The Faith and the Rangers

by James J. Griffin

  “Pete tells me you men are heading for Snyder in the morning,” he began.

  “That’s right,” Jim confirmed.

  “There’s no need for that. Pete’s already told you about the celebration we’ve planned for tomorrow.”

  “He has,” Jim replied.

  “There will be very few men in Snyder until the day after tomorrow. Since most of our supplies, and the crew’s quarters, are still here in Roscoe, we’ve brought all the men back here, except for a few watchmen in Snyder. The day after tomorrow several work trains will be headed back there. You Rangers can ride with me to Snyder in my private car. I’ll have a boxcar prepared for your horses. That way you can stay here and help Pete keep things under control.”

  “You expectin’ that much trouble?” Clay asked.

  “Not really, but the men have been working hard and have quite a bit of steam to blow off, so there are bound to be a few quarrels. I’d appreciate your help in keeping those from getting out of hand. By staying and taking the train, you’ll be able to help out here and save a day’s riding. The train will get you to Snyder in only a couple of hours, compared to a full day on horseback. You’ll reach your destination early Friday morning rather

  than tomorrow night, which won’t make much difference as far as your assignment is concerned. What do you think?”

  “It sounds reasonable,” Dade answered. “However, the decision is the sergeant’s. How about it, Jim?”

  “Seems like a good idea,” Huggins answered. “We’ll go along with it. Pete, you still need our help tonight?”

  “I don’t think so,” the deputy answered. “Things are settlin’ down. The real shindig doesn’t start until tomorrow, and you boys have been ridin’ hard the past several days. I can handle any trouble tonight. Y’all just take it easy until tomorrow.”

  “Fine. We’ll be at your office at seven,” Jim stated.

  “That’s settled,” Wheeler concluded. “I have some final details to attend to, so I’ll take my leave. Any more refreshments you would like are on the Roscoe, Snyder, and Pacific. I’ll instruct Moses at the bar to that effect.”

  “Not quite so fast,” Clay interrupted. “We need to discuss the attacks on your men.”

  “We’ll talk about that on the train,” Wheeler replied. “Until tomorrow, gentlemen. Good night.”

  “I’ve got to make my rounds, so I’ll be leavin’ too,” Townsend added. “See you in the mornin’.”

  After the railroader and deputy left, Clay, Jim, and Dade lingered over a few more drinks.

  “I think I’m gonna sit in on a poker game,” Dade decided. “Either of you care to join me?”

  “I might play a hand or two,” Jim agreed. “How about you, Clay?”

  “I’ll skip it this time. I’m bushed,” Clay answered. “Think I’ll head back to our room and turn in.”

  “Okay. We’ll see you in the morning,” Jim said.

  “We’ll try not to wake you when we come in,” Dade added. “G’night, Clay.”

  “’Night, both of you.”

  Clay headed across the street to the hotel, got the key to their room, and headed upstairs. Leaving the door unlocked for his partners, he undressed, then crawled under the blankets. He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^

  All three men were up with the sun the next morning. Clay was at the washstand shaving, while Jim and Dade were still stretched out under the covers.

  “How late’d you get in last night?” Clay asked. “I never heard a thing after I fell into bed.”

  “Not too late,” Jim answered. “The card game broke up soon after you left. But we do have another friendly wager to settle.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Dade, you want to explain it?”

  “Sure,” French agreed. “Clay, those railroaders started braggin’ last night about how tough they are, and how any one of ‘em could lick any of us Rangers in a standup fight. You know we couldn’t let that pass.”

  “So, which one of you fought?”

  “Neither. That’s where you come into the picture.”

  “What?” Clay turned and glared at his partners.

  “You’re the best scrapper of the three of us,” Dade explained. “We challenged their best fighter to a boxing match, you and him. It’s set for eleven this morning at the livery stable. One of the corrals will be used for a ring.”

  “You’re both loco if you think I’m gettin’ myself beat to a pulp just so you can win a bet,” Clay snapped. “Either that, or you had more red-eye than I realized. Forget it. If you want to brawl with one of those hombres, do it yourselves.”

  “Clay, you have to fight. Think of the reputation of the Rangers,” Dade insisted. “If you don’t go in that ring, we’ll be laughingstocks.”

  “I’m thinkin’ of my hide,” Clay retorted.

  “You’re not turnin’ yellow, are you Clay?” Jim broke in. “Besides, the hombre who’s takin’ you on ain’t all that tough. You’ll win, easy.”

