The Ghost Riders

by James J. Griffin

  “There is just one thing, Tom,” Jim answered. “Actually, now that I think of it, there are two.”

  “What’s that, Jim?”

  “First, that skunk and his pards interrupted our supper. We never did get our pecan pie. There’s gotta be some kinda law against that.”

  “I dunno, Jim.” Tom shook his head. “I can’t think of one. What’s the second thing?”

  “I can’t answer that one. Only Don can. Don, you’re the one who stuck the fork in that renegade. So tell me, was he still rare, medium, or well done?”

  Don picked up a dishrag from the counter and threw it at him. The wet rag caught Jim squarely in the face.

  “You still expectin’ pie after a crack like that?” he asked.

  “I sure am,” Jim answered. “The day I let an outlaw keep me from my dessert is the day I shoot myself. Soon as your nerves are settled, you can bring me and Smoke our pie, and more coffee.”

  “I should’ve known.” Don shook his head. Muttering, he went back into the kitchen, along with Ellen. The wounded man was picked up and carried outside, to be brought to Doctor Watson’s. A few minutes later, Ellen returned, with two huge slabs of pecan pie, and another pot of coffee.

  “Here you go, boys. And thanks for helping out. I have no doubt those men would have killed Don, and probably just about everyone in here, if you hadn’t taken a hand. And who knows what they might have done to me? Your meals are on the house tonight.”

  “We were just doin’ our jobs,” Jim answered. “So there’s no need to thank us.”

  “And especially not to give us a free supper,” Smoky added.

  “Pish tosh,” Ellen retorted. “You’re eating for free, and that’s that. I won’t even be bringing you a bill, and if you try’n leave any money on the table I’ll make certain it gets back to you. Mercy sakes, even I could be lyin’ dead on the floor, or perhaps kidnapped and being… being… well, you know, if it hadn’t been for you two. So there will be no more arguin’ about it. Or do you want me to have Don stick a fork in your bellies, too?”

  “Ouch.” Jim winced. “I reckon she’s got us there, Smoke.”

  “She sure does,” Smoky agreed. “All right, Ellen. You win. We won’t try’n pay for our supper.”

  “That means you won’t try and pay for the pies I’m sending home for Julia and Cindy, either. Right?”

  “You’re gonna have leftover pies?” Jim asked.

  “Take a look around,” Ellen answered. “Those men scared just about everyone out of here.” Indeed, besides Jim and Smoky, there were only four customers left.

  “I guess they did,” Smoky said.

  “So I might as well send pies to Julia and Cindy, rather than just throw them out,” Ellen said. “You boys take your time. Just let me know when you’re ready to leave.”

  “All right,” Jim answered. He and Smoky did just that. They lingered over their pie and coffee for nearly forty-five minutes, before finally getting up to go.

  “G’night, Ellen. G’night, Don,” Jim said.

  “G’night,” Smoky added.

  “The same to you two,” Don answered. “And thanks again.”

  “Hey, if you hadn’t started the ball rollin’, we couldn’t have done a thing,” Jim answered. “Not with so many customers in here, who might have taken a slug meant for one of those renegades. You gave us the break we needed.”

  “But you had the fast guns,” Don answered.

  “And accurate ones,” Ellen added. She handed a boxed pie each to Jim and Smoky. “Now you make sure those pies get to your wives. Don’t eat them on the way home, yourselves. And Jim, don’t you dare give any of that pie to your horse, either.”

  “Hey, if you think takin’ on those three outlaws was tough, that’d be nothin’ compared to what would happen if Julia and Cindy discovered we ate their pies,” Jim said, laughing. “C’mon, Smoke, let’s get outta here. I’m certain Don and Ellen want to lock up and go home.”

  “All right, Jim. Don, Ellen, as usual, supper was delicious,” Smoky said. “Next time, though, we could do without the entertainment.”

  “I’ve gotta agree with you there,” Don answered. “Thanks again.”

  “Yes, thank you. You two be careful,” Ellen added.

  “We always are,” Jim said.

  “And pigs fly,” Don retorted, with a chuckle. “Yes, sir, pigs fly.”

  ● ● ●

  By the time Jim and Smoky finished their meal, Jarratt’s Store had long been closed, so they headed straight for their next stop.

  “Well, I’ll be jiggered. Jim Blawcyzk and Smoky McCue,” Beauregard Stanton, owner of the Shenandoah Saloon, exclaimed, in his soft Virginia drawl, when the two Rangers walked through the door. “I’d just about given up hope of ever seein’ either one of you in my place again. What brings y’all by?”

