Jurisdiction

by Ralph Cotton

  “Boy, this ain’t going to work, This horse will break down before we go another mile.” Earl brought the horse to a halt. “Sorry, boy, this is where you get off.”

  “What?” said Billy. “You said you wouldn’t double-cross me!”

  “Did I sure enough?” Earl reached around and grabbed him by his coat. “Well, I must’ve misunderstood.” He slung Billy to the ground and watched him roll in the foot-deep snow. As Billy caught himself and wiped his face, blowing snow from his lips, Earl raised his pistol from his holster and cocked it.

  “What about Willie?” said Billy Odle. “You can’t just leave him up there to die! He’s a part of your gang!”

  “You just don’t get it, do you, boy?” Earl said. “I don’t give a damn about Willie John or anybody else. Sorry, kid,” he chuckled, drawing a bead down his pistol sights.

  The reality sunk in and Billy Odle trembled. “You’re going to shoot me?”

  “Oh yes,” said Earl Ganston.

  “But why?” Billy Odle cried out.

  “Because I ain’t leaving you here to tell that Ranger how to get to the hideout,” Earl growled.

  “I won’t tell him, I swear! Why would I? I’m a friend of Willie John! I’m just like him, an outlaw! I wouldn’t tell on nobody for no reason. That’s my code.” His voice had started to break down into a pleading sob.

  “If that’s true,” said Earl Ganston, “then you’re too damn stupid to live.” He grinned. “So long, boy.”

  Billy Odle screamed at the last second and squeezed his eyes shut. The shot sounded louder than anything he’d ever heard in his life. He jerked, feeling the bullet going into his chest, slicing hot and deep while the blast still rang inside his head. Something wet and warm slapped him in his face—his life’s blood, he thought, for one terrible instant. Then he began to realize that he hadn’t really felt any pain at all, only the dread of it. He blinked and ran his hand down his face, feeling the warm blood as he wiped it from his eyes. When he looked up, he saw no sign of Earl Ganston, only the empty saddle, and the tired horse stepping back and forth nervously in the snow.

  “Oh my God!” Billy exclaimed, looking to his right and seeing the body of Earl Ganston lying facedown in the snow, a gaping bullet hole in the center of his back. Steam curled up from the bloody wound. Billy scooted back quickly away from the body and sat staring at it. Gathering his knees up against his chest and wrapping his arms around them, he rocked back and forth in the snow, letting out a long, strained whine through his clenched teeth. On the cliff line, Red Booker lowered the rifle from his shoulder and looked at Colonel Fuller in bewilderment. On either side of Booker, the rest of the men did the same. “What the hell happened, Colonel?” Booker asked.

  “What happened?” said Colonel Fuller, barely controlling his rage. “I’ll tell you what happened! Somebody just shot that sonuvabitch dead, right under our damned noses!” He jerked his horse around and heeled it away.

  In the alley behind the bank building, Sam Burrack let out a breath. Seeing Earl Ganston fall from the saddle, Sam let the Spencer rifle drop from his hands onto the top of the snow-covered rain barrel. “Somebody ride out there and get the boy,” he said. Then he let himself slump forward against the barrel and succumb to the weakness that crept up around his chest and shoulders. Blood ran freely down his arm and dripped from the fingertip of his glove. He took a labored breath and said to Selectman Collins in a waning voice, “Let’s get on over to that doctor’s office now.”

  Collins and the townsmen stood staring out across the snowy flatland with their mouths agape. “Carl,” said Collins without turning to face the short blacksmith standing nearest him, “why don’t you and Ronald ride out and bring Billy Odle back here for the Ranger?”

  “Uh, yes, we surely will,” the blacksmith replied, gazing out across the flatlands with him.

  Billy Odle had no idea how long he’d sat in the snow, but it had to have been long enough for Earl Ganston’s blood to dry on his face. Billy had gone into some sort of trance, until the sound of men and horses came lurching through the snow toward him from the hills on his right. Two more riders approached from Hubbler Wells on his left. Only then did he manage to shake himself back to consciousness and stand up, dusting himself off. Without taking the time to pick up Earl Ganston’s pistol from the snow where it’d fallen, Billy Odle snatched up the reins to the horse and climbed up into the saddle. He batted his heels to the horse’s sides and headed west across the long snow-filled basin.