  “Last time I leave you two alone while I get some shut-eye,” Clay grumbled. “Should’ve known better. You’re not givin’ me any choice, are you?”

  “Reckon we’re not,” Jim admitted.

  “Besides, it’s easy money. Those railroaders have cash to burn with those bonuses in their pockets. We’ll clean up,” Dade said.

  With a sigh, Clay gave in.

  “All right. But you’d better not be lyin’ about my chances.”

  “Not at all, pard,” Dade assured him.

  “We’ll even buy your breakfast,” Jim added. “Just don’t eat too much, in case you catch a punch in the gut. That wouldn’t be a pretty sight.”

  “Wonderful. The condemned man gets a last meal,” Clay muttered.

  “Jim’s just joshin’. You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Dade replied.

  “That’s what scares me,” Clay answered.

  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^

  The Rangers and Deputy Townsend made several patrols of Roscoe. So far things had been fairly uneventful, the deputy only having had to break up one fight.

  “The day’s still young. Once these railroad men have some more whiskey in their bellies things’ll heat up,” Townsend predicted. “Right now, a lot of them are waitin’ for the boxing match.”

  “Speakin’ of which, it’s quarter to eleven. Reckon we’d better head for the stable,” Jim said.

  They started down the street.

  “Sure glad I’m refereein’ this fight, instead of takin’ on Pat Doyle,” Townsend noted.

  “What do you mean, Pete?” Clay demanded.

  “Just that…” Pete stopped short when Jim and Dade glared at him. “Just that I…”

  “Never mind. I get your drift. Dade, Jim, I thought you said I’d have no problem.”

  “You won’t,” Dade attempted to assure Clay. “Doyle’s a pushover. He won’t last five minutes against you.”

  “Your pardner’s right,” Pete agreed.

  “Somehow, I’m not buyin’ that,” Clay retorted.

  “You’re not backin’ out, are you?” Jim asked.

  “Reckon it’s too late,” Clay answered.

  They reached the alleyway, and turned down it to the stable.

  “Looks like quite a crowd,” Jim remarked.

  The makeshift ring was surrounded by spectators, three deep.

  “Here comes the Rangers!” one of them shouted. The crowd parted to allow Clay and his companions access to the corral.

  Patrick Doyle was already in the ring. The big Irishman had jet black hair and bright blue eyes. He was taller than Taggart by a good three inches, and outweighed the Ranger by at least twenty pounds. Doyle had already peeled off his shirt. His arms, shoulders, and chest bulged with muscles developed by years of layi
ng track for the railroads. His body had not an ounce of fat.

  “That’s who I’m fightin’?” Clay exclaimed.

  “That’s him,” Dade confirmed.

  “The only way I’ll beat that hombre is with both barrels of a ten gauge shotgun,” Clay answered.

  “He’s not all that big,” Jim replied.

  “For a live oak,” Clay retorted. He unbuckled his gunbelt and stripped offhis shirt, bandanna, and Stetson, then handed them to Huggins.

  “You’re gonna have a hard time explainin’ to Lucy why she’s a new widow,” he warned the sergeant, as he ducked under the fence and into the corral.

  The spectators, seeing the two men together for the first time, began betting heavily on the railroader.

  Pete Townsend called both men to the center of the ring.

  “Men, there won’t be any rounds. You’ll fight until one of you is knocked out or quits,” he explained. “The rules are simple. No gouging, kicking, biting, or hitting below the belt, unless I’m lookin’ the other way. Good luck.”

  He backed from between the combatants.

  Clay and Doyle circled warily for a few moments, each sizing up his opponent. Doyle threw the first punch, a left jab to Clay’s chin. Clay ducked under the blow and shot a right hook to Doyle’s stomach. The railroader barely flinched at the impact.

  Clay landed a left to Doyle’s jaw, then Doyle sank his fist deep into the Ranger’s belly. All the air was driven from Clay’s lungs, his guts feeling as if they’d been turned inside out. He jackknifed into a powerful right to his chin. The blow straightened him up, and Doyle slammed another huge fist into Clay’s belly. Clay folded to the dirt, then rolled onto his back.

  His head roaring, gasping for breath, Clay was vaguely aware of Townsend beginning the ten count. He lay there, helpless against the pain, struggling to draw air into his lungs. When Townsend reached seven, Clay managed to roll onto his stomach, pushed himself to his hands and knees, and forced himself to his feet just before Townsend counted ten.

