Ranger Justice

by James J. Griffin

  “If you knew the answer to that question, Jeff, you could have my job,” Jim ruefully chuckled. “Listen, don’t say anythin’ about that saddle to anyone quite yet, will you?”

  “I sure won’t,” Murphy promised, “But you’d best see your horse before he tears my barn down.” Sam’s anxious whinnies reverberated throughout the stable as he pawed frantically at his stall door.

  “Headin’ in there right now,” Jim assured him. As the three men entered the stable, Jim called out, “Take it easy, Sam. I’m right here.” While Sam nuzzled his chest, he gave the horse a peppermint and a gentle pat on the muzzle, with a promise to return as soon as possible. Then he turned to where his saddle hung on a wall peg and untied the Lightning from the cantle.

  “This is your gun, isn’t it Rick?” he asked as he handed the rifle to the deputy.

  “It sure is,” Lewis exclaimed in disbelief as he checked the Lightning’s action. “Still seems to work just fine, though it’s a bit the worse for wear. But who stole it from the sheriff’s office?”

  “You mean someone stole Rick’s rifle?” Murphy broke in.

  “Appears so,” Jim explained, “And whoever did used it to try and shoot me in the back and lay the blame on Rick. Same hombre stole his horse. Jeff, I’ve gotta ask you not to say a word about this either.”

  “Far as I’m concerned, I never even saw you today,” Murphy replied.

  “Bueno,” Jim responded. “Jeff, I know you didn’t hear me or whoever was ridin’ Lucky come in last night, but do you recollect seein’ anyone suspicious hangin’ around the barn the past few days?”

  “No one at all,” Murphy replied.

  “Jim, you’ve gotta get to the doc’s now!” Lewis insisted. Turning to Murphy, he explained, “This ornery cuss took a gun barrel over his head last night, and he doesn’t want to have it checked. I’m gonna have to drag his sorry hide to Doc Sweeney’s.”

  “No you won’t,” Jim replied, “Not that you could if you tried. But I’m ready. Jeff, if you find anythin’ else out of place you let me or Rick know right away.”

  “I’ll do that,” Murphy promised.

  “Jim.” Lewis grabbed the Ranger’s shoulder and shoved him toward the street.

  “All right, I’m goin’,” Jim chuckled.

  “Lieutenant Blawcyzk, what happened to you?” Ann Sweeney asked as he and Lewis entered her husband’s small clinic, in the large ell of their home.

  “Someone tried to rearrange my face,” Jim ruefully grinned. “Luckily, they hit my thick head instead, so there isn’t much damage.”

  “That’s nothing to joke about. A blow to the head can be very serious,” Ann scolded. “You come right in, and I’ll fetch my husband.”

  “Thanks, ma’am,” Jim replied, as she led him into the examination room. A few moments later, Doctor Frank Sweeney entered the room.

  “Hello, Lieutenant,” the physician greeted him. “I was wondering why you hadn’t been by for the past couple of days. My wife tells me you’ve been injured.”

  “Nothin’ all that serious Doc,” Jim responded, as he pulled off his Stetson. “Just some scrapes and bruises, and a bump on my head. Before we get started

  though, I’ve got a couple questions for you. First, Rick tells me Steve is still alive. Any chance he’s gonna pull through after all?”

  “I’d say he’s got an excellent chance, much to my surprise,” Sweeney answered. “His fever has broken, his breathing is much better, and he’s resting comfortably. I am still rather amazed, but I believe he will make a full recovery, unless another infection sets in. In fact, he should be coming out of his coma anytime now.”

  “That’s great news. Thanks.” Jim gratefully replied. “Second question. You have anyone come by here lookin’ to get a bullet hole in his side patched up, either late last night or real early this mornin’?”

  “No. Why do you ask?” Sweeney quickly answered.

  “Because someone tried to drygulch me yesterday,” Jim explained. “I winged the hombre and followed him back to town. He was losin’ a lot of blood. I trailed him to the livery stable, then in this direction, but he was layin’ for me and smashed me in the head with his gun butt. I’m lucky he didn’t land a solid blow or he’d’ve caved my skull in. With the amount of blood he was losin’, I figure he had to get to a doctor right quick. And you’re the only one in the entire county.”

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but no one has sought treatment for a bullet wound for quite some time. I would venture to say if that person knew you were on his trail he probably decided to chance reaching another physician for treatment.”

