Ranger Justice

by James J. Griffin

  “It was me’n Mace Jeffers,” Crowe confessed. “At first we only planned on killin’ Thornberg. He was talkin’ about double-crossin’ us and sendin’ the real ore samples back to Blue Coal unless we gave him a bigger share, rather’n throwin’ in with us like he promised when he first found that cinnabar. But after we killed him and got rid of the body, Mace said it’d be real easy to get rid of a couple of our partners, so we could have more of the profit for ourselves.” Crowe hesitated as he was wracked by another spell of coughing. “I strangled Sloane in his office and arranged things to make it look like a hangin’. Then I made sure Lundgren got a message that Sloane wanted to see him, so he’d find the body. Mace Jeffers took care of Lundgren later.”

  “What about John Collins?” Jim asked.

  “Gordy Bob Webber handled that for us. His full name is Gordon Robert Webber, and he’s on the run from the law up in Kansas. There’s some murder warrants out on him up there. Webber is also some kinda kin to Mace. Mace got him to come down here and give us a hand with what needed doin’”

  “Gordon Robert Webber!” Jim exclaimed. “I knew that name was familiar. He robbed a bank, killin’ the teller and two deputy marshals down in Eagle Pass a few years back. He gave the local law and us Rangers the slip. The last we’d heard he was in Indian Territory. Didn’t figure he’d get as far as Kansas.” He paused, then continued, “Why didn’t Webber also kill Leah Collins?”

  “He was supposed to, but when she came in on him at the bank he got rattled ‘cause she left the door open. He was afraid someone might spot him from the street, so he got out the back door without bein’ seen. She still would’ve been killed before word about the cinnabar find got out. We were just waitin’ for the chance to make her death look like an accident.”

  “And Pablo Cruz had to be gotten out of the way since he owned most of Gypsum Creek Canyon,” Jim stated.

  “That’s right,” Crowe concurred. “Webber and Jasper Wylie burned down Cruz’s shack and killed him. And Doc Sweeney would’ve been next. Don’t look so surprised, doc,” he added, as Sweeney gave a violent start. Crowe choked, then continued. “Everythin’ was goin’ along fine until Blue Coal contacted the Rangers about their missin’ geologist. Then when that first Ranger got here, naturally he reported to me, never suspectin’ I might’ve been behind Thorn-berg’s killin’. And of course he would’ve found out about the others, so I had to tell him there’d been several more murders since Austin had been contacted. I managed to throw suspicion on Mace Jeffers. It was easy enough to have Mace give Thompson a job as a cowpuncher on the Rafter Q. Once that was done, Jeffers made sure Thompson and Webber were sent out alone one day. Webber took care of Thompson. Gut-shot him and threw the body in a ravine for the buzzards and coyotes.”

  “And what about Rebecca Jeffers? She was the woman who wrote to Austin sayin’ Mike had been murdered, wasn’t she?” Jim asked.

  “That’s right,” Crowe agreed. “She overheard Webber tell Mace the Ranger was dead. But she made the mistake of confrontin’ her husband about it. He made her promise to keep shut, but somehow she got that letter to your headquarters. When Masters showed up here lookin’ for a murdered Ranger, it was easy enough to figure out who’d told Austin that Thompson was dead. It was pretty simple to set up Masters for a hemp necktie party and get rid of Mace’s wife at the same time. I killed Rebecca myself, and had Bess from the Blue Tail Fly write that note and give it to Masters. When he showed up, I knocked him out with the barrel of my sixgun. The plan would’ve worked if you hadn’t ridden into town at just the wrong time.”

  “But you should’ve known another Ranger would show up when the first two turned up dead,” Lewis broke in.

  “We had that covered too,” Crowe explained. “Once the doc and Leah Collins had been killed, I would’ve arrested Gordy Webber and charged him with all the murders, except Rebecca Jeffers’, of course. With his bein’ on the run, it wouldn’t’ve been a problem to convince folks he was murderin’ and robbin’ all over the county. He would’ve swung. That would’ve left me and Mace sittin’ real pretty. And our plan still would’ve worked if I’d been able to ambush you, Lieutenant. Like you figured, I stole Rick’s horse and rifle, since I couldn’t chance usin’ my own cayuse and Winchester. I thought I had a dead bead on your back, too. But I wasn’t used to that pump-action Lightning of his, so I missed you. That rifle’s aim is different from my saddle gun’s. Then I thought I had you in the alley back of the livery stable. I was gonna make sure of you by stickin’ a knife in your chest, but a dadblamed dog started barkin’ loud enough to wake the dead, so I had to run. I figured you were finished anyway, with your skull caved in. Sorry to see I was wrong.”

