The Faith and the Rangers

by James J. Griffin

  Jim swung from his saddle and knelt alongside the dead outlaw. He rolled him onto his back. Cody remained mounted, staring at the body.

  “It’s Wade Patton,” Jim said.

  “Is he dead?” Cody asked. His voice shook slightly.

  “He sure is,” Jim confirmed.

  “That’s one less to deal with. Only seven of ‘em left, Jim.”

  “Except the rest’ll have heard that shot. That’ll bring ‘em ridin’ down on us, unless they figure Wade here was takin’ a pot shot at a rabbit.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  Jim gazed at the body of Wade Patton. The dead outlaw was about his size, with blonde hair only slightly darker.

  “I’ve got an idea. Get off your horse and give me a hand,” he ordered, then started peeling off his shirt.

  Cody dismounted.

  “Get the clothes off that hombre,” Jim continued. “I’m gonna take his place.”

  “What?”

  “I’m switchin’ clothes and horses with him. I’ll toss him over Sam’s back. With any luck, that’ll fool ‘em into thinkin’ I’m Wade, and that I’ve just downed an intruder. That might even lure ‘em out of the cabin, which’d be a heckuva lot easier than tryin’ to blast ‘em out of there.”

  “Wouldn’t it be simpler just for me to play dead, with you masquerading as Patton?” Cody questioned. “That way, you wouldn’t have to put your clothes on him and load him on your horse.”

  “It would, except that would put both of us in the line of fire if anything goes wrong. I’d rather keep you hidden, then surprise those renegades when you pop out of the brush. You’ll stay behind me, out of sight until I get up to that cabin.”

  “That won’t trick them once you get close enough to be recognized,” Cody objected.

  “I don’t need long, just enough to get a bit of advantage. And don’t kid yourself. Patton’s not gonna surrender, knowin’ he’s facing a hangnoose. We’re in for a fight. Hurry up and get those duds off.”

  While Jim swiftly undressed, Cody opened Patton’s shirt. He gagged at the sight of the bullet hole in his chest.

  “You all right?” Jim asked him.

  “I’m a bit queasy,” Cody admitted. “First time I’ve seen a man shot and killed.”

  “You’ll never get used to it,” Jim told the young Ranger. “First time I shot a man I puked my guts out. You don’t have time for that now. Get sick later.”

  “Any particular time?” Cody retorted.

  “I guess that was a bit harsh. Sorry, pard. I’ll give you a hand.”

  The clothes were stripped off the dead outlaw. Jim redressed in Patton’s outfit, then dressed the body in his own clothes. He switched Patton’s six-gun with his own Peacemaker.

  “Help me get him on Sam,” he told Cody.

  “Sure.”

  Patton’s body was lifted from the ground. Sam snorted a mild protest when the dead outlaw was draped belly-down over his withers.

  “Easy, bud. You’ve done this before,” Jim soothed the gelding. He took Sam’s reins and led him to where Patton’s bay waited. The bay shied at the scent of blood, but before it could trot off Jim grabbed its reins. His soft voice soon calmed the nervous animal. He exchanged Patton’s Winchester for his own, then climbed into Patton’s saddle. The Ranger pulled Patton’s hat down low, obscuring most of his face.

  “How do I look, Cody?”

  “Not bad, except for that blood on the shirt.”

  “Can’t do much about that. I hid it as best I could with my bandanna. I just hope none of my blood joins it.”

  “I have to agree with you there,” Cody grinned.

  “Appreciate that. Now let’s move, before the rest of ‘em come up on us.”

  “One question. How will I know when to come out of the brush?”

  “When the shootin’ starts,” Jim laughed. “No, seriously. You’ll know when. You’ve got good instincts, Cody. I’m trustin’ ‘em.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Cody replied.

  With Cody trailing behind, Jim started for the cabin. After a short distance, Wade’s fractious bay refused to go any further, dancing sideways and crowhopping.

  “Teach this obstinate cuss a lesson, will you, Sam?” Jim asked his horse.

  Sam snorted, pinned his ears, and bit the bay viciously on the rump. The gelding squealed in fear of the big paint. Sam nipped him again.

  “That’s enough, Sam,” Jim ordered. He heeled the now-willing bay into a walk once again.