  “Collins and that Ranger were right,” said Carl Yates to his apprentice, Ronald Andrews. “That’s Billy Odle all right. I’d recognize that little knot-head anywhere.”

  “Yeah,” said Ronald, “but look who’s coming from the hill trails.” He nodded toward Colonel Fuller and his men. “Billy better hope we get to him before they do.”

  “Come on,” said Carl, reaching back with his reins to slap his horse’s rump. “Let’s get between him and that posse . . . keep them from shooting his fool head off.” Even as he spoke, he saw the rifles in the hands of Fuller’s men, who were getting closer every second.

  Ronald paused. “What if they think we’re part of the Ganston Gang?”

  “Why would they think that?” asked Carl. “They all seen us in the saloon back in town.

  “I know they saw us, but I don’t know how good their memory is, coming on at a run. I don’t want to get shot over it,” said Ronald.

  “Then stay here, Ronald,” said Carl. “But I couldn’t live with myself if I just sat still and watched them buzzards kill that stupid kid.” He slapped the reins and sent the horse loping forward.

  “Aw hell,” Ronald mumbled, “neither could I.” He batted his heels to his horse’s sides and fell in behind the blacksmith, both horses struggling to get up a running pace in the deep snow.

  Billy Odle’s horse was nearly blown from carrying double weight at a hard run all the way from Hubbler Wells. He hadn’t gone two hundred yards when he looked back and saw the posse gaining on him as if he were sitting still. He also saw Carl and Ronald cutting in behind him and taking up his trail. He looked back and forth wildly for any way out. Beneath him, the horse slowed more and more with each labored yard it gained. Finally it stopped altogether and stood spraddle-legged and heaving, Billy’s boots batting its sides to no avail.

  Finally, Billy ceased goading the worn animal and slumped in his saddle. “I tried, Willie, I swear I did,” he said to the empty sky, his eyes welling up. As Ronald and Carl advanced on Billy Odle, calling out his name, Colonel Fuller raised a gloved hand to his men, signaling them not to fire. Fuller slowed his horse to walk the last fifty yards, seeing that neither the boy or the other two riders were going anywhere. “So, Billy Odle . . . at last we meet,” Fuller said, stepping his horse wide of Carl and Ronald for a better look at the boy.

  Carl stepped his horse alongside Fuller’s, saying, “I’m telling you right now, the Ranger asked us to bring this boy to town. I’m not letting nothing happen to him whilst he’s with us. Ain’t that right, Ronald?” He glanced at his apprentice for support.

  “That’s right,” said Ronald. “We as good as gave our word on it.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Fuller, giving them a look of disdain. “We wouldn’t want to do anything that might upset the Ranger, now would we?”

  Billy Odle had stepped down into the snow and stood beside the tired horse. He stared at Colonel Fuller as the possemen formed a half circle around them. “You might as well not ask me nothing,” said Billy. “I ain’t telling you a thing about the Ganston Gang.”

  “The Ganston Gang.” Fuller and his men chuckled. “I saw Earl’s body back there. All that’s left now is Hopper and that Injun. There ain’t no more gang.”

  “The Ranger shot Hopper Ganston dead,” Carl cut in. He felt himself shrink back as all eyes turned to him.

  “Damn it to everlasting hell!” Colonel Fuller’s expression soured for a second. But then he collected himself and
turned back to Billy Odle. “There, you see? No more Ganston Gang. All that remains is the Injun. So you just point us in his direction and we’ll be on our way.” Fuller had brought his horse within a foot of Billy Odle and stopped. He sat glaring down at him.

  “I already told you, I ain’t—”

  Billy Odle’s words stopped short as Fuller reached down, and with a powerful backhand, sent Billy flying backward to the ground. “I’m through being nice to everybody!” Before Carl or Ronald could stop him, Colonel Fuller jumped down from his horse and advanced on Billy Odle. When Billy shook off the slap and tried to struggle to his feet, another hard swing knocked him down again.

  “Leave him alone!” shouted Carl, jumping down from his horse and stepping forward. “We’re taking him back to town in one piece!”

