me, knowing you and Maggie found use for it.”
Franchard accepted the ring. “I’m obliged,” he said, showing it to Maggie. “It’s beautiful,” she told him.
“You can get word to me,” Franchard told Pritchard, “at the telegraph office in Albuquerque. Me and some of the boys will be going there at least once a month for supplies. I won’t notify Austin of your resignation until you tell me to.”
“So long,” Pritchard said, climbing into the saddle. “Tell Sergeant Finley and the boys it was an honor ridin’ with ’em.” He shook hands with Franchard. “You, too, Captain.”
“It’s Tom,” Franchard corrected him.
“Good-bye,” Maggie said. “Don’t forget where we are.”
“I won’t,” Pritchard said. He looked down at Bina, who was looking up at him.
“Am I ever going to see you again?” she asked.
“Unless you have another vision,” Pritchard said, “that ain’t for us to say.”
Pritchard tipped his hat, pointed Rusty east, and rode out. At the edge of Magdalena he was met with two dozen staked scalps. He ignored them and headed for Kansas.
PART FOUR
HOME
Chapter 48
Oklahoma Territory, July 1873
Ditch sat up with a start and instinctively grabbed for the Henry rifle lying next to him. There was a boot standing on it. He looked up from his bedroll at the men standing over him. Especially the one with the Smith & Wesson revolver pointed directly at his face.
In June, Ditch Clemson, his brother, Paul, Ramrod Alejandro Ruiz, and ten hired hands from the SD&P Ranch headed north from Texas for Abilene, Kansas, with over three thousand head of cattle.
Ditch’s first cattle drive had been slower going than he anticipated. He’d hoped for an average of fifteen miles per day, and some days he made that distance. But due to stubborn cows, dust storms, flash rains, attacks by roving bands of Wichita and Cherokee, and difficulties finding adequate water, he usually had to settle for ten. If the herd made twelve miles between sunup and sundown, he felt satisfied.
They’d been on the trail six weeks, and by Ditch’s estimation were only twenty miles south of the Kansas border, when he was awakened, not long after midnight, by the sounds of a scuffle in camp. When he awoke, he found Paul, Ruiz, and their cook disarmed and held at gunpoint by five hard-looking men wearing neckerchiefs across the lower portion of their faces. The interlopers were all big hombres, but one was especially big, almost a giant.
“You’re Clemson, right?” the one holding the revolver to Ditch’s head demanded. “The owner of this outfit?”
“One of them,” Ditch said, slowly raising his hands. “What is this?”
“This is us, takin’ your beef,” the man said, “that’s what it is. We surely do appreciate you herdin’ ’em up all the way from Texas for us, but we’ll take it from here. These cows are still goin’ to Kansas, like you planned, but it ain’t gonna be your outfit a-takin’ ’em.”
“What about the rest of my men?” Ditch asked.
“We ain’t done nuthin’ to ’em, yet,” the rustler said. “Far as we know, they’re still out ridin’ guard over your herd. We’re gonna wait right here in camp, until sunrise, when they all come in for breakfast. Then we’ll take ’em as easy as we took you.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Ditch said, “If it’s money you want, you and your boys are welcome to join up. I could use the help. You can ride into Abilene with us. I’l
l feed you well, and I pay top wages.”
“Hear that?” the ringleader chuckled over his shoulder. “He wants to hire us?” The others with him laughed.
“It’s a fair offer,” Ditch said.
“That’s mighty generous,” the leader said, “but I’ve got a better one. How about we put you and your whole outfit in the dirt? Then we take your herd the last two hundred miles to Abilene by ourselves, sell ’em off, and get rich while you feed the worms? How’s that for a fair offer?” The other gunmen laughed again.
“I have an even better idea,” the biggest gunman said from beneath his scarf. He held two revolvers loosely in his hands.
“What’s that, Bob?” the leader asked.
“How about you and the others drop your guns?”
“Huh?”
“You heard me. Drop ’em.”
“What’s gotten into you?” the leader said. “Is this some kinda joke?”
“Nope. Drop those pistols, all of you. Won’t tell you again.”
