Stands a Ranger

by Cotton Smith

  Kileen had placed Jessie on his horse and was standing beside it, holding the reins and waiting. Her head was down. She was singing softly to herself. Carlow thought it sounded like a cradle song, one a mother sang to her child.

  “Where’s Mr. Ward?” Carlow asked.

  “Oh, he needed to get back to his family.”

  “Well, that was certainly good of him to help us.”

  “Aye, me son. It ’twas.”

  He handed Kileen the piece of crystal, and the superstitious Ranger accepted it reverently. Staring at the rock in his fat hand, Kileen mumbled something Carlow couldn’t quite make out. Celtic, he thought.

  Carefully the big Ranger shoved it into his coat pocket. “A sacred stone, it ’tis, me son. Givin’ itself to the wise. Singin’ songs to the pure. Whisperin’ secrets to the knowin’.”

  Carlow thought Kileen’s description was close to Jessie’s explanation and shook his head. He told Kileen about how the young woman had ordered the rustling of the Cradle 6 herd and murdered two of Bea’s cowhands by herself. He included the ear cutting and face painting, and her murder of a German rancher and his wife. He told about her necklace of ears.

  Kileen eyed the woman on his horse. “Did ye check her for a knife, laddie?”

  “She threw it at me.”

  Changing the subject, he told his uncle of his concern about Marshal Dillingham’s possibly being involved. Kileen’s lack of response surprised him. Instead, the big Ranger asked if he knew where Red Anklon was since the fight. Carlow explained, for the first time, about finding the cattle and how the stampede had trampled Anklon and the other outlaws. He told about Nichols and Two-Wolves using the few remaining rustlers to round up Bea’s herd. He said the Comanche warrior had killed a hidden outlaw and that the gunman would have shot Carlow if Two-Wolves hadn’t done so. He told how Chance saved his life by attacking a rustler with an unseen gun. Silently, he repeated to himself that he was “just lucky.”

  Kileen started to tell his nephew about Bea’s shooting the black gunfighter, whom he had known in New York. He stopped in midsentence and observed that the Indian’s wolf medicine must have been strong, then chided his nephew for going after Jessie alone and not coming for him first.

  “Yeah, I should’ve. Didn’t expect such a welcome, I guess,” Carlow said, and swung into his saddle.

  “Ye didn’t be expectin’ Silver Mallow, either, me son. How dare he dress hisself as a priest?” Kileen crossed himself.

  Carlow nodded but didn’t respond.

  “How did ye get behind Del Gato, me son?”

  The question surprised Carlow. “I, ah, I saw him—an’ sneaked around the front of the drugstore.”

  “Did ye be givin’ him a notice of arrest—before ye be sendin’ him to the gates o’ hell?” Kileen cocked his head to the side and sought his nephew’s eyes with his own.

  Carlow looked away. He had never lied to his uncle. At least not about something like this.

  “Or did Mr. Ward be havin’ somethin’ to do with it?” Kileen’s mouth became a jack-o-lantern smile again.

  “I promised not to tell, Thunder.”

  “I can be seein’ why. ’Twill not be in our report to the fine captain. No, indeed.” He shook his head and chuckled.

  “Jimmy Ward Flanker is a friend, Thunder. He helped me. Twice.”

  “Such be talk for another day, me son. Another day.”

  Kileen was the only one who talked as they headed back to the jail. Walking beside his horse, the big Ranger told Jessie that Chance had sensed the spirit leaving Mallow’s body before they entered the house; that was why he had barked. Dogs had that ability, he said.

  She stared straight ahead, her expression sour and annoyed. Kileen either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and asked her if she was careful when she called to the spirits. He had heard that a ghost-seer who didn’t do all of the proper preliminaries or told a mystery in front of someone who didn’t believe would be punished. Only her slight grimace followed his observation.

  Carlow watched her and tried to hide his smile. She’ll be glad to get to the jail, he thought.

  “Why don’t you just shut up?” she finally blurted.

  Kileen looked at her, an amused expression on his face. “Why, Mrs. Holden, whatever do ye mean? I thought ye was a woman full of sweetness and light.”

  “Go to hell, you old fool.”

  “An old fool, is it?” Kileen asked, then told her that he had heard there was only one hour in the day when a ghost-seer could see spirits. The rest of the time no one had that ability. Unfortunately, no one ever knew when that hour would be. It was a mystery.