  In a short time, Jim came upon the cabin. Hank Martin and Matt Patton were sitting on the porch, while Jobe Patton and Ed Torneau were saddling horses. They looked up at Jim’s approach.

  “Hey Wade,” Martin called. “We heard a shot. Jobe and Ed were just gettin’ ready to check on you. Guess there’s no need. Who’s that you plugged?”

  “Ranger,” Jim grunted.

  “A Ranger! Webb, get out here,” Martin shouted. “Wade just killed himself a Texas Ranger.”

  Jim edged nearer the shack. Webb Patton, along with two men Jim recognized as Steve Sloan and Hal Mellon, both wanted killers, emerged from the cabin.

  “What’s that? There was a Ranger snoopin’ around? You plugged him, Wade?” Webb called.

  “Yeah.” Jim grunted again, and nodded toward Patton’s body.

  “That’s not Wade!” Webb yelled, as he recognized the Ranger. “That’s Jim Blawcyzk! He must’ve plugged Wade!” Instantly, the outlaws went for their guns.

  Jim grabbed his rifle and rolled from the saddle. He fired one quick shot as he dove behind some brush. The bullet tore through Sloan’s thigh, dropping him to a knee. Webb and Mellon jumped back inside the shack. Matt followed them, then slammed the door shut.

  “Get outta here, Sam!” Jim ordered his horse. The big paint raced for safety. Wade Patton’s body tumbled from Sam’s back when the horse swerved around the corral.

  Bullets were tearing through Jim’s meager cover, searching him out. One took the hat from his head.

  “Where the devil’s Cody?” he muttered. “I sure can’t stay here.”

  Sloan was still on the porch, propped against a post and firing in Jim’s direction. Jim rose to one knee and fired. His bullet tore into Sloan’s stomach, driving him back. Sloan sagged against the cabin wall, slid to a seated position, and slumped against a chair. Sloan’s chin dropped to his chest with his final breaths. Jim rolled back into the brush, then crawled toward a pile of firewood. There was a clearing of some fifty feet between the brush and the wood. Jim halted at the edge of the bushes, waiting his chance.

  Cody burst out of the scrub, his horse at a dead run. While Yankee pounded across the yard, Cody

  swept the corral with bullets. One hit Torneau in the chest, slamming him to the dirt. Jobe Patton screeched in mortal agony when another of Cody’s slugs ripped through his belly. Jobe clawed frantically at his bullet- ripped gut, jackknifed, and crumpled. Cody reached the end of the yard, whirled Yankee around, and emptied his rifle at the cabin. One of his shots hit Hank Martin in the neck. Martin clutched his throat, attempting in vain to stem the blood spurting from his severed jugular. He staggered off the porch and pitched to his face. Cody leapt from his saddle and dove behind the well. Yankee scrambled for cover.

  While Cody kept the outlaws busy, Jim raced for the firewood. He dove to his belly and slid behind the stacked logs, gasping for breath.

  “How many’s left, Jim?” Cody called. He pulled out his Colt.

  “Three of ‘em. They’re all inside the shack.”

  Jim fired the last bullet in his Winchester through one of the front windows. The shot was answered by a volley of gunfire.

  “ Jim Blawcyzk,” Webb called. “Let’s talk!”

  “There’s nothin’ to talk about, unless you’re givin’ yourselves up,” Jim a
nswered. He put down his rifle to lift his Colt from its holster.

  “Don’t be stupid, Ranger,” Webb replied. “You’ll never be able to get at us, long as we’re in here. You know that. Why don’t you and your pardner just get on your horses and ride away? I promise we’ll let you go, long as you don’t cause us any more trouble.”

  “Your promise ain’t worth a plugged nickel, Patton,” Jim shot back. “You’d shoot us in the back before we made fifty feet. Far as you gettin’ away, I wouldn’t bet a hat on it. Five of you are already dead. You wanna join them?”

  “The only ones who are gonna join them are you and your pardner,” Patton retorted. “You had your chance. Now we’re gonna cut you to ribbons.”

  The three remaining renegades opened fire, pinning the Rangers down.