The leader eyed the other three members of his crew. All were as confused as he was. He suddenly pivoted and brought his revolver from Ditch to the biggest member of his own gang. The other three outlaws followed suit.
The big outlaw fired both pistols twice. All four gunmen fell.
Ditch, Paul, Ruiz, and Knobby, the cook, all stared in bewilderment at the rustler who’d just shot his own gang in the middle of a robbery.
The big rustler pulled down his neckerchief, revealing his face.
“Howdy, Ditch,” Pritchard said. “Nice to see you.”
“Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch,” Ditch exclaimed. He stood up and shook Pritchard’s hand while Paul and Ruiz checked the downed outlaws.
“What are you doing here?” Ditch asked. “And why the hell were you tryin’ to rustle our cows?”
“Picked up your trail a couple of weeks back,” Pritchard explained, as he reloaded and holstered his guns. “You don’t leave a hard track to follow, with three thousand cows as traveling companions. Ran into these four jaspers a few days ago. They were skulking along, following your herd from a distance. I introduced myself and played like I was a disgruntled hand you’d let go for stealing whiskey from the chuckwagon. They let me join their gang, seein’ as I supposedly had insider’s knowledge of your outfit and them needing an extra hand to help drive the cows into Abilene once they were taken.”
“These four boys are deader than Abe Lincoln,” Paul announced. “Headshots, every one of ’em.” He and Ruiz each shook Pritchard’s hand, and Ditch introduced him to the cook.
“I see you haven’t slowed down any,” Ruiz said, gesturing to the four dead men, “since we last met.”
“I try to stay sharp,” Pritchard said.
“You decided to take my offer and join the outfit?” Ditch said.
“I did,” Pritchard said. “If you’ll still have me?”
“Hell,” Ditch said, looking down at the four bodies at his feet, “I’d be a fool not to.”
Chapter 49
Dovie threw open the door to the bedroom and stormed inside. There was a maid in the room, filling the water bowl and emptying the chamber pot. When she saw the furious expression on her mistress’s face, she hastily made her exit.
Burnell Shipley lay propped up with pillows in bed. His gout and the weakness and tremors in his limbs had left him bedridden for months. His florid face, like most of his skin, was a mass of discolored sores. His eyes had become milky, and he squinted at the doorway.
“Dovie,” he called out in his raspy voice, “it that you?”
“You know damned well it is,” she said, slamming the door after the maid had gone. “We need to talk.”
“What’s bothering you now?” Burnell said. He reached for the bottle of brandy that was always stationed on the nightstand near his hand. Keeping the bottle filled was his servant’s most important duty.
“Eli Gaines,” she said. “That’s what. He’s not bothering me, he’s bothering Idelle. He interrupted her at school today, in the middle of teaching her classes. He barged into her classroom with another one of Sheriff Foster’s thugs, that fat ape, Bernie Moss.”
“Your daughter’s a pretty girl,” Burnell said. “It’s natural she draws suitors.”
“That filthy deputy is not a suitor,” Dovie said. “He’s a deranged pig. He’d been drinking, spit tobacco on the schoolhouse floor, and drew his gun and twirled it around in front of the children. Then he announced she was going to marry him, and drunkenly insisted she leave her class immediately to go riding with him. She refused, of course. They eventually left, but only after both of the Nettleses came to her aid and demanded the deputies depart. Gaines actually threatened to shoot Rodney Nettles in front of the children. Idelle was so upset, she came directly down to the hotel to tell me.”
“She must have been upset,” Burnell said, attempting to pour his glass full to the brim, but sloshing it due to his shaking hands. “I know you forbid her to come to the hotel.”
“What are you going to do about this?” Dovie demanded.
“Nothing,” Burnell said. “And neither are you. Sheriff Foster’s getting old. Doc Mauldin says he’s got a bad heart. Eli is the chief deputy. When Foster quits, or dies, he’ll take over as sheriff. Idelle could do worse in a husband.”
“You can’t be serious?” she said. “Gaines is a disgusting, toothless, animal.”
