by Edward Gates
When Charlie broke through into the clearing alongside the cabin, he saw why. The barn had burnt down. The only thing left standing was the charred, crumbling remains of the stone and brick forge. The barn itself was nothing more than a pile of charred wood. Most of the fencing that once surrounded the farm was down or missing and the fields were overgrown. They hadn’t been tended to for quite some time. The cabin was still standing, but the door was broken off the hinges and lay in the dirt next to the steps. Charlie looked inside. Except for the birds and small animals that had taken up residence inside, it was completely empty,
A weight of disappointment flooded over him. He was so looking forward to revisiting Clemens and Jed. He stood on the step of the cabin and surveyed the deserted farm and blacksmith complex. He wondered what calamity had burned down the barn and forced Clemens and his family to leave. He let out a deep sigh as he thought that this farm must have been another casualty of the war. He wondered where they moved to. Then he saw a grave marker next to the burned-out barn.
“Oh, God, no,” he said under his breath.
Charlie moved slowly toward the grave not wanting to see, yet too curious to stay away. He feared it would be that of the boy. He knelt next to the grave and brushed away leaves and debris that obstructed the name on the wooden grave marker. There, burned into the plank by the steady hand of a skilled blacksmith, was a single name – ‘FRAN’.
Charlie fondly remembered the young black woman whom Clemens took as his wife and kept in the house, out of public view. He wondered what caused her death. He sat back on his heels and felt an emptiness within him. Tears found their way to the corners of his eyes. The disappointment and sadness he felt for not being able to see Clemens and Jed was now compounded by the grief of seeing Fran’s grave.
“Who be ya?” came a low voice. Charlie froze. “What’r you doin’ here?”
Keeping his hands in plain sight Charlie slowly stood, turned, and saw an elderly black man standing alongside the cabin. He was thin with tufts of white hair that dotted the sides of an otherwise balding head. His stained and worn bib overalls covered a dirty white union suit. He carried a Kentucky long rifle that he kept leveled at Charlie. Charlie noticed the hammer of the rifle was closed and there was no percussion cap on the nipple. He fought back a grin, knowing the gun was not loaded.
“Go on, now. Answer me,” the man ordered.
“My name’s Charlie. I’m a deputy sheriff from Fort Smith, Arkansas.” Charlie stood still, keeping his hands away from his gun. “I came here looking for Clemens Anderson. Do you know him? Do you know what happened here?”
The man lowered his rifle and walked toward him. “Sheriff, ya say?” Charlie nodded. “Wha’cha wantin’ with Missuh Anderson?”
“Clemens Anderson is a good friend. He and his family took me in a few years ago… saved my life. I came back to visit.” Charlie studied the old man as he approached. His hands were gnarled and scarred from years of hard labor. The skin on his face was cracked and dried. A horrible scar ran across his face from just above the left eye to his lower right cheek. “Who are you?”
“They call me Raymond. I worked here for Missuh Anderson nigh on two year, now.”
“What happened?”
Raymond set the butt of the rifle on the dirt and leaned on it. “It was just terrible. After the war, a lot of us had no home no more, no wheres ta go. Missuh Anderson and Miz Fran took in a lot of us. They fed us and we worked hard for ‘em. They’s good folk. Never turned no one away.” The old man paused and looked off past Charlie as if envisioning the tale he was about to relate. “Then the soldiers come.”
“Soldiers? What soldiers?”
“Them scalawag Rebs. Comin’ back when the war done ended. They was crazy… takin’ everthing. The animals, the crops. They started in beatin’ some of us. Missuh Anderson come out da house and stood on the step with his rifle, lookin’ like a mountain, he was. He ordered them to move on or he’d commence to shootin’ em.” Raymond shook his head. “All he had was this here one rifle. He ain’t had no powder fer it fo’ months.”
“Did the soldiers leave?”
