Ranger's Revenge (Texas Ranger Jim Blawcyzk Book 7)

by James J. Griffin

  Jim peeled off his shirt and hung it from one of the windmill's cross braces. Unbuckling his gunbelt, he hung it alongside the shirt. He shoved hammer, wrench, and screwdrivers behind his belt and began his climb.

  "Found the problem," Jim shouted down to Charlie as soon as he reached the top of the mill's tower. "Wind bent a couple of the blades, and they jammed the gears. I'll have it fixed right quick. Why don't you start gettin' the horses ready?"

  "Sure thing, dad."

  Charlie headed for the corrals to fetch Sam and his own gelding, Ted.

  Jim hooked a knee over one of the timbers to brace himself and pulled the hammer from behind his belt. He was about to swing at one of the bent blades when a rifle slug smashed into his back, knocking him off the windmill's tower. His boot caught in a cross brace for a few seconds, holding him suspended in mid­air. Another bullet ricocheted across the top of his skull, sending a wave of blinding pain through his head. His body pulled loose and plummeted, landing stomach first on the edge of the wooden stock tank. The tank's wall collapsed under the impact. Jim's body hurtled across the yard propelled by the water rushing from the tank. The flow subsided quickly, leaving him sprawled in the mud.

  Charlie raced from behind the barn at the sound of the shots. He saw his father lying face-down and unmoving.

  "Dad!" he screamed.

  The sound of approaching hoof beats caught his attention. He looked up to see a group of riders, guns at the ready, topping the rise overlooking the Blawcyzk ranch. Running to the windmill Charlie pulled his father's Colt Peacemaker from its holster. He snapped off one shot. His bullet took an oncoming raider in the stomach. The rider sagged over his horse's neck, clinging to its mane until the hard-running roan's motion spilled him from the saddle.

  Another of the riders leveled his rifle and fired. A slug tore into Charlie's chest. He spun, staggered for a few feet, and fell face­down alongside his father.

  The riders galloped into the ranch yard.

  "Sure made our job easier with that Ranger bein' such a nice plain target up on that windmill," one of them said. He spat into the dirt alongside Blawcyzk's body.

  "Never mind that. Let's just get the stock and get outta here," the leader of the renegades ordered. "A couple of you pick up Smitty and get him on his horse."

  The outlaw Charlie had gut-shot was writhing in anguish where he'd fallen.

  "What about the woman?" another asked. "Blawcyzk's got a real good-lookin' wife."

  The leader grinned in anticipation. "Yeah, I reckon we'd better take care of her too. She's gotta be around here somewhere."

  As if in answer, Julia appeared in the doorway, holding Jim's Winchester. Instantly one of the outlaws leveled his revolver and fired, his bullet striking the rifle. Julia lost her grasp on the gun as the bullet's impact slammed her back into the door frame. Her head struck the corner of the frame, stunning her. She slumped to the porch floor.

  The leader dropped from his horse and headed for the house. "You boys round up the stock," he said. "Once I'm done with the woman you can have what's left of her."

  "You want to burn the buildings, boss?"

  "No! The smoke would attract someone's attention. That'd bring 'em down on us too fast. We've done what we set out to do, kill Jim Blawcyzk. Now round up those horses. We need to be ridin' in half an hour."

  Chapter 3

  Jim awakened to a severe pounding in his head and excruciating pain in his back. Fighting the nausea which threatened to overwhelm him, he pushed himself to his hands and knees.

  "Charlie!" Jim called when he saw his son lying in the dirt. Jim's pistol was still clutched in Charlie's right hand. He rolled the boy onto his back. Bile rose in his throat when he saw the blood spreading over Charlie's shirt. He ripped opened the garment to reveal the bullet hole in his son's right breast. Jim studied the boy for a moment, relieved to see the shallow rising and falling of Charlie's chest. He pulled the bandanna from his neck, folded it, and placed it over the oozing wound. Prying Charlie's fingers from around the handle of his pistol Jim shoved it into the waistband of his own jeans.

  "I need help. Gotta find Julia," Jim muttered.

  Hoping Julia was somehow still safe, Jim staggered to his feet and lurched toward the house. "Julia! Where are you?" He called.