  “Bear!” Lewis exclaimed, then accused his boss, “So you wanted me to take the blame for drygulchin’ a Texas Ranger! But how’d you know I wouldn’t be usin’ my horse and rifle that day?”

  “I can answer that,” Jim interrupted. “You said you had breakfast with Doc Sweeney that mornin’. Shortly after that, you became violently ill, so ill you had to go home. I’d bet my hat the doc slipped somethin’ into your food to give you that bellyache. Am I right, Doc?”

  “I’m not saying another word,” Sweeney muttered.

  “I think you just said a mouthful,” Jim dryly answered.

  “But you really tried to frame me, John?” Lewis repeated.

  “You or Webber, Rick. Didn’t matter which,” Crowe shrugged. “If I’d been able to leave that knife in Blawcyzk’s chest as I’d planned, you would’ve been blamed. Everyone around here knows you’re real handy with a blade.” He coughed weakly. “Lieutenant, I’m gettin’ kinda dizzy and tired. Can we finish talkin’ later?” he pleaded.

  “We’re just about done,” Jim assured the badly wounded man, “Just a couple more things to clear up. That was you who tried to knife me behind the hotel, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Crowe admitted. “I’d been followin’ you all night, hopin’ for a chance to finish you. Mace knew Webber’d never be able to get to you, with you bein’ on the prod for him, so I decided to try for you. You got any other questions?” Crowe’s breathing was becoming ragged and shallow.

  “Yeah. Was it you who tried to drill me through my hotel window?”

  “No. That was Webber. You winged him that night. Plunked him in the ribs. That’s another reason Mace told him to lay off you. That answer everythin’?”

  “Just one more question. What makes you think Mace Jeffers wouldn’t have tried to kill you after the rest were out of the way?”

  “Because I was gonna kill Mace first,” Crowe bitterly laughed, as his eyes closed.

  “He gone, Jim?” Lewis asked.

  “Not yet,” Blawcyzk answered. “I think he’s gonna hang on for a while yet. Mebbe even another day or so. Rick, we’ve gotta get out to the Rafter Q before Mace Jeffers finds out we’re onto him. Get the doc and his wife over to the jail, find Don Flanagan to stand guard, then meet me at Murphy’s.”

  “Lieutenant, my wife had nothing to do with any of this,” Sweeney protested. “And I need to be here for my patients. Your partner will die if I’m in jail and unable to treat him.”

  “Is that true, Mrs. Sweeney?” Jim questioned.

  “I assure you it is,” she sobbed, as tears ran down her cheeks, “I had no idea my husband was involved in this. If I had, I would have done exactly what Rebecca Jeffers did, and written the Rangers.”

  “Rick?” Jim turned to the deputy.

  “I believe Ann,” Lewis answered. “She’s been a good friend of Annette’s for quite some time. I’m certain she’s tellin’ the truth.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Jim responded. “And I guess we’ll have to keep the good doctor here under house arrest. Find Flanagan and get him over here. Make sure he brings that old scattergun of his.”

  “He’s never without it,” Lewis assured the Ranger as
he started out of the room. “I’ll have him here in a jiffy. See you at Murphy’s. I’ll have your horse saddled and ready…on second thought, I’ll leave that to you,” he laughed, as he headed for the door.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Jim, we’re gonna be way outgunned,” Rick Lewis worried as he and the Ranger galloped their horses toward the Rafter Q.

  “I’m trustin’ we won’t be,” Jim replied. “I figure if we can slip up on ‘em and arrest Jeffers and Webber, we shouldn’t have too much trouble with the others. They’re mostly cowpunchers, not gunfighters or outlaws, so they’re not gonna put up much of a fight, especially once they realize Jeffers is responsible for kil-lin’ his own wife. He nodded at Lewis’ rifle and grinned, adding, “If you’re half as quick with that thing as your boss was, we won’t be outgunned in any event.”

  “I sure hope you’re right,” Lewis wanly smiled.

  “If it’s worryin’ you that much, I can go on alone,” Jim responded. “I’ll sure understand, and there won’t be any hard feelin’s.”

