Ranger Justice

by James J. Griffin

  “Keep shut, Gordy,” Jeffers ordered, then continued, “Ranger, you’ve spoken your piece. Now I’m givin’ you exactly one minute after we take Marco out of that wagon to get off my land, and don’t even think of ever comin’ back.”

  “Sorry Jeffers, but I haven’t quite finished,” Jim retorted, “Mike Thompson, the first Ranger sent down here to investigate these killin’s, was workin’ as a cowpuncher on this ranch when he disappeared. I’d be willin’ to bet my hat he was killed somewhere right on this spread, and that your wife knew who did it. Somebody found out she knew, and she was killed to keep her from talkin’. Mebbe you’re even the killer, Jeffers. How about it? Did you kill Mike Thompson and then your own wife? Is that why you don’t want the truth to come out?”

  “Ranger, I’m gonna tear you limb from limb for that,” Jeffers screamed. Ignoring the threat of Jim’s Winchester, he dove at the Ranger, wrapping his arms around Jim’s waist as he rammed his head into Blawcyzk’s stomach and slammed him against the side of the buckboard. Jim grunted in pain, dropping his rifle as air was driven from his lungs.

  Recovering quickly, Jim smashed a powerful right to the point of Jeffers’ jaw, snapping the rancher’s head back. A following left hooked into Jeffers’ ribs, then the rest of the Rafter Q outfit bore down on the Ranger. For a moment their sheer numbers worked against them as Jim landed several solid punches, knocking men back. However, he had no chance against such overwhelming odds. A fist found his jaw, another his gut, then a knee connected with Jim’s groin, dropping him to his hands and knees. Someone kicked him solidly in the ribs, flipping him onto his back, writhing in pain.

  “Get him on his feet,” Jeffers ordered, wiping the blood dripping from his chin. “Wurst, Holt, hold him up.” Jim was pulled upright, sagging in the arms of two cowboys.

  “This is gonna give me real pleasure,” Jeffers sneered as he stalked up to the Ranger. Before he could land his first punch, Jim kicked backwards, catching one cowboy in the shin just above his boot. The man collapsed, yelping in pain.

  Jim drove an elbow into the stomach of the other man holding him, and as the cowboy grunted painfully and released his grip Jim dove for his fallen rifle. He stopped short as he heard the ominous click of a pistol being cocked behind him and Gordy Bob Webber snarled, “Don’t try it, unless you want your spine blown clean in two. Get your hands up.” With no choice, other than a bullet in his back, Jim slowly raised his hands shoulder high.

  “Barton, Saez, grab his arms. And don’t let him try anythin’ this time.” Once again at Jeffers’ orders two husky cowboys grasped Jim’s arms, pinning them behind his back.

  “You only made things worse for yourself, Ranger,” Jeffers snarled, as he snapped Jim’s head sideways with a blow to his jaw. “I’m gonna teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget.” He launched a punch that landed in the pit of Jim’s stomach, doubling him.

  “Hold him there,” Jeffers ordered the two men. Greg Saez swept Jim’s Stetson from his head and grabbed a handful of the Ranger’s thick blonde hair, yanking his head back.

  “That’s better,” Jeffers sneered, as he smashed Jim at the point of his jaw, then drove a punch deep into his gut. Held upright by the two cowboys, the

  Ranger was helpless as he absorbed one blow after another to his face and belly, until he finally sagged unconscious in the men’s arms.

  As Jim was dropped to the ground, Webber pleaded yet again, “Can I plug him now, Mace?”

  “No,” Jeffers replied, “One thing we don’t need is a dead Ranger on our hands. We might be able to pull off lynchin’ one without it bein’ connected to us, but killin’ a Ranger in cold blood’s another story. I think this one’s learned his lesson. And as for that other one, if he happens to pull through, we’ll let him have his trial…and we’ll convict and hang him all nice and legal-like.”

  “What’re we gonna do with this hombre then?” Bob “Liver” Wurst questioned. “We can’t just leave him lyin’ there.”

  “I hadn’t planned on that at all,” Jeffers answered. “A couple of you get Loyola’s body out of that buckboard. We’ll bury him this afternoon. Barton, Saez, pick up that Ranger, and once Marco’s been unloaded toss him in that wagon. These horses will head home on their own. We’ll send him back to town.”