“No, suh. One a dem soldiers shot Missuh Anderson. He fell off the step and laid on the ground. Dat’s when we all run off into the woods. I grabbed ahold a young Jed and lit out into the woods with the boy.”
“Smart move,” Charlie said.
“Them soldier boys runned into the house to steal food and anything wit’ value.” Raymond paused and seemed to swallow a sob. “Dat’s when they saw Miz Fran. Them Southern white boys don’t like no negro woman that take on a white man. They drug her out da house, tore off her clothes and beat her till she couldn’t move no mo’. Then they hung her from the hoist arm on the barn and set fire to the barn with her still a-hangin’ there. It was plain awful.”
Charlie stood in shock. Anger, horror, grief and disgust sent chills, heat flashes and goosebumps radiating throughout his body. He brushed aside a tear in his eye to see the tears streaming down Raymond’s face. He turned away and looked at the charred remains of the barn, trying to imagine the hell that Raymond just described. How could anyone do that to another person? He choked back a sob. Still staring at the barn, he asked, “The boy?”
“After dem soldiers left, we all come back. Young Jed run to his pa. Missuh Anderson was alive an’ weren’t hurt near as bad as we thought. He told us he’d had enough and was takin’ the boy away. We could stay here or go. I stayed to help Jed bury Miz Fran and get Missuh Anderson healed up. Everyone else run off.”
“Where’s Clemens and Jed now?” Charlie asked, glad that Clemens was still alive.
“They went to Charleston. Says he ain’t comin’ back to Summersville nohow. Says I can have the place, if’n I wants it.” Raymond walked back a few steps and looked out over the fields. “It’s good bottom land. But I’m too old to work it.”
Charlie was so distraught that he had to get away. He thanked Raymond and wished him luck. “Maybe you can get some others to come live here and help you work the place.” With that, he walked down the road away from Clemens’s farm. When he was out of sight of the farm he hurried deep into the surrounding forest and initiated the time belt.
Charlie woke on the floor of his room. He was back in the middle of the night. Stashing the time belt in his valise, he crawled into bed. He lay awake for a little while thinking of the inhumane torture and murder of Fran Anderson. The grief and sadness he felt was painful. He couldn’t imagine the anguish Jed and Clemens must have felt. He wished he’d never made that trip to Virginia. The memories he had of the time he spent there with Clemens’s family were wonderful. Now, whenever he thought of them, he’d most likely remember the terrible story that Raymond told.
Charlie stared at the beam of moonlight slicing through his room. He resolved to jump only when it was absolutely necessary. Jumping around from one time to another would eventually end in trouble. There was one jump, however, that had to be made. Charlie had to find Texas Jack Cable. Texas Jack was his ticket out of Fort Smith and into the Rangers. And the only place he would find him would be in the future.
57
Austin
An air of uncertainty grew in Fort Smith as June gave way to July in 1863. The news of Vicksburg’s collapse and the report that Lee was marching into a major confrontation in Gettysburg left people with the idea that the South may not be invincible. Charlie knew the devastating news that would be coming over the telegraph during the next few days. He remained silent about it and pushed himself into his work, trying to stay away from conversations regarding the war.
When Charlie visited Doc Levine he learned that Sheriff Hart passed away that morning without ever regaining consciousness. Two days later, on July 3, 1863, Sheriff Hart’s funeral was attended by most of the town. Business owners, government officials, friends and acquaintances. Everyone, that is, except Max. Charlie realized he hadn’t seen Max since the warehouse incident.
Michael O’Shea’s
temporary appointment as sheriff became permanent. His first official act was to charge the two Mitchell brothers and the saddle tramp that accompanied them with Hart’s murder. The circuit judge was due to arrive in Fort Smith the next day. Charlie remained on as deputy as he promised, but always kept sight of his goal to leave Fort Smith and join the Rangers as soon as he could.
The fact that he hadn’t seen or heard anything from Max bothered Charlie. He walked to the warehouse to check on him. Henry intercepted him as soon as he entered and told him that Max didn’t want to be disturbed.
