Ranger's Quest- The Beginning

by Edward Gates

  Charlie slept at Mrs. Hawkins’s boarding house and worked from sun-up to dusk at the army camp for ten days. Every day he walked to and from the camp. He wasn’t used to walking any great distances, but there was no other alternative. He wasn’t too crazy about the simple lifestyle in this era, but it slowly became a part of his life – like it or not. He missed his apartment with instant meals of just about anything he wanted. He missed chemically treated antibiotic showers, a warm comfortable bed, disposable clothing that got created and discarded on a whim, and especially a controlled environment system. It took a while, but he finally got past gagging over the smells of animals, outhouses and body odors. The weather was tolerable, and he could get used to it, but the bugs were atrocious. There were many occasions where he wanted to tell the locals about what he had in his old life, about all the wonders of the future. It was hard to keep that inside himself and accept the situation.

  On Charlie’s third day in Clarksville, Max boarded one of his own cargo boats and headed back to Fort Smith. Even though he had only known Max for two short days, Charlie felt alone and abandoned with Max’s absence. Since arriving in 1862, he’d had the good fortune of having someone friendly close by, first Clemens and then Max. Now, he was on his own and a little apprehensive about it.

  The newlywed couple, Mr. and Mrs. Freemont, left the same day as Max and boarded the Butterfield Overland stage to Tipton on their way to St. Louis. This left just Charlie and the old man in the boarding house. The old man never said anything, never joined them for breakfast, never smiled. He came and went as if Charlie didn’t exist. He was always the first one asleep and the last one to wake. Charlie tried speaking with him a few times but got no response. So, he left him alone. Two days after Max and the newlyweds left, on Charlie’s fifth day there, the old man left and Charlie moved to the cot. Two days later, on his seventh day, two new guests arrived at Mrs. Hawkins’s.

  Charlie usually spent his evenings alone sitting on the front porch of the boarding house, contemplating the choices he’d made. There were no android servants, no demand radio, no dimensional television, no videos, no computers or data cells, nothing but silence and solitude. Occasionally he would hear Mrs. Hawkins reading aloud in the parlor, her soft voice especially soothing.

  He wondered how long he could keep up his charade of trying to be from this time period. Clemens knew the truth, although Charlie didn’t think the blacksmith had comprehended it. He had a feeling Max thought something was different about him, but he wasn’t sure. He thought about ending this nightmare by surrendering to the time-agents and returning to the twenty-third century to face his punishment; but then again, he knew the list of charges against him would be quite long by now. He also knew his father would be no help and he’d be put away for a long time… or maybe even eliminated. No, if he was going back, they’d have to drag him back. If he could just get away from the time-agents, then living here wouldn’t be so stressful. Then he could decide to return to the future when he wanted.

  On his last evening, with his work at the camp completed, Charlie counted his coins and decided it was time to splurge. Tomorrow, before leaving Clarksville, he would buy a new shirt and a new pair of pants. Then he would indulge in a much-needed bath, shave and haircut. That should leave him enough money to live in Fort Smith -- but it wouldn’t hold him for very long. He sure hoped Max would give him that job he had talked about.

  17

  Delay

  Charlie woke at first light, as he did every morning. He had been sleeping very well since moving to the cot. It was a crisp autumn morning with a warm sun and a cool breeze that splayed the lace curtains hanging over their second-floor window. The smell of dried leaves filled the air in the room.

  For the first time since he had gotten to Clarksville, he woke with a smile on his face. He knew this would be the day he would leave. He was happy to be finished with his work for the army. Charlie rolled up his sleeping gear and tied it on the ends like Clemens showed him. He picked up his haversack and quietly left the room so as not to wake the other two guests.

  Downstairs Mrs. Hawkins sat in her usual seat at the head of the table. She wore her standard black mourning ensemble, but this morning there was something different. Her veil was missing and, more noticeably, she wore a smile, something Charlie had only briefly seen on her before. He stopped and stared.

  “Good morning, Mr. Turlock. Breakfast this morning?”