  Swiftly, Jeffers’ orders were complied with, the body of Marco Loyola pulled from the buckboard, the unconscious Jim Blawcyzk dumped roughly into the bed of the wagon, his hat and rifle tossed in after him. The horses were turned toward town, their reins tied to the brake handle. A sharp slap on their rumps sent the bays trotting smartly toward Sanderson.

  “Last we’ll see of that Ranger for awhile,” Gordy Bob Webber laughed wickedly, “and the next time I meet him, I’m puttin’ a couple slugs right through his middle.”

  CHAPTER 4

  “Good mornin’, deputy. Nice day, isn’t it?” Bill Geoghegan greeted Rick Lewis, who was dozing in a tipped-back chair in front of Geoghegan’s store, his spurs hooked over the hitchrail. Taking advantage of a lull in mid-morning business, the storekeeper was sweeping the dusty boardwalk in front of his establishment.

  “Mornin’ Bill,” Lewis returned. “It sure is a nice day. Doesn’t seem like it’s gonna be too hot, either.” He idly glanced up the street at the sound of approaching hoofbeats. “What in blazes?” Lewis exclaimed, springing to his feet as he spied Jeff Murphy’s rental team trotting toward their stable, the buckboard with its empty driver’s seat jouncing behind. The team turned down the alley leading to the livery as the deputy raced after them.

  Hearing the team whinnying at the barn door, which was closed against the west Texas summer heat, Jeff Murphy emerged from the stable, staring in puzzlement for a moment at the sweated bays.

  “Nancy, Barry, what the devil are you doin’ here?” he questioned the horses as he grabbed their harness. “And where’s the Ranger? Take it easy,” he soothed the nervous team, stroking their chests. He looked up as Rick Lewis ran into the alley and shouted, “Jeff, get Lucky for me. I’ve gotta try and find Jim.”

  “There’s no need,” Murphy answered, as he glanced into the wagonbed. “He’s right here.”

  “Oh Lord, what’d they do to him?” Lewis exclaimed at the sight of the battered and unconscious Blawcyzk. As Bill Geoghegan trailed him into the alley, Lewis ordered the storekeeper, “Bill get Doc Sweeney, and hurry.”

  “On my way.” Geoghegan turned and hurried toward the physician’s office.

  As Lewis jumped into the buckboard and rolled the Ranger onto his back, Murphy questioned, “Is he still alive?”

  “He’s still breathin’, but it looks like he’s in bad shape,” the deputy answered.

  “I’ll get some water,” Murphy replied, heading into the barn to quickly return with a full bucket of the life-giving liquid. “Here,” he said, as he handed the pail to Lewis.

  Lewis upended the bucket, pouring its entire contents over Blawcyzk’s face. As the Ranger spluttered and choked Lewis urged, “Take it easy, Jim. The doc’s on his way.”

  Still dazed, Jim muttered uncomprehendingly, “Rick! What’re you doin’ way out here?”

  “What d’ya mean out here, Ranger?” Murphy broke in, “You’re back in Sanderson. Nancy and Barry brought you in.”

  “Sanderson?” Jim repeated.

  “Yeah, you’re back in town,” Lewis explained. “What happened to you anyway? You look like you tried to stop a whole herd of stampedin’ longhorns with your face.”

  “I feel like it too.” Jim managed a rueful chuckle as his senses began to return, “But it was Mason Jeffers and some of his men who did this to me. You know how folks like to claim it only takes one Ranger to handle a whole passel of renegades. Well, I’m here to tell you first-hand that’s a bunch of bull.” He struggled to sit up, instead falling back as a wave of nausea and dizziness overcame him.

  “Just lie still,�
�� Lewis urged him, laughing appreciatively at Jim’s self-effacing assessment of his situation. “Doc Sweeney’ll be here any minute.”

  “I can’t figure Mace Jeffers doin’ somethin’ like this,” Murphy observed. “Sure, he’s tough and ruthless, but beatin’ a man half to death just isn’t his style.”

  “Well, mebbe I did provoke him just a little bit, tryin’ to get him to make a slip,” Jim confessed. “Sure didn’t work though.”

  “I would say it didn’t,” Lewis agreed, glancing around as Bill Geoghegan, trailed by another man carrying a black bag, entered the alley. “Here’s the doc. He’ll fix you right up,” he assured Jim.