“What’s the matter with him?”
Henry gave a huff. “Haven’t you heard about Vicksburg?” Charlie gave a nod. “Grant and the Union now control all waterways going into and out of the South. All our shipments are on hold. Business is gonna take a beating from this.” Henry paused. “But Max’s main concern is Edmund. He’s all he can think about.”
“Edmund?”
“Max’s oldest boy was in Vicksburg. He ain’t shown up on any casualty lists, so we think he’d still be alive. Max’s son is either a prisoner, or missing.” Henry paused, then added, “He’s pretty upset about it all.”
Charlie nodded. “I suppose I would be, too.” He stepped out of Henry’s cramped warehouse office and turned back to him. “When did you last see Max?”
“I dunno. Maybe yesterday morning, I guess.”
Charlie shook his head and headed toward Max’s office. He barged in and stood in front of Max’s desk.
Max briefly looked up at Charlie. “What do you want? I told Henry I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Yeah, I know. Henry told me.”
“I see you still disregard orders,” Max said sarcastically. He appeared downhearted. His clothes were disheveled and he hadn’t shaved in a while.
“I heard you’ve been stuck in here for a couple of days,” Charlie said. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?” Max shot him a stern look but didn’t answer. “Any word about Edmund?” he asked with as much sincerity as he could muster as he sat in one of the leather chairs.
Max shook his head. “Nothing.”
“How’re your wife and children taking it?”
“Evelyn prays all the time. The kids are naturally upset. Thomas is the most upset. He keeps threatening to run off and kill all the Yankees.” Max showed a brief smile at his middle son’s heroic misguided enthusiasm. They both sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Max started to talk. “Damn Yankees got every shipping port in the South blocked. Bridges are seized. Can’t ship anything anywhere. This war is gonna ruin me.” Max tossed his quill pen onto the desk and leaned back in his chair. “The South is beginning to crack. We can’t keep up with the Yankees. They’ve got unlimited funds, open trade and manufacturing plants. The South has none of that.” Max stood and stretched his arms and shoulders and then slammed the palm of his left hand on the desk. “This thing with Pemberton surrendering his entire army has got me so damn mad I can’t think about anything except Edmund. He’s not on any casualty lists so I still have hope he’s alive.”
“Edmund’s going to be all right, Max. You have to hold on to that hope. If he’s one of the prisoners, then they’ll march them all north. Once processed they’ll release their names. You’ll find out soon, I’m sure of it.” There was no reaction from Max. “Pemberton didn’t have much choice. They were out of provisions and the Union had the town surrounded. He withstood weeks of constant bombardment. The city couldn’t take much more. As bad as it was, he made the right choice. He saved the lives of his men and the citizens.”
Max looked at him. “Sometimes you talk too much. What are you doing here anyway?”
Charlie stood. “I came to see how you were. I’m glad you’re still as feisty as ever.” He smiled and got a half smile back from Max. “I also wanted to let you know that the circuit judge will be here tomorrow. You might want to get in touch with him about the Mitchells.” He put his hat on and headed for the door. “By the way, you should know that there’s a line of people volunteering to testify and serve on the jury. Like I said before, you won’t be able to get this trial thrown out. Your best bet is to talk to the judge about a lighter sentence.” He left Max’s office and closed the door behind him.
Charlie slowly walked back toward the jail, thinking about getting away as soon as he could. The first step was to find Texas Jack Cable, but where to look? He supposed that if Jack survived the war, he surely would have returned to Texas. Per Jack’s own testimony, the only home he ever knew was with the Rangers. They used to report directly to the Texas governor, so there had to have been some sort of a headquarters or office near the governor. The Texas capitol of Austin seemed like the most logical place to begin his search. Even if Jack wasn’t there, surely there someone would be there who could point him in the right direction.
Charlie figured that by 1867 life would have started to return to normal for the citizens of Austin. The summer of 1867 would be his target date. He’d jump tonight when everything in the town was quiet.