  “Not a chance,” Lewis firmly stated. “I’ve got a score to settle with Jeffers too. He’s as much to blame as John for tryin’ to frame me for your killin’.”

  “Thanks,” Jim answered, “And speakin’ of your boss, I’m appointin’ you actin’ sheriff of Terrell County. I’m sure that’ll be made permanent once every-thin’s settled.”

  “I appreciate that. I won’t let you down, Lieutenant.”

  “Best save that thanks until after we see what happens at the Rafter Q,” Jim grinned. “If you take a slug in your guts, you might change your mind.”

  The two lawmen rode the rest of the way in silence, reining in their horses to check their weapons just before they reached Jeffers’ ranch.

  “Settin’ here ain’t gonna finish things,” Jim said, as he took a swallow of water from his canteen. “You about ready, Rick?’

  “Ready as I’m gonna be,” the deputy replied. “Let’s get those hombres.”

  A few moments later, they topped the rise overlooking the Rafter Q. As they urged their horses down the slope, a bullet tore Jim’s Stetson from his head, followed by the sharp crack of a rifle. He and Lewis dove from their saddles, grabbing their rifles as they rolled into the ditches on opposite sides of the road.

  “So much for slippin’ up on ‘em,” Lewis grimly shouted, “They were waitin’ on us.”

  “So I noticed,” Jim yelled back. “You all right?”

  “Yeah. How about you?”

  “Same here.”

  “How we gonna get at those hombres?” Rick yelled. “Our horses ran off.”

  “No, they didn’t,” Jim answered, “At least Sam didn’t. He knows enough to get outta the way when bullets start flyin’. Your buckskin probably followed him. Sam’ll come runnin’ when I whistle him up. Meantime, let’s see what we’re up against.” He carefully lifted his head to peer over the edge of the ditch, ducking as a bullet whined just over him.

  “Got ‘em spotted. Two of ‘em, anyway,” he noted. “One in the hayloft of the main barn, and another one behind a rainbarrel alongside it. You think you can cover me with that pump-gun of yours while I try’n nail the one in the loft?”

  “You betcha’,” Lewis grimly replied, “Just say the word.”

  “Now!” Jim shouted. As the deputy rose up, rifle blazing, Jim rolled out of the ditch and onto his belly, aimed, and fired once. The gunman in the hayloft clutched his chest, half-rose, then toppled out of the barn to land with a sodden thud in the dusty yard.

  The slugs from Lewis’ rapid firing sent water spurting into the air as they tore through the rainbarrel and ripped into the rifleman behind. The gunman staggered from behind the barrel and spun to the dirt. “Two less we’ve gotta worry about, anyway,” Lewis grunted in satisfaction. “I cover you good enough?”

  “Yeah, I should say so,” Jim replied, as he rolled back into the ditch, “but roustin’ the rest of those jiggers outta there won’t be quite so easy.”

  “You got any particular plan in mind?” Lewis queried.

  “We’ll belly up close as we can, then I’ll try’n talk Jeffers into surren-derin’.not that I expect he will.”

  “I’d say that’s a pretty safe assumption,” Lewis laconically agreed. “And you can be sure Webber won’t give himself up.”

  “Then if they don’t, we’ll just have to blast ‘em outta there.” Jim flatly stated.

  “Or get our own guts blasted out,” Lewis retorted.

  “Could happen that way,” Jim conceded. “Only one way to know for sure. We’re gonna try for that embankment along the fenceline. Not much cover, but it’s better’n nothin’. Keep low until we reach it. Now let’s move.” He started pulling himself along by his elbows, rifle shoved in front of him. Across the road, Lewis followed his lead.

  The lawmen stuck to the relatively good cover of the ditches until they were within shouting distance of the ranch. “Just take it easy, Rick,” Jim ordered, “While I see if these hombres want to palaver.” He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted. “Jeffers! Mason Jeffers! This is Lieutenant Blawcyzk of the Texas Rangers! I want to talk with you!”

  After a moment, Jeffers called back from the shelter of the house. “I know who you are, Blawcyzk. What do you want, Ranger? I can hazard a pretty good guess.”

  “I’m here to place you and Gordon Robert Webber under arrest for the murders of Ranger Mike Thompson and your wife, Rebecca, and with conspiracy to commit several more killin’s, along with various other charges. I’ve got no quarrel with the rest of your men. If you and Webber surrender peaceably, I’ll guarantee the others are free to go. What d’ya say?”