  “Yes. Yes, thank you.” Charlie sat down on her right. “I must say, Mrs. Hawkins, and I apologize if it’s inappropriate, but a smile becomes you.”

  “Why, Mr. Turlock. You really shouldn’t.” She sheepishly lowered her eyes and looked away, feigning embarrassment. The smile remained.

  Charlie set ten cents on the table next to his plate and Roberta poured him coffee and brought his breakfast. Soon one of the other guests joined them. They all ate while enjoying a cordial conversation — without any mention of the war.

  After a few minutes, Mrs. Hawkins snickered and told about two strangers that stopped by her boarding house looking for someone named Archibald. Charlie choked.

  “They were dressed in the funniest outfits I’d ever seen!” She giggled. “Why, land’s sake, I never saw anything like them. They weren’t very personable at all. I told them there was no one here by that name and they just stood there for the longest time not doing or saying anything.”

  Charlie began to perspire. He noticed his hand was shaking.

  “I must say I was a little terrified of them.” She sipped her coffee. “Well, they finally left and didn’t come back. Wasn’t that the oddest thing?”

  Charlie forced a half-hearted grin and nodded. His appetite had vanished.

  “I have to tell you, Mrs. Hawkins, that I’ll be leaving today,” Charlie announced. “It was wonderful meeting you and I certainly enjoyed your hospitality.” His voice cracked.

  Mrs. Hawkins looked at Charlie in surprise, then looked away. “Well.” She sighed. “Well, it was indeed my pleasure, Mr. Turlock. I surely enjoyed your company. You are welcome here at any time.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hawkins. The next time I travel through Clarksville I will be certain to stay here.” Charlie finished his coffee and stood up to leave. He gave a final nod to Mrs. Hawkins and saw a light in her eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. She smiled at him and he returned the smile. With his haversack and bedroll in hand, he left the boarding house.

  Charlie walked toward town thinking of the widow and how much he had enjoyed his time with her. He had a smile on his face and a welcome contentment in his soul. He actually started to believe that he could live here. I wonder how long a mourning period is supposed to last.

  His thoughts quickly switched to the time-agents. They were here, somewhere, ready to lurch out at him at any opportunity. He walked to the general store, staying in the shadows, looking around each corner and carefully studying each person he encountered. For a fleeting moment he actually considered going back with the time-agents just to end this nightmare. He wasn’t sure he could comfortably exist in this era with the threat of the time-agents hanging over him.

  The general store was busy this morning. Two ladies were engaging the clerk while two others browsed the goods. Charlie looked around the store on his own. He found a pair of brown wool pants that he was sure would fit better than Clemens’s old canvas pants and picked out a new white shirt that appeared to be close to his size.

  “How much for the shirt and pants?” Charlie shouted to the clerk.

  The clerk excused himself from the ladies and met Charlie. “Hmmm.” The clerk rubbed his chin glancing back and forth between the clothes and Charlie. “Let… me… think.”

  “I have dollars,” Charlie said.

  “Dollar and fifty for the shirt and two and fifty for the trousers.”

  Charlie handed the clerk four silver dollars and left the store with his new clothes. He walked back up the street to the barber and bath house. It was far from be
ing a ‘house,’ just a large tent that was unstable on the leeward side. Inside, the floor was nothing but different-sized wood planks randomly placed directly on the bare earth. A pungent perfume smell hung in the air. An old barber’s chair sat bolted to a skid. The bolts were rather rusty so Charlie assumed it to be the same skid on which the chair had been delivered.

  The barber was a thin middle-aged man, clean-shaven and bald on top with tufts of nicely trimmed brown and gray hair on the sides of his head. He wore a clean white shirt with no collar and maroon garters on his biceps to keep his cuffs away from his work. He smiled at Charlie as he entered. “Mornin’, sir. Shave?”

  “Can I get a bath first?”

  “You sure can. I got the water already hot. You’re the first customer today so you get fresh water and a clean tub.” Charlie was glad he decided not to bathe last night.

