The Ghost Riders

by James J. Griffin

  “I appreciate everythin’ you’ve done, Doc,” Eddie said. “I’ll pay you whatever you ask.”

  “Let’s not worry about that right now,” Souter answered. “Our only concern is making certain your brother gets well. Now, help me get him into bed.”

  Chuck was carried to a back room, where he was carefully placed on a bed, then covered with a sheet and thin blanket.

  “He’s going to sleep for a while,” Souter said. “All we can do now is wait, and pray. Eddie, I’m about to partake of a drink. Would you care to join me?”

  “I could use one,” Eddie said. “Some grub, too. Now that everythin’s over, I realized how starved I am. I haven’t eaten since this mornin’.”

  “I noticed your brother hadn’t, either,” Souter said. “There were very little contents in his intestines. That also helped contribute to his surviving long enough to reach help. Tell you what. I’m rather hunger, too. As long as there are no patients waiting for me, we’ll have that drink, then go to the Curry House for steaks. Does that suit you?”

  “That’ll suit me just fine,” Eddie said. “I’ll have to take care of our horses first, though. If they hadn’t given everythin’ they had, I’d never have gotten Chuck here in time.”

  “Of course,” Souter agreed. “The livery stable is right on the way to the restaurant. Well, come into my parlor, and we’ll have that drink.”

  Eddie followed the physician into the parlor. Souter took two glasses and a bottle from the top of a sideboard.

  “Son,” he said. “This is The Glenlivet, the finest whiskey ever to come out of my beloved native land of Scotland. It’s the nectar of the gods. You’ll want to sip this slowly, and savor every drop.”

  “I knew that wasn’t Texan in your voice, Doc,” Eddie said. “I reckoned you were some kinda Yankee.”

  “No, I’m a Scotsman,” Souter answered. He filled the glasses, then handed one to Eddie.

  “Remember, sip it slowly,” he said.

  Eddie took a sip, then smiled.

  “You’re right, Doc. This is really fine whiskey.”

  “I’m glad you like it. We’ll finish our drinks, then after you care for your horses and we have our meal, we’ll come back and set up a bed next to your brother for you. By then, he should be coming around.”

  “One question first, Doc? How’d you know what to do for my brother? I’ve always heard a man who got gut-shot was a goner.”

  “That used to be the case, and still is, quite often,” Souter explained. “However, medical science is advancing quite rapidly. There is a Doctor Goodfellow, who has been doing quite a bit of research on abdominal injuries, in particular gunshot wounds. I’ve been reading all of his papers. He’s quite amazing. It’s his procedures I used on your brother.”

  “Then I’m grateful to you, and that Doc Goodfellow,” Eddie said.

  “I’m just glad I was able to help,” Souter answered. “And your brother still isn’t out of danger, of course. But he does have a good chance to pull through. Now, let’s go get our meals.”

  15

  “Jim, how are we gonna handle these hombres?” Smoky asked. They were once again riding toward Gyp Springs. “We know they’re layin’ for us, but not for certain where. They’ll be well hidden, watchin’ our every move, and we have no idea when one of ’em’ll take another pot shot at us. There’s about eighteen of ’em, from what we’ve been told, and now only five of us.”

  “Yeah.” Jim smiled. “I almost feel bad for those renegades, with the odds stacked against ’em like that. They don’t stand a chance.”

  “I’m guessin’ by the time we make Gyp Springs we’ll have whittled ’em down a bit,” J.R. said. “Since it seems they’ve got men waitin’, to pick us off one by one, all we’ve gotta do is make sure we find those men, and get to ’em first. Simple enough.”

  “See, Smoke. And you were worried,” Jim said.

  “Not worried, just wonderin’ what your plans were,” Smoky answered.

  “I know one thing for certain,” Charlie said. “They might get me, but before they do, I’m gonna make sure that Emerson Cannon hombre’s dead. He ain’t ever gonna do to another woman what he did to my Mary Jane.”

  “You might want to… Charlie!” Whatever Ty started to say was cut short, as he shoved Charlie off of Splash, then grabbed his rifle and rolled out of his saddle. A bullet split the air where Charlie’s chest had just been. Ty leveled his rifle, took hasty aim, and pulled the trigger. A man half-rose from a cluster of rocks, dropped his rifle, clutched his chest, and pitched to his face.