  Stanton was the scion of a wealthy Lexington, Virginia plantation family, the oldest of nine children, five boys and four girls. He had grown up in a life of luxury and leisure, accustomed to a lavish lifestyle, with his every need cared for, his every whim catered to. However, as had happened to so many other Southern families during, and after, the War, the Stantons had lost everything. What the War itself hadn’t taken the Yankee carpetbaggers and the Southern scalawags had. Three of Beau’s brothers died fighting for the Confederacy, and two of his sisters died from consumption before the treaty at Appomattox had finally ended the conflict. His other siblings had drifted off while the fighting was still going on. Beau’s father died shortly after the War ended, and his mother wasted away after his passing, dying only three months later. With nothing left in Virginia, Beau, as did so many other Southerners, drifted west, to Texas. He found the only job he could, as a swamper in a Waco saloon, and soon discovered he had a talent for saloon keeping. He worked his way up to assistant bartender, then chief. He saved every dime of his meager earnings he could, and after a few years had enough money to buy a place of his own. Wanting to settle in a small town, he left Waco, wandered into San Leanna, and found an empty building for sale. He purchased that, and through hard work converted it into the Shenandoah Saloon, named after his beloved home in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. Affable and easy going, Beau was quick to make friends, so was ideally suited to his chosen new life as a saloon keeper.

  Another reason his place was so successful was its décor. The lighting was brighter than in other places, and the paintings on the walls were not the usual garish pictures of women in various stages of undress, or depictions of gunfights and cattle drives. Instead, the paintings were bucolic scenes of Beau’s former home, the Shenandoah Valley and Blue Ridge Mountains. The piano was kept well-tuned, and Bailey Thornton, its player, knew an extensive repertoire of dance, traditional, and classical tunes. And unlike most Texas saloons, which usually stank of spilled liquor, tobacco smoke, and sweat, Beau’s mainly smelled of the cedar sawdust he spread thickly on the floor. He kept the place as spotlessly clean as possible for a frontier barroom. Even the cuspidors were regularly emptied and polished. In addition, while he had the usual female entertainers, they were not “soiled doves”, but were employed strictly to dance with the patrons, and perhaps entice them to drink or gamble a bit more than they’d planned, but nothing else. There were no upstairs rooms, and any man desiring to bed one of Beau’s girls was quickly, and firmly, invited to leave the premises. However, Beau harbored no illusions about what his girls might do after hours. He was well aware they often made arrangements to meet a customer, as soon as they were through work for the night. But, he had no control over them once their work for the evening was done, and if any of the girls wanted to make a few extra dollars whoring, that was none of his affair.

  “Howdy, Beau,” Jim answered. “We’ve been without orders so long just about every chore on our places is done, so we decided to take it easy for a night, come into town, and have a little fun.”

  “In other words, your wives got plumb tired of lookin’ at your ugly faces, and th
rew you both out of the house,” Beau replied, laughing.

  “You’ve got it pretty much pegged, Beau,” Smoky admitted, when he and Jim bellied up to the bar. “Only it was mainly Julia’s idea. But Cindy was right quick to go along with it.”

  “Well, you’re certainly welcome here,” Beau said. “I assume you want your usual?”

  “That’s right, Beau,” Smoky answered. “Sarsaparilla for Jim, Old Grand-Dad for me.”

  “Comin’ right up.” Beau rummaged under the bar, and came up with several bottles of pop. He opened one, and poured the contents into a mug he set in front of Jim. That done, he took an almost full bottle of Old Grand-Dad from the top back bar shelf, then set it and a glass in front of Smoky.

  “Do you want me to pour you a glass, or just leave the bottle, Smoky?” he asked.

  “Now, Beauregard Stanton, that’s one of the doggone most obvious questions I’ve ever been asked in my entire life,” Smoky replied. “Almost as senseless as askin’ Jim which he likes more, horses or people. Everyone knows Jim prefers the company of his horses. Of course, just leave the bottle.”

  “All right,” Beau said. “I hear you boys got into a bit of a shootin’ scrape over at O’Malley’s.”

  “Boy howdy, it didn’t take long for the news to spread,” Jim said.

  “I don’t need to remind you San Leanna’s a small town, and this is a saloon you’re standin’ in,” Beau pointed out. “Anything that happens around here, I get word of it, real fast. So, what happened? I got most of the story, but I’d rather get it from you boys, first hand.”