  “I guess ye not be knowin’ the hour either, me lass.”

  She spat down at him.

  The spittle rolled down his chin as he brought the horse to a stop. He stood for a moment. Without warning he reached up and dragged her off the horse. “Ye can be walkin’ the rest o’ the way, me darlin’. No one be spittin’ on a Ranger an’ stay mounted. No one.” He gave her a shove, then another, and she began walking. He placed his boot in the stirrup and pulled himself into the saddle.

  After a few steps, she paused and turned to Carlow. The innocence of a little girl filled her face. “Where is my brother?”

  Carlow’s response produced a scream from her that linked itself to a curse about the moon and her being Diana. Both Rangers watched her ranting for a few moments, then Kileen told her to walk or he would drag her to the jail on a rope. She began walking again, spewing chants and strange phrases.

  As they approached the marshal’s office, Kileen whispered something to Carlow, and the young Ranger kicked his horse into a lope toward the closest alley and disappeared into it. Chance raced along, three strides behind.

  Slowly Kileen swung down from his horse, and Jessie took advantage of his momentary distraction and began to run. The big Ranger watched her, a strange smile on his craggy face. Shadows quickly wrapped themselves around the fleeing woman.

  “Ye will be the first lass I have shot. Well, the first in the back. But ye shouldn’t be countin’ that,” Kileen said almost casually. “Mary Shagnon, bless her soul, she be dead of me bullets for sure.”

  He had never even shot at a woman, much less killed one, and didn’t want to start now. If she kept running, he would have to holler out to Carlow to come back and go after her. Running wasn’t anything he was interested in doing, either.

  But his bluff was enough. In the middle of the street, Jessie halted; her shoulders drooped. She stood, looking like some forgotten waif.

  “Now would ye be so kind as to be walkin’ back to the constable’s office?” Kileen’s voice changed into a cutting growl. “Or do ye want to be dragged in? ’Tis your own choosin’—but be makin’ it. I be tired o’ this nonsense with ye an’ your husband.”

  Her shoulders rose and fell, but she didn’t move. Kileen thought she might run again. The shuffle of his boots on the hard street was enough, though, to spur her into a quick return to the hitching rack.

  “That be a good lass. Let’s go inside.” Kileen made an exaggerated bow and ended his sweep with his hat in his hand pointing toward the door.

  She snorted her defiance and stepped onto the boardwalk. Kileen followed, knocking three times loudly on the bolted door. Inside, shuffling and urgent whispers erupted, and then it was silent.

  “Jes’ a minute, I’m a’comin’.”

  Marshal Dillingham opened the door with enthusiasm.

  “Oh, I see yo-all been ri’t bizz-ee.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Evenin’, Mrs. Hold-un. Sorry to see yo-all hyar.”

  She burst past him into the yellow-lit office and stood beside the desk, looking for her husband. A lone gas lamp was doing its best to provide light but losing to the corner shadows.

  “Be that one cell open?” Kileen demanded, following her inside.

  “Well, yeah, I guess so.”

  “This lass be under arrest for murder and rustling. Just like her man.
Put her in it.” Kileen’s glare was more than Dillingham wanted.

  “B-but this ain’t no place fer a wo-man.”

  “It be now. Do it.”

  From the back of the cells came a haughty command. “Ranger, you’ve done enough to me—and my wife—today. Put up your hands.” Dr. Holden pointed a long-barreled Colt through the cell door. He pushed it open. “It’s your turn to get in here.”

  “Don’t be thinkin’ that’s so,” Kileen said, almost smiling, but his mouth was closed.

  Marshal Dillingham’s own grin vanished with Kileen’s 330 response. He took a step toward the open door, keeping his hands close to the belt gun at his hip.

  “And why not?” Dr. Holden demanded.

  Jessie shouted, “Remmy, you fool . . . the other Ranger—Carlow—is outside somewhere.”

  “Not somewhere. Right here.”

  Dr. Holden turned his head toward the back of the cell. Through the small barred window he saw Carlow’s face. His hand-carbine was shoved between the iron posts and aimed at the physician. “Drop the gun, Holden.”

  “What be takin’ ye so long, laddie?” Kileen said.

  “Could’t find anything to stand on.” Carlow glanced down. “Had to use my horse. He isn’t as good as Shadow at doing what he’s told.”