  “Got him,” Ty muttered.

  “Thanks, pard,” Charlie said. “Reckon you saved my hide. How’d you spot that bushwhacker?”

  “I saw the sun flash off his rifle barrel,” Ty answered.

  “See, Smoke,” Jim said. “Now they’re down to seventeen. We’re cuttin’ the odds already.”

  “Yeah, but a fog seems to be rollin’ in,” Smoky said. “That’ll make it even harder to find those hombres, especially if they’re wearin’ those white robes.”

  Indeed, the clear sky had clouded over, and mist was beginning to swirl through the canyons and draws.

  “It’s also gonna make us harder to spot,” Jim said. “And I don’t think they’ll be wearin’ those outfits. Their days as the Ghost Riders are done, whether or not we finish ’em off today. They know that. All they want to do is get us off their tails, then make it outta Texas.”

  “Jim, when we reach Gyp Springs, I’d recommend we scatter,” J.R. suggested. “If we ride in as a bunch, we’ll be sittin’ ducks. But, if we scatter, a couple of us can draw their fire. With luck, that should bring the others out into the open, or at least where we can spot ’em.”

  “That’s as good an idea as any,” Jim agreed. “You and I’ll ride on ahead. The rest of you, cover us. Once the shootin’ starts, don’t quit until every last one of those Ghost Riders is dead, or has given up, which I doubt’ll happen. Let’s check our weapons now.”

  The weapons were checked, six-guns’ cylinders spun and rifles’ actions tested. Satisfied they were as prepared as possible, the Rangers rode silently toward Gyp Springs.

  A quarter mile before reaching their destination, Jim and J. R. put their horses into a lope, riding out ahead of the others. When they topped the rise overlooking Gyp Springs, two shots rang out. They grabbed their Winchesters and left their saddles, Jim rolling behind a low slope, J.R. diving behind a large boulder. More bullets searched them out. One hit just alongside Jim, throwing dirt into his face. Jim rolled again, aimed at a shadowy figure, and fired. The figure screeched, dropped his gun, threw up his hands, and toppled to his side.

  Across the trail, J.R.’s rifle also cracked, and another Ghost Rider went down, with Ranger lead in his chest. Then, pounding hoofbeats sounded, along with the Rebel yell, as the rest of the Rangers rode into the fray. Ghost Riders seemed to appear from behind every rock. Ty yelled when a bullet sliced across his ribs, but his return shot downed the man who’d shot him, with a bullet in the stomach.

  The fog had thickened even more, the visibility now almost down to zero, making it almost impossible to tell friend from foe. When a Ghost Rider popped up fifty feet in front of him, taking aim at Jim, Smoky put a bullet in his back. The man arched, then spun, still holding his rifle. Smoky put a finishing bullet into his belly.The outlaw doubled over, and fell to his face. Ty ran up to the man and rolled him onto his back, to make certain he was dead. He had a fading, puckered scar on his left cheek. "This must be the hombre Jorgenson back in Brady hit with those hot tongs," he muttered. A bullet whined past his right ears. Ty dove to his belly, hit the ground hard, and rolled behind a rock.

  Charlie was dashing blindly from rock to rock, nothing else on his mind except finding Emerson Cannon, the man who had attempted to rape his wife, and nearly succeeded. One of the Ghost Riders ran past him, not seeing him in the pea-soup fog. Charlie shot him in the back, slamming him against a rock. The man slid t
o the ground. Charlie ran up to him and rolled him onto his back.

  “It’s not Cannon,” he muttered. A bullet ripped past his ear, driving him to the dirt.

  Jim had dropped into a shallow arroyo, where one of the Ghost Riders had Smoky pinned down.

  “Drop that gun, Mister!” he ordered. The man turned, cursing. Jim recognized him as Ike Stonefield. Both fired as one, Stonefield’s bullet going wide, Jim’s plowing into the outlaw’s chest. Stonefield turned a half circle, then fell, dead.

  “Behind you, Jim!” Smoky shouted. Jim spun. He and Smoky fired at the same time. Their bullets buried themselves in a Ghost Rider’s belly. The man jackknifed to the dirt. Jim ran up to him and rolled him over.

  “Trent Barclay!” he exclaimed, when he recognized the man. “You were one of this bunch?”

