Dark Journey Home

by Cherie Shaw

  CHAPTER 12

  Ranger Welby had introduced Olson to Garth, and they had shook hands just before Garth had ridden down the trail to town, with the prisoner across the back of his horse.

  Olson spoke to the ranger, “I know your name ain’t Butch Hogan, but whatever you want to call yourself, friend, it’s alright with me just wanted to let you know. And, b’fore you say anything, for my tailin’ you tonight, well guess I was just curious.”

  Welby chuckled softly, “Young fella, this old coon hound knew you were on my tail from the time you left the line shack. Believe me, in my line of work, it pays to be alert. Though, I can’t blame you for getting suspicious. You an’ me, we’ll have us a talk soon’s we get back to the line shack, then, come daylight, we need to be back at the ranch. We’ll have us some kind of an’ excuse, but we need to be there as all hell’s liable to break loose, if it ain’t already done so.”

  Olson answered slowly, “Well, best I can figure, there’s been somethin’ goin’ on that don’t read right about this whole setup at the ranch, so whatever you need me to do, ‘Ranger’, I’ll be there backin’ you all the way.”

  Welby chuckled again, “Couldn’t fool you, could I?” You must have seen my badge tucked away.”

  “Well, I run outta tobacco. Didn’t mean to snoop.”

  “How about McCain?” Welby asked about the older cowhand, Olson’s friend.

  “He’ll stay. We just need to give him the word. He’s a good man, and honest too, won’t stand for wrong doin’ no how.”

  Welby turned to the other men, “I guess I’ll hit the trail back to the line shack with Olson, get a little shut-eye, then we’ll see you all tomorrow at the ranch. Let’s hope they already skipped out, might save us a bit of artillery in suggestin’ they move out.”

  Logan answered, “If that attorney’s still in town, we’ll bring him along, should be fun to watch ‘im dance. Might turn out to be quite a show.”

  Olson had started to mount his horse, then turned again, holding onto the reins, “You suppose the marshal or sheriff, whoever’s in charge at this time of night, would lock up that greenhorn what took a potshot at me?”

  Welby rubbed his jaw, and thought for a moment before answering, “Possible……..might be.” He turned then to Beckford, “Suppose there’ll be leavin’s to be locked up, by the time your nephew gets back to town with ol’ Henry?”

  Beckford chuckled, “I doubt if Garth would attack someone as weak as Henry is at this time. Wouldn’t be a challenge for him. The chap obviously couldn’t fight his way out of a cloud of cigar smoke. He does need a scare put into him though.” The thought of Henry Adams alone on the trail totally at Garth’s mercy, brought another smile. He was sure that by this time Henry had remembered who Garth was, although it had been over ten years since Garth had bodily tossed Henry Adams from Beckford Manor, and Garth was now sporting a heavy auburn beard.

  However, feeling assured that there would be no mistaking that huge powerful frame of Garth’s, Lord Beckford added, “Well…..Ranger Welby….rest assured that by now my nephew had ‘renewed’ his acquaintance with my niece’s ardent admirer. Where Henry J. Adams is concerned, the scoundrel apparently hasn’t given up in his pursuit, though perhaps Garth will convince him to seek a ‘healthier’ hobby, other than pursuing a young lady who obviously cannot stand him.

  “My nephew has always been very protective of Olivia, however,” Beckford paused a moment, “we were all under the false impression that the Henry Adams chapter of our lives had been closed. The man must be a slow learner, and may need a bit of educating. As far as the shooting is concerned, he probably, in the dark foothills, mistook Olson for my friend Logan here, both being tall lean cowboys, wearing similar western garb. Another bad mistake on his part, which appears to be a pattern in his makeup.

  “Possibly, from what I can determine from his rantings, he believes there to be a romantic attachment with Olivia and Logan here.” He looked over at Logan, who had no answer for the way the conversation was turning, a bit close to his true feelings.