  He struggled up the steps, nearly tripping over the ruined Winchester lying where Julia had dropped it, and into the house. He stopped short, struck speechless. Julia was lying unconscious in the middle of the kitchen floor. Her face was battered almost beyond recognition. Her clothes were torn and disheveled, revealing deep bruises over her body. Blood was splattered over the floor and walls, chairs were overturned and dishes broken. A piece of cloth ripped from one of her assailant's shirts was clutched in her hand, along with some strands of sandy-colored hair. Julia had apparently put up a ferocious fight against her attackers.

  Despite his wounds, Jim managed to lift Julia from the floor and carry her to the living room. He placed her gently on the sofa, then pulled the cloth remnant and hair from her hand and slipped them into his pocket. He covered her with a quilt.

  "I've got to ride for help, Julia," Jim hoarsely whispered. "I'll be back as quick as I can."

  Burning with the desire for revenge, Jim stumbled down the steps and across the yard. Instinctively he knew this attack was the work of more than one man.

  When Jim reached the barn he discovered the horses gone. Even Ben and Jerry, the draft horses, were missing. "Those sidewinders must've rustled 'em," he said. "They might've run off all the rest, but they'd never be able to run Sam off."

  He whistled, and was answered by a weak whinny from the back corral. Jim hurried as best he could around the barn, every step sending pain ripping through him. The corral gate stood open. Sam was lying on his side, covered with blood. His left foreleg was bent at an odd angle. He whickered to Jim when the Ranger came into view. The big paint struggled to rise but fell back with a loud sigh. "Sam," Jim said kneeling beside the stricken animal. "You didn't let them take you, old feller! I knew you'd never let that happen."

  Dangling from a splintered rail of Sam's corral were the bloody, shredded remains of a man's shirt. A ruined Stetson lay crushed in the dirt. Evidently one of the raiders had tried to take the big gelding, and had paid dearly for his attempt.

  Jim pulled the Peacemaker from his belt.

  "We've been down a lot of trails together, old pard, but I guess we've taken our last ride. I sure owe you a lot. And if the Lord's willing, I'll be ridin' you again someday across His green pastures."

  Jim pointed the heavy pistol at Sam's head, then lowered it, unwilling to do what he knew had to be done. Sam had been Jim's trail partner for his entire Ranger career. They had traveled thousands of miles over the length and breadth of the Lone Star State. Saved from his abusive previous owner by Jim, Sam was a one-man animal, loyal only to the Ranger. Anyone else, except for Jim's wife and son, who attempted to even touch the palomino and white splotched gelding would be sure to feel the wrath of Sam's teeth and hooves. Those same teeth and hooves had saved Jim's life on more than one occasion. And even after all these years Sam's stamina and speed were hardly diminished.

  Yet despite his vicious temper, Sam was gentle as a kitten with Jim. And everyone who met the pair quickly learned about Sam's insatiable sweet tooth. Jim always kept a supply of peppermints in his saddlebags and several in his hip pocket for his equine friend.

  Tears streaming down his cheeks, Jim raised his pistol again, thumbed back the hammer of the Colt, and aimed it just behind Sam's ear. He pulled the trigger, and as the gun exploded he crumpled alongside his horse.

  Chapter 4

  Dully, Jim became aware of a horse's soft nose rubbing at his face, while some hard object kept striking his side, sending sharp pain stabbing through his injured ribs. His eyes flickered open. He found himself gazing up at Sam's muzzle.

  "Sam!" Jim exclaimed in shock. Somehow the severely wounded gelding had managed to regain his
feet. Hearing Jim's voice, Sam nuzzled more insistently at him. Several drops of blood ran off Sam's nose to splatter on Jim's face.

  The Ranger was struck hard in his side yet again.

  "Sizzle!" The young gelding was alongside Sam. He pawed once more at Jim's side. Jim grunted when the horse's hoof hit those sore ribs.

  Despite his injuries, the Ranger managed a rueful chuckle. "I guess I'd better get off the ground before you two do what those hombres couldn't, and finish me off for good."

  Jim picked up his gun and shoved it in the waistband of his jeans, then pulled himself to his feet. He gave the two horses a quick look. Sizzle had a length of lariat wrapped around his neck, which was scraped raw from the rope's rubbing against his hide. Evidently he had fought his captors until he managed to escape and head home.