“Perhaps,” Burnell said, “but he’s my animal. He’s good at what he does, and I need a man with his unique capabilities. You remember what he did, last spring, when that buffalo skinner was causing trouble at the Sidewinder? Gaines handled that situation quite efficiently.”
“He shot an unarmed drunk in the back,” Dovie said.
“As I said, Deputy Gaines handled the situation quite efficiently.”
“You approve of his marrying Idelle, don’t you?”
“If it makes him happy, yes.”
“What about Idelle’s happiness?”
Burnell emptied his glass in one long slurp and wiped the residue from his cracked lips onto the back of his mottled hand. “Her happiness doesn’t matter. Idelle has no more say in marrying Gaines than you had in marrying me.”
“Idelle is not marrying Eli Gaines,” Dovie said. “If he goes near her again, I’ll kill him.”
Burnell refilled his glass and laughed. “My first wife used to issue bold statements like that,” he said. “Like you, she pretended to have control of her own destiny, too.” He gulped more brandy. “Idelle will be marrying Eli Gaines. Get used to it. He’s already asked me, and I’ve given my blessing.”
“You’re not her father,” Dovie snapped. “It wasn’t yours to give.”
“Nonetheless, it is done. I suggest you convince your daughter to accept what’s in her best interest, and yours. I’d hate to have to tell Eli you threatened to kill him. Threatening to kill a law officer is a criminal offense. A hanging, criminal offense.”
“I see,” Dovie said, suddenly changing her tone. “Then it’s already decided? Idelle is to marry Chief Deputy Gaines?”
“She is. Pick a wedding date within the next month or so. There will be no more discussion about it.”
“Then I must go to Kansas City for a few days,” Dovie said. “I’ll need to do some shopping. I’ll obviously be taking Idelle with me.”
“Anything you need to get, I can have delivered here.”
“If Idelle is getting married, she can at least choose her own dress and have it fitted proper. You’re not so selfish as to deny her that, are you? I’ll not have my daughter wearing something delivered to your store in a box and unwrapped by Mr. Manning’s dirty fingers.”
“Very well,” Burnell said. “Take the train to Kansas City. I’ll expect you back within three days. If you’re not back within that time, I’ll have Gaines and his deputies hunt you both down and bring Idelle back. You, my dear wife, may or may not return to Atherton. I’ll leave that up to him.”
“We’ll depart tomorrow,” Dovie said, heading for the door. “Please have word sent to the train station to prepare for our departure.”
“Have a nice trip,” Burnell said, pouring himself another brandy.
Dovie headed downstairs, but had to stop between floors and steady herself on the railing. The abdominal cramps, blinding headaches, and joint pain she once suffered only occasionally had begun to plague her full-time within the past few weeks. The aching varied in intensity from severe discomfort to bouts of sharp agony, like the ones she was currently experiencing. She knew her condition was worsening steadily and hoped she could conceal the ravages of the disease consuming her, as it had devoured her husband, for a while longer. It was imperative Burnell not find out what she had planned; at least not yet. She only hoped her body wouldn’t fail her and, more importantly, her daughter, Idelle.
The waves of pain subsided after a few moments, but left her weak and perspiring. Dovie continued down the stairs on faltering legs and found Idelle where she’d left her, crying alone in the lobby.
“Pack a bag,” Dovie told her daughter. “We’re leaving tomorrow for Jefferson City.”
Chapter 50
Pritchard, Ditch, and Paul walked out of the Wells Fargo Bank together and into the bustling streets of Abilene. Once out, all three grinned and shook hands.
After burying the four rustlers Pritchard had escorted into their camp, the SD&P outfit confiscated their horses and continued the drive to Abilene. Two weeks later they rode in, herding over 3,100 head of cattle.
Their timing couldn’t have been better. A number of the Great Plains tribes, including the Arapaho, Cheyenne, and Comanche, took great umbrage at the growing incursions by whites, particularly the cattlemen and the railroads, onto their traditional lands. Due to the infrequent Indian raids on the drovers that resulted, fewer cattle herds had entered Abilene’s Great Western Stockyards that summer, and those that did had been significantly delayed. This meant more time on the range and less meat on the cows.