  The barber opened a tent flap on the back wall, exposing a large copper tub perched across two large squared timbers to keep it stable and as level as possible. The tub was in a small room with three tall plank walls, but no roof. A door on the back wall led to a large kettle of hot water sitting over a fire. The barber set about filling the tub with alternating buckets of cool water from a rain barrel and hot water from the caldron. A wooden box turned upside down next to the tub held a long-handled scrub brush, a well-used soap cake and a towel.

  “You can git on in there now and I’ll leave ya be.” The barber walked out and pulled the tent flap shut. Charlie hung his new clothes on a wooden peg on the wall, undressed and got into the tub. The warm water soothed away the stress and the aches that he hadn’t realized he’d had. He bathed himself and relaxed.

  After a few minutes of soaking, he got out of the tub, dried himself and put on his new clothes. They fit fine. He rolled up his old clothes and stuffed them in his haversack. Next step was to have the barber do his job. The shave, haircut and bath cost him a dollar.

  Before he left the barber’s tent, he peered up and down the street for any sign of the strangely dressed time-agents. Staying as inconspicuous as possible, he hurried through the small settlement to the dock just south of town. A few small boats were roped up to the shore and only one cargo boat latched to the small wooden dock.

  Charlie stayed in the shadow of the only building, a small dock house not much bigger than an outhouse. A few people stood chatting close to the boat, probably passengers waiting to board. Charlie watched as the crew loaded cargo, all the while looking around the area for the time-agents. He was becoming paranoid, but he couldn’t help it. He was just heading for the ship when a man came out of the dock house carrying a handful of papers.

  “Excuse me!” Charlie said. “Do you know where that ship’s going?”

  “Back to New Orleans.”

  “New Orleans? I’ve got to get to Fort Smith.” Charlie paused and looked around. “Are there any other boats going to Fort Smith?”

  “None today that I know of. You never know when another boat will pull in, though. Might have one tomorrow. Not sure.” The dock worker turned and began walking to the cargo boat. Over his shoulder he hollered back to Charlie. “Butterfield stage came through about a week ago. That should be back around any day now. That goes through Fort Smith.”

  “Any day?” I’ve got to get out of here now. Charlie stepped back into the shadow of the dock house. There was no secondary plan. Paranoia gripped him. Now what’ll I do?

  18

  Dock Trouble

  When the boat was loaded and its few passengers had boarded, it set out down the inlet toward the Arkansas River. Charlie was disheartened as he watched the boat cast off. His plans had failed, and he didn’t have a backup plan. He had counted on reliable boat traffic in and out of Clarksville. Apparently, there were no schedules… for anything. Things happened here at someone’s convenience. He would have to accept and get used to this new pace and way of living.

  He sat down in the shadow of the dock house and leaned against the wall. The time-agents occupied his mind so much that he was unable to think of what to do next. In a town this small it would be just a matter of time before they tracked him down. The dock worker saw Charlie sitting alongside the dock house, walked over and stood beside him. He was a tall, thin man with high cheekbones which gave him a gaunt appearance. He was clean-shaven and his black hair was poorly cut and looked as if it hadn’t been combed in weeks.

  “You seem to be a very nervous fella. Why you in such a big hurry to get out of here? You on the run?” the worker asked.

  Charlie looked up at him and let out a little snicker. “No. No, I’m not on the run.”

  The dock worker folded his arms across his chest, leaned against the shack and stared at Charlie, who could feel the man’s eyes on him. “Well, if you must know, I am running, but not from the law.”

  “You army?”

  “No. I worked for them for a few days to make some money to get to Fort Smith. That’s all.”

  “So what are you runnin’ from? Money trouble? Women trouble?”

  Charlie laughed. “I wish it was that simple. I should be so lucky.”

  “So, what, then?” the dock worker persisted.

  “Let’s just say I’m trying to stay away from a couple of guys that want to take me somewhere I don’t want to go.”

  “Your name wouldn’t be Archibald, would it?”

  Charlie jumped to his feet as if the dock suddenly caught fire. He stared wide-eyed at the dock worker. “Did somebody come here looking for an Archibald?” The dock worker nodded. “When? When were they here?”