  “I doubt it,” Jim disagreed. “The nearest medico after here is clear up in Fort Stockton. That’s two days’ hard ridin’ even for a man who’s not carryin’ a slug. It’d be just about impossible for the hombre I plugged to make it that far without bleedin’ to death or passin’ out and dyin’ in the malpais.”

  “Still, as you said, it’s ‘just about’ impossible,” Sweeney rejoined. “Not ‘impossible’. And look at your young partner. I didn’t give him a chance of survival, but apparently he’s on the way to a full recovery. And perhaps, knowing you were on his trail, that gunman preferred to chance dying from his wound rather than being taken into custody.”

  “You could be right,” Jim reluctantly agreed. “Or mebbe he’s still holed up somewhere in town. If he is, I’ll find him.”

  “I’m certain you will, Lieutenant,” Sweeney replied. “I’m afraid I’ll have to shave off a strip of your hair so I can stitch that gash in your scalp,” he apologized. “I hope that won’t bother you. Some men get quite upset about that.”

  “Not at all,” Jim chuckled. “I’ll just pull my hat down tighter. Get at it doc, so I can try and track down that renegade.”

  “Certainly,” Sweeney agreed, as he took a razor from the shelf. He rinsed out the gash in Blawcyzk’s scalp, then began to shave a long strip of blonde hair from the back to the front of the Ranger’s skull.

  “Oww!” Jim yelped as the physician’s hand slipped, and the razor took a hunk of skin, causing his scalp to bleed copiously once again.

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Sweeney apologized, as he placed a clean cloth over the fresh cut. “I’m rather tired this morning, and I’m afraid I’m not quite as steady as I should be.”

  “Didn’t get much sleep last night?”

  “It’s not that. I had a patient with a broken arm come in late, so I was working on him until well past my normal bedtime. Once I did get to bed, I slept like a baby.” He lifted the cloth and noted. “The bleeding is just about stopped. I’ll be able to finish in a moment.”

  As Sweeney again picked up the razor, Jim noted, “You seem a trifle edgy this mornin’, doc. You sure somethin’s not botherin’ you?” Sweeney’s hand trembled noticeably as he placed the razor against the Ranger’s scalp.

  “No, not at all. Like I said, I’m just a little tired. I’ll be fine,” Sweeney assured him.

  “Well, I’m sure glad you’re just workin’ on my scalp, and not givin’ me a shave,” Jim answered. “I’d be afraid of gettin’ my throat sliced wide open. And you keep glancin’ at that door. If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone was watchin’ you…say like the hombre who tried to plug me in the back.”

  “Nonsense,” Sweeney replied, “You’re just overly suspicious. I imagine that comes with being a lawman. There, I’m just about finished.” He took one final strip of hair from Jim’s head, then he rinsed out the gash once again and doused it with antiseptic. “This is going to hurt, and you’ll feel some pulling,” he warned, as he picked up a needle and surgical thread. “Try to keep as still as possible.”

  “I know,” Jim answered. “I’ve had stitches before. Go ahead.”

  Jim winced as the needle’s point was inserted into his skin, and he grunted slightly as the thread was p
ulled through, drawing the ragged edges of the wound together.

  “It won’t be much longer,” Sweeney assured him, as he took another stitch.

  “I appreciate that,” Jim answered, “And once you’re done, I’d like to visit with the sheriff for a few minutes. Mebbe John has some idea about that drygulcher. If you think he’s healed up enough, mebbe he can help me look for him.”

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. You hadn’t asked, but I was going to tell you once we were finished here. John’s had a sudden and very unexpected setback. He’s under heavy sedation right now, and unconscious. I’m afraid I can’t allow him any visitors. He needs as much rest as possible. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Hey, easy doc!” Jim yelped as the physician tugged roughly at the Ranger’s scalp, the needle jabbing his skin. “Not so rough.”

  “Sorry,” Sweeney mumbled.

  “It’s all right. And I have to say I don’t understand. John seemed fine when I last talked to him. In fact, he was chompin’ at the bit to get outta bed.”

  “I realize that,” Sweeney responded. “But you know how tricky gunshot wounds can be, Lieutenant, particularly those to the chest or abdomen. An infection has set in, which has led to blood poisoning. The sheriff is in grave danger right now.”