  Ricardo who had, up to that time, been silently standing away from the group, deep in thought, in the shadow of a grove of aspens, now strode forward and spoke in his soft, heavily accented Spanish diction, “I have had extensive teaching experience, Señor, so with your permission, if the hombre bothers the señorita Olivia, or in any way injures her person, or even so much as hurts her feelings, I can assure you, mi amigo, that it would be his last move on this earth, as I will teach him well and it will be his last lesson.”

  Ricardo mounted his pinto and then turned in the saddle, “When I return to town, I shall seek out this hombre Adams, to wish him well in his journey back to his country, and I may urge him to seriously consider an immediate and hasty departure……that is…..if nephew Garth is finished with him. Though I would not be so gentle in my dealings with the gringo. I am not widely known to be neither a kind nor a gentle person. Maria’s former admirers would attest to that fact.”

  Ricardo touched his sombrero, “Adios, amigos.” He said, as he nudged the horse with his heels, then trotted off through the aspens toward the dark trail to town.

  Cougar Olson and Jake Welby were mounted and riding the other trail towards the rugged mountains where the line shack stood among the majestic lodgepole pines.

  Logan Wakefield and Lord Beckford chatted a few more moments, making plans for the following morning, when they would be taking steps to assure Beckford’s possession of his ranch.

  “As I have said before, sir,” Logan began, “the ranch hands are armed, so care must be taken that no innocent person is injured. They must be informed upon our arrival that you are the owner and, therefore, if they have any question of who is boss of the outfit, they are to stay out of it, unless they want to be charged as accessories to a crime.

  “I seriously doubt they will back Perkins and Holderman, once they realize that ownership of the property is in question. After all those two characters are not the most popular men in the territory, and I’m banking on the fact that most of the hands are honest men and would not want to be caught up in a legal dispute such as this.”

  It was only a few short hours to daylight as Logan and Beckford galloped over the wooden bridge, spanning the gurgling creek, approaching the main street of Coyote Springs.

  The livery stable was dark and unattended, so they unsaddled their mounts, along with Adams’ rented horse which they returned to the livery, and, after a rubdown, put each horse into an empty stall, fed them a helping of oats, then the weary men headed over to the hotel.

  “Wonder where Garth took Adams, and if Ricardo caught up with them.” Logan said, “Well, I’m sure we’ll hear about it in the morning.”

  Lord Beckford answered, “Probably dropped him off at the doctor’s house, and I’m sure Henry was ready to be dropped off anywhere, even the town jail might look good to him, though I’m not sure if the marshal would take him, maybe the county sheriff. I heard the sheriff has a place somewhere south of town. I had, in the past, been under the impression that Adams was harmless, though determined, and persistent like a pesky fly, but after seeing his actions….hearing his ravings tonight, I’m not at all sure. I would strongly question the stability of the chap’s mental condition.”

  “You could be right, sir, though I would strongly suspect that if a sheriff locked up all the crazies in the west every time someone shot off a gun, there wouldn’t be enough cells to go around.”

  Beckford chuckled, “It’s that rough?” He asked.

  Logan thought a moment, “From what I remember, it’s worse. You just haven’t seen it all yet, though I’d still prefer the west to just about anywhere else in the world. Guess I missed it these last years. All I ever knew growin’ up was the sage, cactus, mesquite, horses and cattle, mountains, pines, sunsets…….ever notice how the sun sets over a western mountaintop? Nothing like it in the world, sir, nothing at all. Then again, there’s the sun rising in the desert af
ter a cool rainy night. Then it just gets hot and burns the hell out of everything.

  “I like even the wildness of the west, Indians, outlaws, and all that. Guess I just don’t know any better. After being held captive on that ship all those years, I’d even welcome an Indian uprising now and again. I’ve seen a few of those too. Then again, maybe I wouldn’t exactly want that.