  “There’s not much to tell.” Jim shrugged. “Three men tried to hold up the place. There wasn’t a whole lot Smoky and I could do to stop ’em, not with the restaurant packed jam-full of customers. If we’d started shootin’, it’s most likely some innocent bystanders would have taken slugs. Luckily, Don happened to have a meat fork handy. He shoved it into one hombre’s gut, which gave me and Smoke the chance to care of the other two. They’re both dead, and the one Don stabbed probably won’t make it, either, accordin’ to Doc Watson. Everyone else is all right.”

  “Sounds like Don gave that scoundrel a real bellyful,” Beau said, with a chuckle.

  “Not you too, Beau,” Smoky said, groaning. “It’s bad enough I have to put up with Jim’s awful jokes. Listen, that’s enough talk about what happened at O’Malley’s. Jim and I came into town to relax and have fun, and we intend to do just that. We’re gonna have a few drinks, in fact, I plan on gettin’ good and drunk, and also play some poker, if there’s a game we can sit in on.”

  “There’s always room at my table for you and Jim, Smoky. You know that,” Jackson Briggs, the Shenandoah’s house gambler, called from his seat at a back corner card table. Standing behind him was his favorite of Beau’s girls, Lucy Monroe, a buxom blonde, who this night was wearing a tight fitting, daringly low cut blue satin gown, which did little to hide the curves of her figure, nor the full breasts threatening to escape their confinement at any moment. A blue, cut-glass pendant nestled in her cleavage. At the table with Briggs were two other men, Bob Ferguson, who owned the feed store, and Sam McGuire, a cowboy from the Circle T Ranch. “Just carry your drinks right over here and you can get in on the next hand.”

  “Thanks, Jackson,” Smoky answered. “Beau, there you have it. You just keep the drinks flowin’, and we’ll all have a good time. C’mon, Jim.”

  He picked up his glass and bottle, Jim took his sarsaparillas, and they went over to Briggs’ table. After howdies were exchanged, they took seats.

  “Those two of Ellen’s pies you have there?” Briggs asked.

  “They sure are,” Jim answered.

  “You want to play for those?”

  Jim shook his head.

  “Not a chance, Jackson. Ellen sent those pies along for our wives. I like livin’ too much to chance losin’ ’em in a card game. Bet your fancy hat on it.”

  “Oh, well, it was worth asking.” Briggs shuffled the cards. “Five card stud all right with you two? That’s what we’ve been playin’.”

  “It’s fine with me,” Jim said.

  “Same here,” Smoky agreed.

  “Then let’s play.” Briggs began dealing the cards.

  ● ● ●

  Since Jim never had taken up smoking, nor drank anything stronger than sarsaparilla, had never been heard to issue a cuss word, nor had ever been with a woman except Julia, his wife, folks meeting him for the first time tended to think of him as some kind of choir boy, or perhaps a plaster saint. However, while slow to anger, when riled Jim had a temper which could explode without warning. One thing which was guaranteed to set that temper off was anyone attempting to harm any of his horses. In addition, Jim had one other major vice, poker. He loved to play the game, and was nearly as good at it as most professional card sharks. Therefore, two hours later, either he or Briggs had won most of the pots.

  “You about ready to call it a night, Jim?” Smoky asked. His voice was slurred, for he’d consumed the first bottle of Old Grand-Dad Beau had provided, as well as more than half of another.

  “I’d like to play a bit more, but mebbe we should quit,” Jim answered. “You seem a bit the worse for wear, Smoke.”

  “That… that’s just… nonsense,” Smoky answered, adding a curse for good measure. “I ain’t had all that much to drink.”

  He put the loosely rolled quirly he’d managed to build, despite his shaking hands, between his lips, pulled a lucifer from his vest pocket and thumbed it to life on his belt buckle, then attempted to touch it to the end of his cigarette. Instead, he missed. The lit match singed his upper lip and moustache.

  “Ow!” Smoky yelped, and let out a string of oaths.

  “Smoky, some of the gals around here said you had hot lips for ’em, until you got married and settled down,” Briggs said, dryly. “Until now, I didn’t know they meant that literally.”

  “Briggs, you can go…”

  “Easy, Smoke.” Jim didn’t let him finish. “I reckon mebbe callin’ it a night isn’t such a bad idea after all. Let’s get the horses to the stable and get ourselves a room at the Duncan.”