  “It certainly looks like someone took a severe dislike to you, Lieutenant,” the doctor stated as he climbed into the wagon bed and knelt alongside the battered Ranger. Frank Sweeney was a relatively young frontier physician, gruff of manner and speech. His gray eyes glittered behind his spectacles as he per-

  formed a cursory examination of Blawcyzk. “Well, there’s not much I can do for you here,” he concluded, “Jeff, haul him down to my office.”

  “I don’t need any doctorin’,” Jim protested. “Once I get back to the hotel I can patch myself up. And never mind me. How’s Steve and the sheriff doin’?”

  “They’re both still gravely ill,” Sweeney answered, “As you will be if you don’t let me treat those wounds.”

  “I’ve got work to get done,” Jim said, “Don’t have time to be sittin’ around a doctor’s office.”

  “You’re not goin’ anywhere but the doc’s,” Lewis curtly told the Ranger. “Jeff, get him down there.”

  “I’m all right,” Jim insisted, wincing with pain as he managed to sit up.

  “We’ll just let the doc decide that,” the blacksmith flatly stated, as he climbed into the buckboard’s seat and picked up the reins to slap them on the team’s rumps. When the horses started forward, Jim let out a yelp as pain shot through him and he fell back against the wagon’s tailgate.

  “Mebbe you’re right doc,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

  “Now you’re being smart, Lieutenant,” Sweeney agreed.

  When they reached the physician’s office, Lewis and Murphy had to drape Jim’s arms over their shoulders, supporting the injured Ranger as he climbed the stairs into Sweeney’s small but spotlessly clean and well-equipped clinic.

  “Just sit on that table over there so I can get to work on you, Lieutenant,” Sweeney ordered, as he opened the door to a back room.

  “Ranger, I’ve got to get those horses back and rubbed down,” Murphy noted, as Jim settled painfully on the table, “Oh, by the way, you were right. Your cayuse was a perfect gentleman while I shod him.”

  “Told you he’d behave.” Jim managed a thin smile.

  “And I’ve gotta head back to the jail,” Lewis added, “Doc released Dave Martin first thing this mornin’, and he’s back in a cell. I left Don Flanagan there guardin’ your prisoner. Don’s kinda the town character, but he’s a good part-time jailer when we need one. I don’t like to leave him alone any longer’n necessary though.”

  “Go ahead,” Jim answered. “I’ll be fine. And thanks, to both of you.”

  “No problem. I’ll check in on you later,” Lewis replied.

  As Lewis and Murphy closed the door behind them, Sweeney reached a large bottle of iodine from a high shelf. As he did, a rather pretty woman stepped into the room through a back door.

  “Frank, do you need my help?” she asked, her voice lilting with just the hint of an Irish brogue.

  “Yes, Ann,” he replied, “Start filling the tub with plenty of good hot water.”

  “Right away,” she answered, giving Jim a reassuring smile.

  “My wife Ann, who is also my assistant,” Sweeney explained. “She was helpin’ Mattie Hobbs at the Box H through a difficult labor the past three days. Mattie had a healthy boy, though, and she’s doin’ fine, so Ann’s back home. Well, let’s get to work on you Lieutenant.” He soaked a cloth in hot water and washed out the cuts on Jim’s face, then dipped a piece of gauze in iodine. “This is going to sting,” he warned as he dabbed the antiseptic over the wounds. Jim winced as the liquid bit into the raw scrapes and cuts.

  Once he had bandaged the cuts on Jim’s face Sweeney announced in satisfaction, “There, that’s finished,” as he wiped his hands on a clean cloth. “Now get out of your shirt and lie on your back, so I can see what other damage was done.” As Jim painfully peeled off his shirt and settled back on the table, Sweeney removed a brown bottle of foul-smelling liquid from a cabinet and pulled its cork.

  “Whew! What’s that stuff?” Jim exclaimed as the fumes assaulted his nostrils. “Smells awful.”

  “It’s a powerful liniment that will take some of the pain and swelling from those bruises,” Sweeney explained, as he poked and prodded at Jim’s ribs. “Well, miraculously it appears that you have no broken bones, but otherwise you were pretty well worked over, Lieutenant.”

  “I’d say that’s an understatement,” Jim ruefully chuckled.