  “Yesterday. Just about this time.”

  Charlie’s mind raced with fear. He could feel his chest tightening and those old anxiety feelings creeping in. If the agents had been here yesterday, being the programmed creatures they were, they would most likely make the same rounds again today at the same time. Charlie’s distress was visible.

  “You really need to get away from these fellas?” the dockworker asked.

  “The sooner the better.”

  The worker ushered Charlie into the cramped dock house. “You stay in here. I got this friend who owns that little keelboat tied off down the way. He just got back yesterday. If I can find him, he’d probably take you to Fort Smith, but you’d have to pay him.”

  Charlie agreed. The dock worker closed the shutter on the only window in the shack and walked toward town. Charlie sat down on the floor and waited.

  After a while, Charlie got restless in the confined quarters and was thinking about leaving when he heard footsteps -- two sets of footsteps. He smiled, thinking the dock worker was returning with the boat captain. He was just about to open the door when he heard a far-off voice call out, “Hey, there, you two! What’re you lookin’ for?” Charlie slowly removed his hand from the door handle. If that was the dock worker’s voice, then who’s on the other side of this door?

  Charlie heard the synthetic voice from one of the agents on the other side of the door. “We are looking for a young man approximately five-foot ten inches tall. His name is Archibald Campbell.”

  “Yeah, I know. You two were here yesterday asking about him.” Charlie heard the dock worker approach. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told you yesterday. I ain’t never seen anybody by that name. Now that’s the end of it.” The time-agents didn’t move. “What do you boys want this fella Archibald for, anyway?”

  They ignored his question. “Perhaps he came here since yesterday. We are retracing our route and checking again. He is still in this area because there have been no other jumps.”

  “Jumps? What are you boys talking about?” The time-agents didn’t answer. Charlie peeked through a small opening between the wood slats on the wall. Other than the two androids, the worker was alone. “Go on now. Off with ya. I got work to do.” The time-agents stood and stared for a moment and then walked away. The dock worker watched until they were out of sight before he opened the door to the shack.

  “Those are the strangest-looking fel
las I ever seen.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Charlie said. “You didn’t find the boat owner, did you?” Charlie’s voice trailed off into disappointment.

  “Oh, I found him all right. But he’s got to sober up, first.”

  Charlie’s enthusiasm surged and sank within that same sentence. “Sober up?”

  “He drinks a bit,” the dock worker said. “He’s the best, though… when he ain’t drinking. He’s been ridin’ this river for nigh on twenty years. He’s piloted every kind of craft up and down the Arkansas. He’ll get you to Fort Smith.”

  “Sober up? It’s not even mid-day.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s him, though.” The dock worker smiled. “Well, it’ll be a few hours, but he’ll take you. You need to find a place to stay out of sight for a few hours. I’ll sound a bell when he gets here. You can come then.”

  Charlie gave a half-hearted nod. The dock worker stepped out and looked around, then waved him outside. Charlie thanked him and walked down the inlet and up into the forest. He found a place amidst the trees where he could see the dock, the edge of town and the inlet. For the rest of the afternoon he sat in the shade and watched as a few small boats came in and pulled up on shore. Most carried one or two men who got out holding a pole with a string of fish.

  As the day dragged on, Charlie began to wonder whether this boat captain was ever going to show. The sun had started to descend when he saw a stocky figure walking toward the dock. The man wore a wool cap, an old dirty coat and black boots that went up to his knees. He carried a fabric valise in one hand and had an old canvas bag slung over his shoulder. Charlie leaped to his feet and walked to the edge of the trees, excited by the thought of getting out of Clarksville and away from the time-agents.

  Charlie heard a bell toll from the dock and he walked out of the trees with his gear. When he arrived, the captain was on shore talking with the dock worker. The captain turned around as Charlie approached, stopping him in his tracks. They were both surprised to see each other. “Oh, my God!” Charlie exclaimed. The captain was the old man that had slept on the bedroll at Mrs. Hawkins’s boarding house.