  Jim waved to Cody, signaling that he was going to attempt to flank the cabin and reach the barn, from which he would have a better angle to shoot through the cabin’s windows. He pointed toward the porch, indicating that, once he reached the barn, he wanted Cody to try and make the front of the cabin under Jim’s covering fire. Cody nodded his understanding.

  Jim leapt from his cover and zigzagged toward the barn. Matt Patton opened the door and fired at the Ranger’s back. It was a fatal mistake. His bullet missed, whistling past Jim’s side. Jim’s return snap shot struck Matt square in the chest. Matt fell across the doorsill.

  While Jim and Matt exchanged gunshots, Webb Patton took careful aim at the Ranger and fired. His bullet struck Jim high in the left side of the chest. Jim dropped in his tracks.

  “They got Jim!” Cody exclaimed. Overcome with anger and grief, he rose from his shelter, grimacing when an outlaw’s bullet burned along his ribs. Cody recklessly raced for the cabin, Colt blazing, ignoring the bullets seeking him out. One of his bullets shattered a windowpane, then struck Hal Mellon between the eyes. The slug buried itself deep in his brain.

  Cody hurdled the body of Matt Patton, dove into the cabin, and rolled to his knees. As Webb Patton turned to face him, Cody aimed his Colt at Webb’s chest, thumbed back the hammer, and squeezed the trigger. It fell on an empty chamber.

  Webb laughed harshly. He aimed his gun just above Cody’s belt buckle.

  “All right, Ranger. I don’t know your name, but that don’t matter. I’m gonna put a slug in your lousy guts. You’re about to die, just like your pardner lyin’ out there.”

  Webb started to thumb back the hammer of his .44 Remington. He hesitated.

  “Figure I’ll let you think about dyin’ for a minute first,” he sneered, letting the gun drop to cover Cody’s groin. A wicked grin crossed his face.

  “I reckon I’ll nail you where it hurts a man most, then gut-shoot you,” he concluded.

  Cody sprang to his feet, pulled the knife from its sheath on his belt, and lunged at the outlaw. He slashed at Webb’s forearm, the razor-sharp blade slicing through muscle and tendons. Webb dropped the gun from his paralyzed hand. Cody thrust the Bowie deep into Webb’s belly, ripping upward through intestines and stomach. Webb folded over Cody’s fist. Cody yanked his knife from the outlaw’s gut. A gurgle rose in Webb’s throat. He dropped to his hands and knees, then collapsed to his face.

  “Like Jim taught me, never relax, Patton,” Cody muttered. “It can get a man killed.”

  “Jim!” Cody’s voice caught. A lump rose in his throat. Eyes moist, he left the cabin and headed for his downed partner.

  Cody found Sam had returned. The gelding was nuzzling Jim’s shoulder, attempting to rouse his rider. When Cody approached, the big paint pinned his ears and whickered a warning.

  “Easy, Sam,” Cody told the horse. “Let me try’n help your friend.”

  Sam edged away, still eyeing Cody suspiciously. Cody knelt alongside Jim and rolled him onto his back. Fresh blood was spreading over the shirt he wore. Jim still held his Colt in a death grip.

  “Jim,” Cody murmured.

  Jim’s eyes flickered open.

  “Cody. What happened to Webb?”

  “He’s dead. They all are.”

  “Good. You did a fine job, pardner.”

  “How bad are you hit, Jim?”

  “Bad enough. You’ll have to…” Jim stopped speaking, lifted his Colt, and fired. Jobe Patton gave a strangled gasp when Jim’s bullet punched another hole through his gut. The renegade dropped his gun and crumpled to the dirt. This time, he wouldn’t get back up.

  “Jobe! He wasn’t…”

  “Dead,” Jim concluded for Cody. “You didn’t check those hombres, did you?”

  “No,” Cody admitted, “I was too worried about you.”

  “That nearly got you a bullet in the back,” Jim said. “Go check those men. Make sure they’re dead. And kick their guns away from ‘em, just in case.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be fine until you’re finished. Then you’re gonna have to dig this slug outta my chest.”

  “What? I don’t think I can handle that,” Cody objected.

  “You’ve got to. Otherwise, I won’t live long enough to make it to a doctor. Now stop wastin’ time.”

  “All right.”

  Cody checked the bodies, then returned.

  “They’re all done for, Jim. I made sure.”