The sun was just making an appearance in the east when Charlie woke in the middle of a Texas prairie. A small herd of cattle stood a short distance away staring at him with their eyes wide and their ears perked. He smiled at the thought that the flash of light and loud sound that brought him here must have startled the cows.
Austin was buzzing with activity early on this morning. People were everywhere shopping and conducting business. Charlie enjoyed walking down Congress Street, peering into the store windows and greeting the people he passed. In 1867 there was a different, almost joyous air about. No one was dressed in black. No houses or businesses were draped in black mourning regalia. There were no devastating headlines or casualty lists nailed to the sides of buildings. Store shelves were once again filled with goods. The war was a bad two-year-old memory and the people of Austin appeared to have put it behind them.
After a few inquiries, Charlie was directed to City Hall on Hickory Street. He figured someone there should be able to tell him about the Rangers and if any were still around.
“As far as I know, there ain’t no Rangers here,” the city marshal said. “The only Rangers still operating are the frontier battalion in west Texas. They just recently got reorganized and put back together.” The marshal thought for a moment. “Now, they did form a group back in ‘63 called the Texas Mounted Riflemen. But they were regular army.” He paused again. “During the war, several minuteman groups formed in local counties. Most of them are gone, though. A few of them joined the Frontier Battalion. There might be a few of those fellas left around here. But, I wouldn’t know where you’d go about finding them.”
“Did the Rangers have any office or headquarters here?” Charlie asked.
“They did. But it’s gone now. For a long while after they shut down, a lot of them would congregate at a saloon on the corner of Cedar and Congress. I think the owner used to be a Ranger. You might try down there.”
Charlie thanked the marshal and headed down Congress Street to the only saloon at the intersection of Cedar Street. It was small and narrow with a bar that stretched halfway along the interior wall. Mismatched tables and chairs were scattered throughout the rest of the space. At this early hour, only a few patrons were in the room.
“What can I get for you?” asked the bartender.
“Coffee,” Charlie replied as he stepped to the bar and looked around the room. One gentleman in a suit sat at a table near the window reading a newspaper and drinking from a coffee mug. Another man stood at the end of the bar sipping a whiskey. A third man sat at a table in the darkest corner of the room slumped over with his head on the table.
“What brings you in here? New in town?” the bartender asked when he returned with a steaming mug of coffee.
“Yeah, just got here. How’d you know?”
“Usually, the only folks that come in here are locals, or somebody looking for something.” The bartender wiped the bar top in front of Charlie an
d set down the mug full of coffee. “We ain’t exactly a high-class establishment here. I don’t recall ever seeing you, so I expect you ain’t local. So, you’re either lost or you’re looking for something. Which is it?”
Charlie couldn’t help but grin. “You’re good.”
“Had a lot of practice.”
“I am looking for someone. Maybe you could help me.”
“Depends. Who ya’ lookin’ for and why.” The bartender stared at Charlie waiting for his answer.
“I know this is a longshot, but I was told the Texas Rangers used to meet here.”
“They did for a while. Governor got rid of ‘em. Why you lookin’ for a Ranger?”
“I’m trying to locate a specific Ranger. Goes by the name of Texas Jack Cable. Do you happen to know him?”
The bartender paused for a moment. “No, name don’t ring a bell. What do you want with this fella?”
Charlie sipped his coffee. He thought this bartender was being evasive… trying to protect his reputation and probably his clientele. “Texas Jack, along with a number of other rangers, saved my life a few years back. He and I got to be friends. We trained together at Crockett. We were separated there and I lost touch with him. I don’t even know if he survived the war or not. Like I said, it was a longshot.” He finished his coffee and tossed two-bits on the bar.
“How ‘bout another cup?” the bartender asked. “On the house.”
Charlie looked at the eyes of the bartender. Without him saying so, Charlie got the feeling that this bartender knew Texas Jack. “Yeah. I think I’d like another cup.”