  “A good hoss it be, though. ’Tis lucky to stand upon a horse. Make a wish. Ye must tap the bars three times. Do it, me son.”

  Dr. Holden frowned and let his gun bounce on the floor. In the uneven light, his purple and swollen face looked like a carved pumpkin beginning to bloat. His mouth trembled with rage, but there was no courage to back it up with action. He stood for a moment, then retreated to the back of the cell and sat on the cot.

  Picking up the keys from the desk, Kileen directed Jessie to the open cell, then closed and locked the door behind her. He walked to Dr. Holden’s cell, picked up the dropped gun, locked his door, and turned back to Marshal Dillingham.

  “Looks like we be needin’ to let this fella full o’ fine drink go free,” Kileen said, nodding his head toward the cell with the drunken cowboy.

  “Wh-why?”

  “Ye be needin’ a place to stay until the judge gets 331 here.” Kileen’s right fist held up the doctor’s pistol by the barrel.

  The big-eared lawman gulped his surprise. “B-but I—I didn’t do no-thin’. Nothin’ at-tall. I-uh didn’t know he had that. H-honest.” His ears wiggled as his agitation grew.

  “Honest? Don’t want to be hearin’ that word from ye, Dillingham. It be hurtin’ me ears.”

  Kileen walked over and yanked Dillingham’s pistol from its holster with his left hand. With a nod of his head and holding a gun in each hand, the big Ranger indicated he wanted Dillingham in the cell.

  The marshal’s chin fell to his chest. He began to blubber and his ears wobbled. “I—I’m s-sor-ree. I—I d-didn’t know w-what to do. Th-they w-were gonna kill me.”

  “Aye, so ye be spittin’ on your badge.” Kileen grabbed the star pinned to the lawman’s shirt and yanked it hard. Cloth ripped and the badge was released to the big Ranger’s fist. He looked at the sleeping cowboy in the cell. “Get up, laddie. ’Tis time for ye to be back on the streets.”

  Slowly the bleary-eyed cowboy with long sideburns and a scraggly mustache sat up on the cot. He stared at the big Ranger and Marshal Dillingham and decided the town constable had brought in a state lawman to take him away.

  “Come on, Marshal, I didn’t mean to break that window. I said I’d pay for it. Really.” The cowboy’s mouth pulled down at the corner when he spoke. It was permanently misshapen by a scar; the drop was not whiskey induced.

  Ranger Kileen said gently, “Me son, all is forgiven. Ye be leavin’ now. Go an’ sin no more.”

  “Really?”

  “Aye. An’ don’t forget to be payin’ for that window.”

  “Well, thank you, sir. Thank you, sir. I will, sir. I promise.” The cowboy jumped to his feet and hurried past Kileen and Dillingham, nervously opened the jail door, and vanished into the night.

  As Kileen turned to watch the cowboy leave, Jessie reached through her adjacent bars to scratch at his face.

  With practiced skill, he dodged her attempt and pushed Dillingham into the now-empty cell. Just out of range of her hands, he turned to her and said, “Did ye be knowin’ the forefinger of ye right hand . . . aye, that one . . . it be full o’ poison? Aye, the ancients say it be true. Never be usin’ it for puttin’ sweet salve to a wound. Nay, ye should not. Now the ring finger, ah, that fine finger can be stroked along any wound. All by itself. Soon the sore be healin’. All the other fingers be poison, but the forefinger is the devil itself. I thought ye would like to be knowin’.”

  She stared at her fingers. “You old fool! I wish they were poison. I’d kill you—an’ cut out your heart. The spirits would like that.”

  “No, lassie, they would not. The spirits don’t want to have anything to do with ye. Not now, not even after ye hang,” Kileen said as he locked the marshal’s cell.

  The marshal stood, his eyes staring at the torn hole in his shirt.

  Toward Dr. Holden’s cell, Kileen yelled, “Doc, ye should have been teachin’ your sweet wife some manners. ’Tis a pity to see such a pretty lass so poorly ready for society.”

  Slowly Dr. Holden raised his head. He stared at Kileen and spoke softly. “I’ve never been able to control her. She’s crazy like her mother was. An’ she was a damn witch.” He took a deep breath that brought new pain to his battered face. “Whatever you want, I can pay. You name it.”