  “Not just one of ’em,” Barclay choked out in a high-pitched, scratchy voice. “Me’n Ike were the leaders of the outfit. Surprised?”

  “Yeah, I have to say I am,” Jim answered.

  Smoky had also reached the dying man.

  “That’s Trent Barclay,” he exclaimed.

  “It sure is,” Jim said.

  “Trent, how’d you get mixed up with this outfit?” Smoky asked.

  “Simple. I was… Ike Stonefield’s attorney. The whole family’s, for that… matter. Ike convinced me it’d be… a whole lot more… lucrative becomin’ an outlaw, and organizin’ a gang with him, than bein’ a… lawyer. We nearly… pulled it off… too.”

  Blood welled from Barclay’s mouth. He shuddered, then went slack.

  “I reckon we’d better see if the rest of the boys need help, Smoke,” Jim said. “Let’s go.”

  The firing was growing more sporadic now. Most of the Ghost Riders lay dead or dying. Charlie was still searching, desperately, for Emerson Cannon. He finally came upon him, at the base of a red rock cliff, sheltered by a large fallen boulder.

  “Cannon!” he yelled. “It’s been a long trail, but I’ve finally got you in my gunsights. You’re gonna pay for what you did to my wife back in San Leanna.”

  Cannon leaned from behind the rock and fired. His bullet burned across the top of Charlie’s right shoulder. Charlie’s return shot took Cannon in the same shoulder, but lower. Cannon staggered from behind the sheltering boulder. Before he could aim and fire, Charlie shot him right in the groin. Blood gushed from a severed artery. Cannon stubbornly attempted to raise his pistol. Charlie shot him again, in the right side of his belly. When Cannon still refused to go down, Charlie put a finishing bullet in the middle of his chest. Cannon dropped for keeps.

  “It’s over, Charlie,” Jim said from behind him. “We’ve got ’em all, except for mebbe one or two. It’s time to go home.”

  “All right, pa,” Charlie said. Jim put his arm around Charlie’s shoulders. Together they walked to where the other Rangers were waiting.

  “You get Cannon?” Ty asked Charlie.

  “I did,” Charlie confirmed. “Shot him right where I said I would. Blew the bastard's balls clean off. Just too bad he died too quick.”

  The rattle of horseshoes on gravel shattered the silence. Two riders burst out of the brush, and galloped down the canyon.

  “Let ’em go,” Jim said. “Our horses are too done in for a long chase. Those hombres’ll get caught, sooner or later.”

  Two shots rang out.

  “What was that?” Smoky asked.

  “I dunno,” Jim said. “And I’m too tuckered out to care.”

  “Here comes your answer, I’d reckon,” J.R. said, as a lone horseman came into view. He held a smoking pistol in his hand.

  “Andy!” Jim shouted, as the rider drew near. “What in the blue blazes are you doin’ here?”

  “Are you missin’ a couple of Ghost Riders?” Andy Thomas answered.

  “Two of ’em made a run for it, yeah,” Jim admitted.

  “Well, not anymore you aren’t,” Andy said. “They’re both lyin’ dead, back yonder.”

  “You shot ’em both?” J.R. asked.

  “I sure did,” Andy answered. “Plumb center.”

  “But I thought you said you carried that gun only for protection from varmints,” Jim said.

  “I do. Both two and four-legged varmints,” Andy said. “Now, before you Rangers clean up your mess, I’m gonna paint this battlefield. No one’ll ever be able to question what happened to the Ghost Riders. As you’d say, Jim, bet a hat on that!”

  16

  Jim telegraphed Captain Storm from Mineral Wells what had happened to the Ghost Riders. Storm would relay word to their wives the men were safe, and would soon return home, once they stopped at Headquarters and filed their reports. An overnight train ride from Fort Worth would have Jim and his men in Austin first thing the next morning. Jim gave Charlie permission to head straight to San Leanna, to be with Mary Jane. When Ty asked to go with Charlie, Jim also allowed him to head for home. He couldn’t say no to a man determined to propose to his fiancée as soon as possible.

  ● ● ●

  “So, Trent Barclay, one of the most prominent attorneys in all of Texas, was behind the Ghost Riders,” Storm said, once Jim had concluded his report. “Hard to believe.” He shook his head.