  He started to reach out and grab Fuller’s arm, but the sound of the possemen’s rifles cocking caused him to stop cold.

  “Look like you just stepped into something over your head, don’t it, shorty?” Fuller said with a dark grin. “Make a false move now, see if these boys won’t eat you alive.”

  “They might, but you won’t live to see it,” said Ronald from atop his horse, a sawed-off shotgun cocked and pointed at Colonel Fuller’s face, only ten feet away. “Now tell them to lower those rifles.”

  Fuller stared at him for a second trying to read the seriousness of the apprentice blacksmith’s intent. “If you think I’m bluffing, mister, just say the words and let the killing commence.”

  “Easy, Ronald!” Carl said, trying to calm the young man. “Colonel Fuller ain’t going to do nothing that foolish, are you, Colonel?”

  Fuller looked back and forth between the two men, then at his own men who stood twitching, ready to start shooting. “The fact is, Colonel,” said Carl, “ole Ronald here ain’t got but about half sense once he gets his bark on. Don’t do something to set him off . . . for all our sakes.”

  “You men ease down,” Fuller said, raising a hand and watching the men slowly lower their rifles. He looked back at Ronald. “All right, young man . . . take that scattergun off me. You made your point. We’ll all ride in together and take this boy to Hubbler Wells.” He waited until he saw the shotgun lower an inch, then he let out a tense breath and took a step back. “No use in us fighting among ourselves. We’re all after the same thing here.” He collected himself, leveled his hat on his forehead and walked back to this horse as Carl walked over and helped Billy Odle to his feet.

  “That critter will never make it to town,” said Red Booker, drawing attention to the horse Billy Odle had been riding. “You might as well put it out of its misery.”

  Carl looked at the exhausted animal and recognized it as one of Old Man Renfro’s. “Billy, what are you doing on one of Renfro’s horses?” His voice had a flatness to it, as if he already dreaded what the answer would be. “Renfro never lent his horses. He hardly ever left them out of his sight.”

  Billy Odle stood looking down at the ground.

  “You stole it, didn’t you?” Carl accused. When Billy didn’t reply, Carl eyed him closely, then asked, “Is Old Man Renfro all right, Billy? Has harm come to him?”

  “I didn’t steal any of Renfro’s horses,” Billy blurted out. “They were running loose . . . all me and Willie John did was rounded them up.”

  “Oh Lord,” said Carl shaking his head, getting a bad mental picture of what terrible thing had befallen the old man. “You and that Indian killed him and stole his horses.”

  “No, we didn’t,” said Billy through his swollen bleeding lips. “I swear we didn’t. We found the horses wandering out behind his place and took them, that’s all!”

  “See why I show no mercy?” Fuller said to Carl. “It makes no difference, young or old . . . an outlaw is an outlaw. And the only good one is a dead one. If you’re smart, you’ll turn him over to me and I’ll see to it he—”

  “He’s no outlaw,” said Carl, cutting him off, “he’s just a dumb kid!” His gaze narrowed on Billy Odle as he spoke. “And if his daddy was here and could see how he’s acting, he’d box his jaws for him.” He grabbed the reins to Billy’s exhausted horse and pulled it forward alongside his own horse. “Come on, Billy, you’re riding double with me. I’m leading this horse back to town, if it’ll make it that far. We’ll have to get to the bottom of this.”

  When Fuller and his men had pulled back and given Ronald and Carl room to turn their horses and head back toward Hubbler Wells, Ronald sidled his horse in close to Carl and whispered just between the two of them, “How’d I do, Carl?”

  Carl returned his whisper, “You did fine, Ronald, but you nearly scared the be-jesus out of me. I know as well as you do that old shotgun hasn’t been fired in years. I hate to guess what would have happened if you’d pulled the trigger. Like as not it would have exploded in your hands.”

  “No danger in that,” Ronald whispered. “It ain’t been loaded since last Christmas.”

  Carl’s face turned stark white for a second. “Lord God!” He rode a few steps forward, then stopped his horse in its tracks and said to Ronald, “I’ve been thinking lately, Ronald . . . business is real good. It’s about time I gave you a raise.”

  “That’s what I’ve been thinking, too,” Ronald replied, gazing ahead with a blank look on his face.