  “Fine.”

  “What now?”

  “This bullet has to come out. Open my saddlebags. You’ll find a small flask of whiskey and a sack of tobacco. There’s also a spare bandanna, and some cloths I use for bandages. Get those. Sam, you let Cody get that stuff,” Jim ordered his horse.

  “I thought you didn’t smoke or drink.”

  “I don’t. They’re for treatin’ bullet wounds.”

  Sam pinned his ears at Cody when he approached, but when Jim chided him again, the gelding allowed Cody to open Jim’s saddlebags and retrieve the supplies.

  “I’ve got ‘em, Jim. Now what?”

  “Open my shirt, so you can spot the bullet hole.”

  “All right.” Cody unbuttoned the shirt. He choked slightly at the sight of the bullet hole in Jim’s chest, high on the left side.

  “You’ve gotta do this, Cody,” Jim urged. “Or else I’m a dead man.”

  “I’ll get through it,” Cody promised. “What now?”

  “Take that bandanna and tie a knot in it. I’ll need somethin’ to bite down on while you dig for that bullet.”

  Cody complied.

  “There. What’s next?”

  “Take my knife and douse it real good with that redeye.”

  “Okay.”

  Cody opened the flask and poured half of its contents over the blade.

  “It’s soaked, Jim.”

  “Good. Now comes the hard part. You’ve gotta take that knife, stick it in my chest, and probe for the slug. You should be able to feel it once you hit it, although it can be tough to tell the difference between a slug and bone. I don’t need to tell what’ll happen if you’re not careful.”

  “No, you sure don’t. You might want to say a prayer before I start.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Jim agreed. Both men took a moment to ask the Lord’s help and mercy.

  “I’m ready,” Cody said, once he’d concluded his prayer.

  “Good. First, take some of that whiskey and pour it over my chest and into the bullet hole.”

  “Won’t that hurt?”

  “Like the blazes. That’s the reason for the bandanna. But it’ll help stop infection.”

  “You want the bandanna in your mouth now?”

  “Yeah.”

  Cody slid the knotted kerchief between Jim’s teeth.

  “You ready?”

  Jim nodded. When Cody poured the raw liquor into the wound, Jim grimaced with pain, biting down hard.

  “I’m goin’ after that bullet now,” Cody said.


  Again, Jim nodded. Carefully, Cody slid the knife blade into the bullet hole.

  Sweat broke out on Jim’s forehead while Cody probed for the slug. He clamped down on the bandanna.

  “I’m bein’ as gentle as I can, Jim,” Cody assured him.

  “Just get that slug outta me,” Jim muttered through clenched teeth.

  Cody kept probing for the slug. Finally, he felt the blade hit something solid.

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Good. Now maneuver it outta there. Real carefully.”

  Cody nodded. He gently manipulated the knife until he was able to get at the slug and remove it.”

  “It’s out.” Cody breathed a sigh of relief. “But you’re bleedin’ more.”

  Jim pulled the bandanna from his mouth.

  “That’s all right. It’ll help flush the wound.”

  “What do I do now?”

  “Open that sack of tobacco. Pour it right into that hole.”

  “Tobacco?” Cody was skeptical.

  “Yeah. It’ll plug the hole, slow the bleedin’, and believe it or not helps prevent blood poisoning. Once you’ve got the hole packed, pour more whiskey over it, then bandage it.”

  “All right.”

  Cody did as ordered.

  “That’s the best I can do,” he said, as he tied the last strip of cloth in place.

  “You did just fine, Cody,” Jim assured him. “Now you’d better take care of yourself.”

  “You mean this bullet burn along my ribs? It’s not much.”

  “It’s not much, but it could kill you if it gets infected. You’d better wash it out, put some whiskey on it, and bandage it. After all, I promised Julia I’d bring you back in one piece. She’d never forgive me if I didn’t, since she still plans on hitchin’ you up with Sarah Wysocki. I wouldn’t want to face those two if you’d gotten yourself killed. In that case, you’d be better off than me,” Jim laughed.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Cody chuckled. He quickly treated the bullet gash along his side.

  “I’m finished.”

  “Good. I’ve gotta ask you to do some more work before you can rest, Cody. I can’t be much help,” Jim apologized.