  “Ike Stonefield wanted revenge, and Barclay wanted money,” Jimsaid. “That’s a bad combination. The bartender and saddle shop owner up to Brady told us the leader of the bunch had a reedy, wheezy soundin' voice, and rode like he was crippled. Those descriptions fit Barclay. When we talked with him before he died, his voice was real scratchy. And we checked his body before we hauled him into Quitaque. He'd apparently busted his right leg somewhere, and it hadn't healed right. Left that leg a bit shorter than his other. So that tied right in with their descriptions.”

  “Jim’s right,” J.R. said. “But they’re out of business, for good.”

  “Sadly, there’ll be more just like them. It’s only a matter of time,” Storm said.

  “Yeah, Cap’n, but I don’t think there’ll ever be a bunch as bad as this one,” Smoky said.

  “I hope you’re right, Smoky,” Storm answered. “Jim, you say Chuck McIlroy’s gonna be all right?”

  “He sure is, Cap’n,” Jim answered. “Doc Souter says he’ll be able to head home in another couple of weeks. He and Eddie’ll be walkin’ in here, lookin’ for an assignment, before you know it.”

  “That’s good news,” Storm said. “That finishes our business. Get on home, and get some rest. J. R., anytime you get bored bein’ a professor again, you get in touch with me. The Rangers will always have a job for you.”

  “I’ll do that, Cap’n.”

  “Good. Now all of you, get out of here.”

  “You don’t need to say that twice,” Jim answered, laughing. “C’mon, men, let’s go.”

  ● ● ●

  “Charlie!” Mary Jane exclaimed, when he walked into her room at Doctor Watson’s clinic. “I didn’t think you’d get home until later.”

  “I talked my pa into lettin’ me come straight home,” Charlie answered. “They didn’t need me in Austin anyway, just to file a report. Pa can handle that. Let me look at you.”

  “No. Let me look at you,” Mary Jane answered, smiling.

  “You mean… you can see. Doc Watson didn’t…”

  “I wanted to surprise you,” Mary Jane said. “Yes, I can see.”

  “Mary Jane…”

  Charlie was at a loss for words.

  “You don’t have to say anything, Charlie,” Mary Jane said. “Just hold me.”

  “Sure. Sure.” Charlie laid down beside her, and took her in his arms.

  “You’re safe now,” he said, then kissed her, gently.

  ● ● ●

  Exhausted, Charlie had fallen asleep, still holding Mary Jane. Now, later, they were still lying side by side.

  “Charlie,” she said. “Doctor Watson says I’ll be going home in a week or so. Once I’m feeling well enough, I want to rebuild the store. I want to open it again, and run it.
I need to do that, Charlie.”

  “Are you certain that’s what you want?” he asked.

  “I am. I need something to do while you’re riding all over the state, Rangering,” Mary Jane answered. “And I always enjoyed working in the store.”

  “What about raising a family? I thought you wanted kids.”

  “I do, Charlie. I want lots and lots of children. But I can still raise a family and run a business at the same time. Is that all right with you?”

  “Anythin’ that makes you happy makes me happy,” Charlie answered. “If you want to rebuild the store, we’ll rebuild the store. Just as soon as we can get the money raised, and you’re strong enough.”

  “That will be sooner than you realize,” Mary Jane said.

  “So will be that family,” Charlie answered. “In fact, let’s start workin’ on that, right now.”

  “Charlie!”

  Mary Jane’s protest was cut short, by Charlie crushing his lips to hers.

  ● ● ●

  “Jim, you’re home, I’m home, and we’re all alone at last,” Julia said. “Just me, you, and that nice, big bathtub.”

  “And Pal,” Jim answered, when Charlie’s collie whined insistently for attention.

  “I can get rid of him,” Julia said. She unbuttoned Jim’s shirt and slipped it off his shoulders.

  “Go on, Pal, get the shirt,” she said, as she opened the front door, and threw the shirt outside. Pal bounded after it, grabbing it and shaking it furiously, as he disappeared behind the barn.

  “My shirt!” Jim exclaimed.

  “Trust me cowboy, you won’t need a shirt in the tub,” Julia said. She took him by the hand. “Bet your hat on it.”

  About the Author—James J. Griffin

  Jim Griffin became enamored of the Texas Rangers from watching the TV series, Tales of the Texas Rangers, as a youngster. He grew to be an avid student and collector of Rangers' artifacts, memorabilia and other items. His collection is now housed in the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum in Waco.