  Sam's injuries were far more serious. He still held his left foreleg at an unnatural angle and refused to put any weight on it. If the leg didn't have a broken bone, as it appeared, it certainly had a severely bowed tendon or torn ligaments. The big paint had a bullet wound in his right shoulder and another in his left hip. In addition, he had a crease where Jim's bullet had torn across the top of his head. Mercifully, when Jim collapsed his shot had missed its target.

  Jim scratched both horses' ears. "Lord, I guess maybe it's not time for You to take Sam after all," he said. "Thanks for leavin' him here with me, and especially for causin' my bullet to miss. I'm more grateful than I can ever tell You. St. Francis, I'd sure appreciate it if you'd watch after Sam for me until I get back." Jim hesitated before adding with a soft laugh, "Of course, Sam, maybe you're just too doggone ornery for the Lord to want you quite yet."

  Sam snorted.

  "I can't take the time to care for you fellers," Jim said. "I've got to get the doc for Julia and Charlie. Sizzle, you're gonna have to get me there."

  Realizing in his condition there was no way he could pull himself onto the tall gelding's back from the ground, Jim picked up the trailing length of rope around Sizzle's neck and led him to the fence. Sam limped after them.

  The lawman's instinct took hold when Jim reached the fence. He pulled the torn, bloody shirt from the post and picked up the crushed Stetson.

  "I'd better put these where they'll be safe. Might be the clue I need to track down these hombres" he muttered. He carried the shirt and hat into the barn and tucked them behind the grain bin.

  Sizzle was still waiting patiently alongside the fence for the Ranger when Jim returned to the corral.

  "Sam, I'll be back quick as I can, then I'll take care of you, old pardner," Jim told the paint, with a pat to his nose.

  Jim pushed the thought that he would most likely still have to put Sam down to the back of his mind. He climbed the first two rails of the fence and swung onto Sizzle's bare back, wincing with the effort. He wrapped his hands in the horse's mane and heeled him into motion.

  Sam nickered when Jim walked Sizzle slowly out of the corral. He hobbled over to Charlie and nuzzled the fallen youngster. The big paint nickered again, and then stood motionless alongside Charlie.

  "Thanks, Sam," Jim called. "I don't have the strength to carry Charlie to the house. I know you'll watch over him while I'm gone, 'ol pard." He pushed Sizzle into a trot, then a smooth lope.

  Jim headed for the nearest place he knew help would be available, the small ranch of his Texas Ranger partner, Smoky McCue. By the time he reached the McCue place Jim was slumped over Sizzle's neck, barely conscious and struggling to hang on. He had been forced to slow the paint's pace to a shuffling walk to avoid sliding off Sizzle's bare back. Jim called out weakly when his horse halted at the porch rail.

  "Smoky!"

  A moment later Smoky's wife, Cindy Lou, opened the front door.

  "Jim? Is that you? What brings you by? Smoky's not home. He's..."

  She stopped short when she spotted the half-naked Ranger sagging over his horse's neck. Blood caked Jim's scalp and was oozing down his back.

  Cindy Lou hurried off the porch. "Jim! You're hurt! What happened to you?"

  "I've been shot," Jim answered. He slid from Sizzle's back. "Charlie was shot too, and Julia... well, Julia's hurt real bad. I need the doc at my place fast."

  "You need the doctor right here!" Cindy Lou said. "Let me help you into the house and I'll go fetch him from town. Sheriff Justus too."

  She grabbed Jim's arm and draped it over her shoulders just before he collapsed.

  "Gotta send him to help Julia and Charlie first," Jim whispered. "I'll be okay. Just get Doc Vender to them."

  "Let me settle you and I'll do just that, I promise."

  Cindy Lou helped Jim up the stairs and into the house.

  "Just lie here on the sofa," she said.

  "I'll get blood on it," Jim protested.

  "Do you really think I'm worried, Jim Blawcyzk? You just lie down. I'll be right back."

  Before Jim could object, she turned and hurried into the kitchen.

  He dropped face-down on the sofa.

  Cindy Lou returned with a folded towel and blanket in her arms. "I'm going to try and slow that bleeding." She placed the towel over the bullet hole in Jim's back, then spread the blanket over him.

  "Where's Smoke?" Jim asked.