  “Aye, Doc. Her name be Justice. That’s what me an’ Ranger Carlow be wantin’—for Bea.”

  Dillingham found some strength within himself. After glancing at the doctor and his wife in the adjoining cells, he looked back at Kileen. “Hey, I will tell yo-all ever-thang yah wanna know.”

  “Shut up, you idiot,” Dr. Holden growled.

  “Yo-all shut up, Hold-un,” Dillingham shot back, pointing his finger at the doctor. “There wasn’t supposed to be any problem, re-mem-ber? It was gonna be eas-ee, re-mem-ber? Yo-all don’t know noth-un’. Noth-un’.”

  “Have a nice chat, lads.”

  Behind him, Carlow stepped into the jail along with Chance. Kileen locked the cell door and strolled toward his nephew. The big Ranger’s grin was as large as he was, showing the full breadth of his teeth, missing and intact. He told him about letting the drunk cowboy go so there would be room for Dillingham. He planned to offer the marshal his freedom if he turned on the Holdens. He expected that. Carlow agreed with the action and told him that Nichols and Two-Wolves were holding Holden’s outlaws and getting signed confessions.

  “Looks like we spendin’ the night in a jail. Again, me son,” Kileen said. “Will ye be all right with that?”

  “Sure. We can wire Captain McNelly tomorrow and tell him what’s happened. Better wire Judge Garrison, too.”

  “Aye, the judge be two, three days away, I be thinkin’.”

  Carlow suddenly felt very tired—and very hungry. He glanced toward the cells and saw Jessie standing against the bars, watching him. Her back was straight, accenting her bosom against the red cloth. Her soft eyes were free of anger; replacing the venom was a calculated, come-hither gaze. Her warm eyes studied him and encouraged him to approach.

  “I can’t believe you stayed to help that old German woman. Why would you do that? You ruined everything. She was nothing. Nothing. The moon wanted her gone.” Jessie glanced down at herself, inviting his gaze to follow. “You could have had so much more.”

  Instead, Carlow looked at Kileen and smiled. “Oh, she makes mighty good sausages. Never had a spirit do that.”

  “Aye, an’ fine biscuits tasting like they be made by the sweet angels themselves.”

  Jessie’s fist slammed against the bars.

  “Do you remember that frozen pink rose we saw once?” he said to Kileen. “Three years back. There was a late snow that spring. We were heading for the Red a
nd rode past a house with a little flower garden. Really something to see. That rose so pretty—but all frozen.”

  Kileen watched his beloved nephew without speaking.

  “Always wondered what happened to it,” Carlow finished, “when the sun came out again and the ice melted.”

  “It became a stick, me son. ’Tis sad to see beauty that has nothing inside it,” Kileen observed, and put his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Why don’t ye be gettin’ us somethin’ to eat? I’ll stay here.”

  Carlow’s grin was a knowing one. “There’s only one woman I’m interested in, Thunder.”

  “Would ye have been includin’ Widow Beckham in your wish upon the horse?”

  “Well, now, if I tell you, it won’t come true.”

  Kileen nodded his head and patted Carlow’s shoulder affectionately. “I be thinkin’, ’twould be good to ride out to the Von Pearce ranch tomorrow. I should be 335 telling her that all be well. Ye know, let her mind be findin’ peace.” He followed that by telling Carlow about Bea’s shooting Viceroy and saving all of their lives. He spoke in glowing terms of her fierce courage. He didn’t mention knowing the black man from his early days.

  It was Carlow’s turn to observe his uncle. “You old rascal. You’re interested in Bea Von Pearce.”

  “As ye be sayin’, ’tis a grand meal she makes.”

  Carlow laughed, and it felt good. He suggested Kileen take a wagon of supplies with him; Bea would be needing them. The big Ranger agreed and said he thought Will Nichols would make a good foreman. Carlow teased him about his original opinion of the one-handed cowboy. Kileen didn’t respond but wondered if they should scout around for a few cowhands for her to hire. He nodded toward Dr. Holden’s cell and said there would be some good pastureland for sale soon, as well. Carlow told his uncle that Bea would soon have him riding herd, too. Kileen frowned and said he had other things in mind.

  Neither thought Bea would be interested in the Holdens’ hotel or saloon. When Carlow told him that Dr. Holden also owned the whorehouse, Kileen laughed out loud.