  “Some towns though, you know, aren’t exactly nice and fixed-up, like Coyote Springs, some of those buildings are downright scraggly, false-fronted and all, but I guess I even like them. That shootin’ back there in the hills tonight, why normally that’s just all in a day’s work, and in most towns folks don’t even notice when shots are fired, they get so used to hearing the noise. Things don’t appear to have changed much in the last few years, seems like.”

  Beckford turned and studied Logan’s ruggedly handsome features, as they walked up to the flowering lawn, then the board walkway leading to the Coyote Springs hotel, he stated, “You are a deep man, Logan my boy……..a deep thinking man.”

  The following morning, Wednesday in late august to be exact, Logan was up before dawn, having slept only four hours, too restless to stay abed longer. After bathing, he shaved off the dark stubble from his face, finished dressing and buckled on his gun belt, then after checking the load in his colt and holstering the weapon, he raised the shade covering the only window of the room.

  Only then did he realize that it was raining outside, a steady drizzle, a light rain which was just enough to wet down the dusty road of the main street, and add sparkle to the potted plants and many geraniums which dotted the border of the front lawn, and at the same time, soaking up the wood of the rail fence which surrounded three sides of the lawn. Logan stood staring at the wet drips running down the outside of the glass, then headed across the room, grabbed his hat, opened the doorway, scanned the dimly-lit hallway, from a habit long remembered, and hurried down the stairway.

  As he crossed the lobby, he nodded a greeting to the sleepy desk clerk, then entered the dining room, needing his morning coffee more than anything, that which he always enjoyed now, especially after missing the fragrant brew for over eight long tragic years.

  Logan was surprised to see Olivia sitting at a small square table, in a far corner, along with Maria and Ricardo. He never ceased to be amazed at her natural beauty. He wasn’t sure now if it was a cup of coffee that led him to the dining room or the hope of possibly seeing Olivia, he was not at all sure; either way he welcomed the pleasure of both. He took off his black hat, and after hanging it on a hook on the wall near the table, he pulled back the remaining chair and seated himself, with Olivia on his left, Ricardo on his right, and Maria across the table from him.

  The middle-aged waitress was in the process of setting plates of steaming food on the table, fried eggs, potatoes, bacon and flapjacks. Then she set down a cup for Logan and commenced to pour it full of coffee.

  “Morning, folks.” Logan nodded to the three, giving Olivia his best morning smile. She murmured a quick “Good morning”, then began dishing up a small serving of breakfast for herself.

  The waitress set an empty plate in front of Logan, and motioned to the platters of food, “There be plenty enough for all, dig in while it’s hot.” Then she called back over her shoulder as she walked back to the kitchen, carrying the hot pot of coffee, “If you run out, just give a holler.” She paused at the door leading to the kitchen, looked back once more in Logan’s direction, and thought to herself, “My Lord, that cowboy’s a handsome one…..if I was just a few years younger.”

  The cook, a gray-haired heavy-set man, sporting a food stained, and at some point white, apron tied around his generous middle, laughed at her, and said, “Dolly, I’ve seen that expression on your face ever since that cowboy hit town. Get over it; can’t you see he’s enamored with the young lady sitting next to him?”

  “Oh, I seen that alright.” She walked on into the kitchen, and added, “I can dream can’t I? One thing you can’t take away is dreams…..and mind your own business anyhow.” She laughingly swatted the cook with a napkin.

  After a couple of swallows of strong black coffee, Logan turned to Ricardo, “Amigo, I’m surprised you are up before the chickens this morning, even the roosters are still asleep.” He grinned as he began dishing up a huge plateful of food.

  Ricardo answered between bites of crisp bacon, “Only a gringo would say as much, amigo; we caballeros from south of the border, we take our siestas when the sun she is high and hot.”

  Logan grinned and commenced eating, as he waved a hand toward the side windows, and after chewing then swallowing a mouthful of eggs, said “My unobserving Amigo, in case you haven’t looked outside this morning, there is no sunshine out there, only rain…..a nice steady shower. No siestas in the afternoon sun for you, we should have a good day of muddy trails to travel in, and possibly wet clothing, and unless you provide yourself with a slicker while we ride out to the ranch. Me I forgot to buy one, but I’ll take care of that matter soon as the mercantile opens for business.”