  "Still up at Denton. Mack Mason's trial's taking longer than expected, so he didn't get home yesterday like he'd planned. He's still waiting to testify."

  Cindy Lou tucked the blanket tightly around the wounded Ranger.

  "I'm going for the doctor now. Don't you pull anything stupid like getting off that sofa and trying to go after whoever did this," she ordered.

  "That...thought never crossed...my mind," Jim murmured.

  "Don't try and tell me that. I know you only too well, Jim Blawcyzk."

  She hesitated, expecting a further objection, but none came. Jim had again passed out.

  Cindy Lou ran to the barn and threw a saddle and bridle on her bay mare. She led the horse out of the stable and mounted. "Quickly, Dolly. You've got to run like you've never run before." She jabbed her heels into the mare's ribs, and the startled horse leapt forward at a dead run.

  Chapter 5

  When Jim awakened, he was lying on his stomach on a bed in a dimly lit room. Clean sheets covered his body. Half of the hair had been shaved from his scalp. He could feel the pressure of the bandages taped across his head and to his back. The mingled scents of soap, disinfectant, and medicines permeated the air. Jim recognized his surroundings. He had been in this room at Doctor Ronald Vender's small clinic many times. Vender was the sole physician in the area of San Leanna.

  Jim lifted his head and glanced around the tidy room. Lying in the bed next to his was Charlie covered with blankets to his chin. Jim tried to push himself up, but dropped back to the mattress as a wave of nausea and vertigo overcame him. The room spun and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

  The sound of the door being opened woke Jim up. He rolled onto his side and opened his eyes.

  "Jim. I didn't expect to see you awake yet," said Dr. Vender as he walked over to the Ranger's bedside. "It's a good sign." He began to pull back Jim's covers.

  "Never mind about me, Doc," Jim said. "Where's my wife? And how's Charlie doing?"

  Dr. Vender ran a hand through his wavy, steel-gray hair. "Julia's in the next room, doing as well as can be expected," he said. "I can say the same for Charlie."

  "What's that mean?"

  "Just what I said," Dr. Vender replied. "Julia was very badly beaten and she was raped. There's no polite way to say that. Besides her obvious injuries, she suffered a serious concussion. She's still unconscious. I expect her to eventually recover physically from the assault. But until she regains consciousness, there is no way of knowing whether she will have any permanent brain damage. And there is also no way to tell how the attack might affect her mental well-being."

  "That's all you can tell me?"

  "I'm sorry, Jim. I wish I could say Julia will be fine. But it's just too soon to know."


  "What about Charlie?"

  "Again, it's too soon to tell," Dr.Vender sat down beside Jim.

  "Did you at least get the bullet out of his chest?"

  "I did. The bullet went nearly right through him. I removed it through his back," Vender explained. "And luckily it struck high enough that it missed his lung. But your boy's wound is still extremely serious. The main worry right now is infection or blood poisoning. If either sets in then Charlie's chance of survival is poor. I don't have to tell you that."

  "Any idea how soon you'll know?"

  "Not really. It could be several days or several weeks. A pocket of infection could develop that wouldn't show for quite some time."

  "All right, Doc. All we can do is wait," Jim said. "But I want to see Julia."

  "In a day or two, perhaps. Right now you are far too weak to get out of that bed," Vender answered.

  "Doc, I want to see my wife." Jim tried to rise but the doctor held him back.

  "I want you to see her, too, Jim," Dr. Vender assured him. "And the fastest way for that to happen is for you to rest a bit longer and let me treat your wounds. Like Julia, you probably also have a concussion from the bullet that nearly took the top of your head off. And I had to dig deep to remove the bullet from your back. Your wounds would have killed most men. If you're not careful they might still kill you."

  "You made your point, Doc," Jim replied. "Just patch me up so I can get outta here as quick as possible."

  "That's exactly what I'm doing," Dr. Vender answered. He pulled back the sheets to expose Jim's back. He removed the bandages. "Your back wound is healing nicely," he said. "Much quicker than I expected. And there's no sign of infection."

  Dr. Vender cleaned, redressed, and rebandaged the wound. He did the same for the deep bullet slash across Jim's scalp.

  "The best thing for you right now is some more rest, Jim, and some food, broth and weak tea."