  “Indeed,” Sweeney replied, as he poured a good measure of the liniment over the Ranger’s chest and stomach and began rubbing it into his skin.

  “Ow!” Jim yelped, as the medicine burned and stung, “What are you, some kinda horse doctor?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” Sweeney laughed, “Horse doctor, cow doctor, dog and cat doctor, midwife, human doctor…if any creature needs medical treatment, then I’m that kind of doctor. Now lie still so I can finish here.” Jim grunted as Sweeney ran the liniment-soaked cloth lower over his torso, pressing hard on the Ranger’s belly to work the medication deep into the badly bruised flesh and muscles.

  “Doc, I need to ask you a favor,” Jim said as Sweeney continued to massage the liniment over his upper body.

  “What might that be?” Sweeney asked.

  “The sheriff told me you also act as the county coroner when need be,” Jim said.

  “That’s correct,” Sweeney concurred.

  “He also told me you didn’t remove the bullets from Rebecca Jeffers’ body. I need to see those slugs for evidence. Soon as I can, tomorrow mornin’ at the latest, I’m gonna have her exhumed. I’ll need you to dig those slugs out of the body so I can examine them.”

  “First, you won’t be in any kind of shape to do any digging for a few days,” Sweeney replied, “but more importantly, there’s no need to exhume that body.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean those bullets passed clear through Rebecca,” Sweeney explained. “She was shot twice through her stomach at close range, and both of the bullets emerged from her back.”

  “It didn’t look like they hit any bone?”

  “Not from the appearance of the exit wounds. There were exactly two, about as symmetrical as exit wounds ever are.”

  “So if she was shot in that house, then the slugs should still be in there somewhere,” Jim excitedly exclaimed, grunting as he tried to push himself upright.

  “Just take it easy, Lieutenant,” Sweeney urged, “I’m almost done here. And yes, if Rebecca was killed in her house the bullets should still be there, unless someone has already found and removed them.”

  “Doc, have your wife get Deputy Lewis for me,” Jim requested. “I want to check that house muy pronto.”

  “I’m sorry Lieutenant, but you’re not leaving here for awhile yet,” Sweeney replied, “The best thing you can do for yourself right now is soak in a good hot bath for two or three hours. That will ease quite a bit of the pain you have right now. That’s why I’m having Ann draw that bath. I’ve got some mineral salts for you to pour in that tub, and I expect you to stay in there for at least two hours.”

  “But doc, I’ve gotta check that house,” Jim protested.

  “That house can wait a few more hours,” Sweeney rejoined, “If
those bullets haven’t been found and removed by now, they won’t go anywhere while you take care of your injuries. You’re taking that soak, and that’s doctor’s orders.”

  “I reckon you’re right.” Jim gave in with a sigh. “And I sure can use that bath. Haven’t had one since I left Austin.”

  “I never would have guessed,” Sweeney laughed, wrinkling his nose as he sniffed disdainfully.

  “Yeah, sure,” Jim chuckled. “You’re a poor liar, doc.”

  “Lieutenant, I’m finished with you for now,” Sweeney said as he recorked the liniment bottle. “I want you to lie there for another fifteen minutes and let that liniment work on you. The tub is in the back room. There will be a towel, washcloth, and soap for you along with those salts. Is there anything else you’ll need at the moment?”

  Jim ran a hand over his whisker-stubbled jaw. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you rustle me up a razor? I haven’t shaved since I left Austin either.”

  “Certainly,” Sweeney agreed, wiping his hands on a clean towel. “Now you just relax. I’ll have Ann call you when your bath is ready.”

  “OK, Doc,” Jim agreed, “And thanks…for everything.”

  Half an hour later, Jim was soaking luxuriously in a zinc tub full of almost scalding hot water. As he settled deeper into the tub, the pain began to leave his battered body as his aching muscles eased. His mind, however, refused to relax, his thoughts racing as he mused over the few clues he had uncovered since arriving in Sanderson.

  CHAPTER 5

  Rick Lewis looked up in surprise from his checkerboard as late in the afternoon Jim returned to the sheriff’s office. A gray-bearded oldster studying the board barely glanced at the newcomer, then went back to concentrating on his pieces. Behind them Dave Martin, still under the effects of the laudanum Doctor Sweeney had given him, was snoring loudly in his cell.