  “All the more reason I need to talk to him right away, if it’s at all possible,” Jim urged. “Mebbe he can help fill in the pieces of the puzzle I’m finally begin-nin’ to put together.”

  “I wouldn’t count on his help,” Sweeney answered. “Even if John could talk, he probably wouldn’t make any sense. Perhaps in a few days you can speak with him. I’ll let you know once I feel your visit won’t endanger him.”

  “I can go along with that,” Jim reluctantly agreed. “You just about finished with me?”

  “All I need to do is bandage your scalp,” Lewis stated. He efficiently plastered a clean bandage over the neatly stitched wound. “There, we’re done. Now you make sure to keep that wound as clean as possible.”

  “I will,” Jim promised, as he stood up and jammed on his Stetson. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Two dollars will cover it.”

  “I reckon that’s reasonable,” Jim sighed, as he dug in his pocket and came up with two silver dollars. As he handed them to the physician, he flatly stated. “Now you’ve got one thing left to do, Doc.”

  “What’s that?” Sweeney asked, fear flickering in his eyes for just a moment.

  “You’re lettin’ me in to see John Crowe.”

  “I’ve already told you that’s impossible, Lieutenant,” Sweeney objected.

  “So’s runnin’ your practice from a jail cell, which is where you’ll be when I run you in for obstructin’ justice and interferin’ with an official investigation,” Jim growled. “Your choice, Doc. Either I see the sheriff, or you go to jail. Which’ll it be?”

  “It seems you’re giving me no alternative,” Sweeney grumbled. “All right, you win, Lieutenant. I’ll let you see the sheriff.”

  “Right smart decision,” Jim retorted. “Now just let me call Rick Lewis, and we’ll all visit the sheriff together.”

  “I have other patients to attend to,” Sweeney protested.

  “I didn’t see or hear anyone in your waitin’ room,” Jim rejoined. “If anyone does come in, they’ll just have to wait a few minutes. Are you gonna keep stal-lin’, or do I get to see the sheriff?”

  Sweeney’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “No, you can visit him right now.”

  Doctor Sweeney pushed aside the curtain to the room holding the wounded lawmen, Ranger Steve Masters and Sheriff John Crowe. As Jim entered the dimly lit room, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the light, then observed the sheriff glaring directly at him. Crowe’s face was flushed, his eyes glassy with pain and fever. A sheet was pulled up to his chin. In the next bed, Steve Masters lay quietly, his breathing deep and regular.

  “I must object one last time,” Sweeney protested, as Jim walked up to the sheriff’s bed. “John really needs to rest.”

  “I’ll only be a few minutes,” Jim promised, “’sides, I thought you said he was in a coma.”

  “You know comas can be unpredictable, Lieutenant,” Sweeney answered. “I don’t need to tell you that. I’m as surprised as you to see John is awake.”

  “I’m certain you are,” Jim replied. “Howdy, Sheriff,” he greeted Crowe. “The doc here tells me you’re doin’ right poorly all of a sudden. I’m sure sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks,” Crowe mumbled. “Reckon I was hit worse’n I first thought.”

  “I reckon you were,” Jim snapped, as he jerked back the sheet covering Crowe, revealing his upper torso. A fresh white bandage was taped over the sheriff’s stomach, with the bright crimson stain of blood seeping through already apparent. The only sign of the bullet which had struck him in the chest was a vivid scar over his right breast and along his ribs. “Worse’n I thought you were hit, too. You’re the hombre who drygulched me up in Gypsum Creek Canyon! That’s my slug you’ve got in your stomach.” As he said this, he ripped a Smith and Wesson .44 pistol out of Crowe’s hand.

  “John’s the hombre who tried to kill you?” Rick Lewis exclaimed in disbelief.

  “That’s impossible!” Doctor Sweeney protested. “John has been in bed recovering from his bullet wound. He hasn’t been well enough to move around this room, let alone ride to Gypsum Creek Canyon and attempt an ambush.”

  “Then how do you explain that fresh bullet hole in his stomach, Doc?” Jim sarcastically asked. “I’ll tell you how. The sheriff here wasn’t wounded anywhere near as he let on. That bullet he took at the jail merely winged him. He was only unconscious for a short time. He’s been sneakin’ out of here, goin’ back and forth as he pleases. And you’ve been helpin’ him. You and Crowe’ve been in on this whole thing right from the start.”