  Chapter 13

  Once the Ranger’s wounds were cleaned and dressed, and he saw that Tinnie was doing all right, he fell asleep on a gurney set up in the back room of the doctor’s office. Tinnie had been taken upstairs where the doctor’s wife could attend to her. Luckily, Tinnie’s wounds were not life threatening. Neither were Sam’s. One of the bullets had gone clean through his left shoulder. The other shot had grazed his hip. By the time Carl, Ronald and Fuller’s posse arrived with Billy Odle and the worn-out horse, Sam had sat up on the gurney with two large pillows propped behind his back. His shirt lay across a ladder-back chair where his gun belt hung, his pistol butt close at hand. The big pistol was the first thing Billy Odle took notice of when he entered the room.

  “Here he is, Ranger,” said Carl, and he and Ronald nudged Billy forward a step. “Maybe you can get something out of him. We can’t.” They had found a pair of handcuffs at the sheriff’s office and had put them on Billy’s thin wrists. “I don’t mind telling you it was no easy job, getting him back here and away from Colonel Fuller and his men. Fuller said if there’s any reward on Billy, he gets it.”

  “Reward?” Sam asked as he looked Billy Odle up and down. “Reward for what?”

  Carl shrugged. “I’m just telling you what he said. I reckon he keeps rewards on the brain in his line of work.” Carl looked down and scratched his head up under his hat brim. “There’s one thing I told Selectman Collins . . . and I need to tell you, too. We caught Billy here on a horse belonging to a man who lives just outside of town between here and the hill country. His name’s Renfro and he’s awfully partial to his horses. Billy said him and the Indian found them running loose. But I’ve got serious doubts about it. It’ll have to be checked out.”

  “Oh?” The Ranger’s gaze went back to Billy Odle as he said to Carl, “Why don’t you and your helper go have a drink on me. Looks like you could both use one.”

  Carl glanced at the gun belt on the chair. “Are you sure you’ll be all right, Ranger?”

  “I’m sure,” said Sam, eying Billy Odle who stood staring down at the floor.

  “What if he tries to make a run for it?” Carl asked. “Think maybe one of us ought to stay outside the door here just in case?”

  “Much obliged for all you men have done,” said Sam, “but I’ll be able to take care of things from here.”

  “All right, then,” said Carl, him and Ronald both taking a step back. “Collins will be wanting Billy as soon as you’re through with him.”

  “I understand,” said Sam. “Tell Collins that Billy will be along shortly.” His left arm lying cradled in a sling, Sam raised his right hand and motioned Billy Odle forward. “Come on
over here closer, young man. We’ve got some things to talk about.”

  Carl and Ronald hesitated near the door until they saw Billy Odle walk forward. Then the two stepped back through the open doorway and closed the door behind them. Billy stopped at the side of the gurney and stared down at his cuffed hands. “If you’re going to ask me to tell you where my friend Willie John is hiding, you’ll just be wasting your breath,” he said without raising his eyes to the ranger.

  Sam seemed not to have heard him. “Look up here at me, Billy Odle, like a man, not down at your boots.”

  The Ranger’s tone was not harsh, but it was firm. Billy raised his eyes grudgingly. “It won’t make any difference, I still won’t tell you.”

  The Ranger nodded. “So far I don’t recall asking you where he’s at. When it comes time to find him, I’ll find him. Meanwhile, I’m concerned about what it’s going to take to get your head cleared and get you on the right track.”

  “Don’t worry about me getting on track,” said Billy Odle. “I know what it is I want . . . ain’t you or nobody else going to stop me.”

  “I see,” said Sam. “You’ve been gone from home all this time, your mother worried sick about you. All you can think of doing is picking an argument with me? Young man, you don’t have the slightest idea how close you probably came to getting your throat cut by your best buddy hiding in the hills.”

  “I was going to ask about Ma,” said Billy Odle, his eyes dropping again, ignoring what Sam said about Willie John. “Besides, Ma’s okay, so long as she can get her drink and her drugs.”

  “Look at me, Billy,” Sam said, more firmly this time. “Your mother has quit all of that stuff. She’s been sweating it out of her system ever since she found out you rode away with Willie John.”