  “I say you can go to blazes Ranger!” Jeffers screamed. As he did, a veritable hail of lead ripped through the air. “You think you can take me, Lieutenant?” Jeffers challenged.

  “Guess we’ll just have to find out,” Jim shouted back, leaping to his feet and racing for the dubious cover of the fenceline. He levered and fired his rifle as he ran, his first shot missing its target, the second plowing into the chest of “Liver” Wurst, knocking him backwards over the verandah rail. Jim ducked behind a fencepost, dropping to his knees to reload his Winchester.

  As Lewis took aim at another outlaw, a thick-bodied, sluggish vaquero called Banshee Ortiz, his Lightning jammed. The deputy dropped his rifle, yanked the knife at his belt from its sheath, and threw it before the slow-moving Ortiz could bring his gun into play. The long-bladed skinning knife took Ortiz just below his breastbone, plunging deep into the renegade’s upper abdomen. Ortiz screeched in agony as he grabbed futilely at the knife in his gut, then pitched to his face. His screech gave way to a final grunt as the impact with the ground drove Lewis’ knife even deeper into Ortiz’s body. Lewis dove behind a woodpile, frantically working to free his rifle.

  Several Rafter Q hands were on the ranchhouse verandah, shooting at the two lawmen. As Al Cady took aim at Blawcyzk’s chest, Lewis finally managed to clear the jammed Lightning and swept the verandah with .44-40 slugs. Cady was slammed against the wall with a bullet in his chest, and men yelped in pain and dove for cover as lead bit their hides. When several others concentrated their fire on the stack of wood, Lewis raced away, zig-zagging across the yard and diving behind a trough to reload.

  Lewis had barely finished reloading when a lanky, sallow-faced outlaw known only as Domingo emerged from the bunkhouse. “Got you at last, deputy,” Domingo declared as he leveled a .44 Remington at Lewis’ stomach. “I’ve been waitin’ a long time for this.” He and Lewis pulled triggers at the same moment, Domingo’s slug tearing a path along Lewis’ left ribs. Working his rifle as fast as possible, Lewis put three slugs into Domingo’s belly. The outlaw doubled over, hands clamped to his middle as he stumbled toward the deputy, then sagged to his knees and toppled onto his side.

  Jim had made the ranchhouse verandah, an
d as Greg Saez leaned from a window to gun him down Jim fired twice, both bullets tearing through Saez’s right shoulder. As Saez sagged, Jim dove under the sill as more bullets from inside the house searched him out. As he rolled onto his back, he saw Rick Lewis stagger when a bullet from Matt Barton’s gun tore through the back of his leg. Lewis half spun as his leg gave way and he started to crumple. Barton put a second bullet in the deputy’s chest, slamming him backwards. The deputy managed to level his rifle and fire as he fell, putting two bullets into Barton’s chest.

  Jim threw his empty Winchester aside, yanking his Colt from its holster as he rose to a crouch, then burst through the door of the house. Waiting for him, framed in the kitchen doorway, was Gordy Bob Webber. Webber’s right hand rested on his belt buckle, ready to jerk the bird’s-head grip Colt from the cross-draw holster on his left hip as he snarled, “I said I was gonna put my slugs in your guts the next time we met, Ranger. Get ready to die real slow and painful.”

  “Not today,” Jim growled, thumbing back the hammer of his Colt as, with blinding swiftness, Webber pulled his gun from its holster. Jim lifted his thumb and sent a bullet into the center of Webber’s chest. Webber reflexively sent one bullet into the floor, then Jim fired again, this shot taking the outlaw in his left breast pocket, spinning him around to smash face-first into the wall. Webber slowly slid to the floor, his blood leaving a scarlet trail on the wallpaper.

  “Don’t…don’t shoot, Ranger,” Mason Jeffers quavered from the parlor. “I know when I’m licked.”

  “Then raise your hands over your head, right now!” Jim ordered.

  “Yessir, Ranger.” As the Rafter Q’s owner began to comply, he snaked a hand inside his shirt, coming up with a short-barreled Smith and Wesson. Jim fired as Jeffers brought the gun around, his bullet slamming hard into the rancher’s hip. Jeffers dropped back onto the sofa, moaning in pain.