  After the meal was finished, Logan excused himself, saying, “I need to send a wire to my Pa, let him know I’m still around.” He and Ricardo agreed to meet at the mercantile to pick up some slickers to wear on the trail.

  Logan dashed through the steady downpour, his booted feet splashing through deep puddles on the boardwalk, to the entrance of the western union office, which was located next door to the hotel.

  The door was locked, but the place was apparently ready for business, as the door was quickly opened as soon as he knocked. Logan stepped inside, as the agent then closed the door against the dampness of the outside.

  “Wet out there, huh Mister?” The man asked.

  “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” Logan answered with a straight face, as he shook the excess water from his hat.

  “Funny, very funny.” The agent said. “Well, I got a sense of humor too. Just call me Homer, if you like.” He then stepped behind the small, though cluttered, counter.

  “Alright, Homer,” Logan began, “yeah, it is wet out there. Nice weather, if you’re a duck. Haven’t even heard a rooster crow yet this morning though, guess he don’t want to get wet either, probably hangin’ ‘round the henhouse, hoping to steal their feed.”

  Homer chuckled, and said, “Some of the townsfolk have threatened to get that old rooster the next time they hear him raisin’ up a fuss, and toss him into the cookstove, feathers an’ all. Maybe one of ‘em done it. Well maybe not though, they do kinda favor ‘im a might.”

  He peered closely at Logan, and asked, “You want to send a wire, son?”

  Logan handed the agent the paper he had been writing the message to his father on. The wire was short, and to the point.

  PA,

  WANTED YOU TO KNOW THAT STILL ON MY WAY HOME. TAKING THE LONG WAY THROUGH A PLACE CALLED COYOTE SPRINGS IN TEXAS. DID MY THREE FRIENDS SHOW UP YET HUNTING WORK? JIM REYNOLDS, MACK PARSONS, AND GABE JOHNSON? GOOD MEN, OLDER MEN AND EXPERIENCED HANDS. THEY WILL WORK HARD FOR YOU. TELL THEM NOT TO WORRY ABOUT CAPTAIN DEVLIN ANY MORE. WILL EXPLAIN MORE WHEN I GET HOME. LOVE TO YOU AND MA.

  YOUR LOVING SON,

  LOGAN

  He then gave the agent his father’s name and the address to send the wire to, in Wyoming territory. Homer got busy sending out the wire, and then he asked, “You want to wait around for a reply?”

  “No,” Logan answered, “if one should come in, just leave it at the hotel desk and I’ll pick it up later. Thanks a lot.”

  After paying the clerk the amount required for the wire, Logan put his hat back on and stepped out into the still pouring rain. He realized it was still too early for the General Store to be open, so he quickly ducked back into the hotel lobby, figuring on one more cup of strong black coffee. It was going to be a long busy day……….maybe.

  Olivia was walking with Maria across the lobby from the restaurant, towards the stairway to return to her room, just as Logan rushed through the entrance
door, presenting quite a sight, as water dripped from his wide hat brim, and down onto his shirt, and she suppressed a giggle, covering her mouth with her dainty small hand.

  Maria was not so tactful, and laughed out loud, saying, “For heaven’s sake, Logan Wakefield! You gringos do know how to come in out of the rain after all, do you not?”

  “Well, I’m certainly glad to be so entertaining to you ladies.” He retorted. “Always ready to please.” He looked at Olivia, and added, “And you may go ahead and let out the laughter too, before you choke on it.”

  “Well, you do know how to make an impressive entrance, Mr. Wakefield.” Olivia laughed out loud then.

  “I’m still ‘Mr.’ to you, after all we have gone through together?” Logan quipped, feeling like he had just struck gold. Prim and proper Olivia Worthington, joking with him? Well, life certainly was taking a turn for the better, day by day.