  “No hotel, no sir,” Smoky retorted. “I wanna go home and make love to my wife.”

  “That ain’t gonna happen, at least not tonight, Smoke,” Jim said. “We promised our wives we’d stay in town overnight, so they could have some time to themselves, to catch up on gossip and do whatever else it is women do when there ain’t any menfolks around. Besides, there’s no way you’d be able to stay in the saddle. You try ridin’ Midnight and you’ll fall flat on your face before we make a mile.”

  “I can outride you any day of the week, Jim Blawcyzk, drunk or sober,” Smoky answered. “In fact, let’s prove it, right now.”

  He attempted to stand up. When he did, his boot heel caught in a chair rung. Smoky fell to his face.

  “Jim, I was gonna bet you Smoky could ride a mile,” Bob Ferguson said. “I’m sure glad I didn’t get the chance. I would’ve lost.”

  “A mile? Heck, he couldn’t even get five feet,” Sam McGuire said, laughing.

  Smoky rolled onto his back, and lay there, cursing.

  “Soon as I get up I’ll show the both of you,” he grumbled.

  Lucy came from behind Briggs, placed her right foot on Smoky’s belly, just above his belt buckle, and pushed down hard, her shoe’s high heel jabbing into his gut. Smoky burped loudly, so loudly it echoed through the saloon.

  “I think you’d better just lie there a little, until you get at least some of your senses back, Ranger,” she said.

  Four young cowboys, who had been standing at the bar for most of the night, nursing whiskies, turned to look at the commotion.

  “Show the both of ’em what?” one of them said, laughing. “Heck, you can’t even get that little ol’ gal’s foot outta your gut, and you’re gonna give those hombres what for? I hardly think so.”

  “This ain’t none of your affair, cowboy,” Jim sai
d. “So why don’t you just turn around, get back to your drinkin’, and keep your nose out of other folks’ business, before you get it broken for stickin’ it where it don’t belong?”

  “Why don’t you try and make me?” the cowboy challenged.

  “Because I’m not lookin’ to start any trouble,” Jim answered. “I might suggest you do the same.”

  “He’s givin’ you good advice, Mack,” Josh Miles, another cowboy standing at the bar, added. “I know you boys are new to these parts, but those two men are Texas Rangers. You don’t want to tangle with ’em.”

  “Those two old geezers, Rangers?” Mack answered, with a sneer. “I can’t believe that. Besides, Rangers ain’t as tough as everyone claims. They’re just a bunch of troublemakers, hidin’ behind a badge. We’re not scared of a couple of broken-down, drunken old fools playin’ lawdogs, are we, fellers?”

  His companions murmured in assent.

  “Now you’ve done it,” Miles said, as Smoky came to his feet, suddenly almost sober. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” To Jim and Smoky he continued, “Jim, Smoke, these here young’ns just hired on with the Double M. I reckon they’re lookin’ to learn the hard way about not buttin’ in where they’re not wanted. Try’n take it easy on ’em, will you? Don’t hurt ’em too bad.”

  “And try not to bust up my place too much, all right?” Beau added.

  “I’m not makin’ any promises, Josh,” Jim said. “Neither is Smoky. Beau, we’ll try’n make this quick and clean.” To Mack he said, “Mister, you might have been able to get away with callin’ me old, mebbe even a fool. But I’m not a drunk, never have been, never will be. In case you hadn’t noticed, this here is sarsaparilla I’m drinkin’. As far as my pardner here, neither’s he, but just like you fellers, once in a while he likes to go on a tear. Now, I believe you said you’re not afraid of a couple of broken-down old geezers. You gonna back up those words, or are you and your pards gonna crawl out of here on your bellies?”

  “Why, you…” With a curse, Mack and his three partners charged Jim and Smoky. The first to reach them swung at Jim’s chin. Jim ducked the punch, drove his head into the man’s middle, then flipped him over his shoulders. The cowboy landed on his back on Briggs’ card table, smashing it flat. He lay groaning, tried to get up, then fell back, out cold. Jim was rocked by a punch to his jaw from another cowboy. He staggered back, took two hard blows in his belly, and another to his ribs, before he could recover. He parried the next punch aimed at his stomach, then slammed three quick rights and lefts to the cowboy’s gut, which folded him into a finishing punch to the point of his chin. The blow knocked the man backwards into the bar. He hung there for a moment, his eyes glazing, then slid to the floor.