  “Now you’re being simply ridiculous!” Sweeney shouted hysterically. “In on what whole thing?”

  “Don’t go near those scalpels on the table, doc,” Lewis warned, as Sweeney edged toward a sideboard. “Less’n you want a slug in your guts too.” He leveled his battered rifle at the physician’s stomach.

  “The plot to gain control of Gypsum Creek Canyon for the Seven Winds Mining Company,” Jim stated. “Except murder wasn’t part of the original plan. Am I right, Sheriff?” he snapped.

  “Lieutenant, I insist you leave right now. Sheriff Crowe is too weak to be subjected to such treatment,” Sweeney screeched. “And he should not have to listen to your absurd accusations.”

  “Let it go, Frank,” Crowe sighed in resignation. “It’s over.” He turned to Blawczyk. “You’re right, Lieutenant. About all of it.”

  Ann Sweeney slowly opened the door. “What’s wrong in here?” she asked, clearly worried.

  “Mrs. Sweeney, I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here for awhile. Rick, keep an eye on the doc and his wife,” Jim ordered. “I’m placin’ him under arrest, and perhaps her too.” As Ann gave a shocked gasp, Jim continued, “Sheriff, you want to talk?”

  “I might as well,” Crowe weakly answered as he coughed violently, spitting up blood. Sweat was now beading on his forehead and trickling down his chest. “I’m dyin’ from your slug in my guts. I figure I would’ve already been dead if it hadn’t hit my gunstock first…reckon I should say Rick’s gunstock,” he ruefully added.

  “So it’s true,” Lewis softly murmured. “Why, John?”

  “You want to tell him, Lieutenant?” Crowe asked.

  “Because there’s a fortune in cinnabar ore, quicksilver, in Gypsum Creek Canyon,” Jim explained. “And your boss and his pardners wanted it all for themselves. Only someone got greedy.”

  “John, keep your mouth shut,” Sweeney urged.

  “You’d best keep your mouth shut,” Lewis warned him, “or I’ll gag you.”

  “Let me tal
k,” Crowe insisted. “But first I’ve gotta ask you, Jim. How’d you get onto me?”

  “Mainly because you lied about Brett Sloane’s death,” the Ranger explained. “He wasn’t hung like you claimed, at least not in his office. Remember, I told you there was no sign of a body bein’ strung up from that rafter.”

  “I had a feelin’ you wouldn’t buy that story,” Crowe shook his head.

  “I didn’t,” Jim agreed, “And when I found a file on Kurt Thornberg, the missin’ geologist, hidden in the back of a drawer in Sloane’s office, that gave me enough to start diggin’ in the right places. The Seven Winds is kind of an unusual name. There’s seven seas, but generally folks speak of the four winds. First time I rode into Gypsum Creek Canyon, I noticed the wind never stopped blowin’ down-canyon. In fact, that’s how you were able to get close enough to try and drill me without my horse hearin’ or scentin’ you. You were downwind of us. Anyway, there were seven partners in the minin’ company. You, the doc here, Thor Lundgren, Mace Jeffers, Brett Sloane, and John Collins and his wife. Hence, the Seven Winds. All I’d like to know, Sheriff, is who came up with the idea to kill off some of your partners, and why.”

  “How’d you know who the partners were?” Crowe puzzled.

  “I didn’t. At least not all of ‘em,” Jim replied, “I was just guessin’ at a couple of ‘em, although the state records in Austin would’ve confirmed my hunch if I’d had the time to write the land office. I knew for certain Lundgren, Collins, and Sloane had to be in on the deal, since they’d all been murdered. Sloane had some files on Jeffers, and ‘cause Mike Thompson was killed on the Rafter Q I figured Jeffers had to be another partner. Since Leah Collins was partners with her husband in the bank, it stands to reason she’d also be his partner in the mine syndicate. I put you in the picture once I was certain you’d lied to me about Sloane’s death.” Blawcyzk gazed directly at Doctor Sweeney. “I’ll admit I didn’t figure you as part of this, doc, until you lied to me about no one seekin’ treatment for a bullet wound last night. I told you the trail pointed straight to here, but you insisted you hadn’t worked on anyone. And I’ve gotta admit, Sheriff, I didn’t guess it was you who’d tried for me. I’d pinned that ambush on Gordon Webber or another of Jeffers’ men. So who decided to try’n hog the entire pie for themselves?”