  Doyle came at Clay again, aiming another left at the Ranger’s head. Clay avoided the punch and landed one of his own, a right that opened a cut over the railroader’s left eye. Before Doyle could recover, Clay landed another blow to his right eye, which quickly swelled shut.

  Doyle smashed a left into Clay’s chest, staggering him. Clay countered with a hook to Doyle’s ribs. Infuriated, Doyle swung wildly at Clay’s head, missing when Clay ducked under his huge fist.

  Both men stood toe to toe, hammering each other unmercifully. Doyle was half-blinded by his closed right eye and the blood flowing into his left. Clay was bleeding heavily from a slice one of Doyle’s punches had opened along his right cheekbone.

  Doyle landed another hard punch to Clay’s midsection, a left hook which sank wrist-deep into the Ranger’s belly. The impact folded Clay over Doyle’s fist and lifted him a foot into the air. Somehow he managed to stagger backwards and avoid the railroader’s following blow.

  Doyle closed in to finish Clay off. Clay ducked under a punch which would have taken his head half-off, to land several short, vicious jabs to Doyle’s gut. The blows had their effect on the tiring railroader. He grunted with pain and began to jackknife.

  Clay took one step back and, with the last of his strength, launched a wicked uppercut at Doyle’s chin. The punch took Doyle in the soft tissue behind the jawbone, where throat and chin meet. Doyle gagged, fought for air that wasn’t there, and toppled backwards, eyes glazing. He crashed to the ground and lay unmoving.

  Clay staggered to the fence and leaned against it, arms draped over the top rail. He stood, chest heaving, while Townsend counted over Doyle. Once he reached ten, Townsend hurried to Clay, to lift the Ranger’s left arm in victory.

  “The winner by a knockout! Texas Ranger Clay Taggart!”

  The spectators reacted with cheers for the victor and moans for their lost money. Dade and Jim rushed into the ring to join their partner.

  “Told you that you’d beat him, Clay,” Dade crowed.

  “Yeah. That was some fight,” Jim agreed. “We sure cleaned up, thanks to you, pardner.”

  “What are you gonna do now, Clay?” Dade questioned.

  “Soon as Doyle comes to, I’m gonna buy him a drink,” Clay answered. “He’s earned it.”

  5

  “You don’t look all that much the worse for wear, Clay, considering that was one of the toughest boxing matches I’ve ever seen,” Jasper Wheeler noted when the Rangers boarded his private car the next morning, and settled into plush green velvet chairs. “You cost me quite a bit of money, by the way. I bet a bundle on Doyle.”

  “Thanks.” Clay attempted a grin that was more of a lopsided grimace. “It helped that your men didn’t stir things up too much last night.”

  Despite Pete Townsend’s dire predictions, the railroaders’ celebration, while rowdy, had only been marred by a few minor altercations.

  “I warned them to stay in line,” Wheeler explained.

  “It worked,” Dade laughed.

  The locomotive’s whistle blew, and the train lurched into motion.

  “We’ll be having breakfast shortly. After that you may ask me all the questions you wish,” Wheeler noted.

  The Rangers enjoyed a sumptuous breakfast while the train chugged along. After they were finished, and enjoying a last cup of thick black coffee, Dade and Wheeler puffing on cigars, the superintendent finally allowed them to question him.

  “Do you have any idea who’s behind the attacks on the railroad?” Jim asked.

  “Not a clue,” Wheeler admitted. “Everyone seems to be in favor of the line, along with the progress and prosperity it will bring to this entire region. We hope to eventually extend our tracks all the way to Denver.”

  “Well, someone sure wants to stop you,” Clay replied.

  “Perhaps not. Don’t forget, settlers and others have also been robbed or murdered,” Wheeler pointed out. “We too may just be victims of those same gangs.”

  “I don’t think so. Not from the information Captain Morris provided,” Jim disagreed.

  “Jim’s right. There’s been too many attacks on your crews,” Dade noted. “What have you done about that?”

  “What we can, which isn’t adequate,” Wheeler conceded. “My men are railroaders, not fighters. I have Patrick Doyle, the man Clay fought yesterday, in charge of defending the crews, but he’s not a rifleman. None of us are, which is why I’m counting on you Rangers.”

  “We’ll do everything we can to protect your men and get to the bottom of this,” Clay responded.

  “Sure would be great if we had an idea where to start, however,” Jim added.

  “I’m confident you’ll solve this dilemma,” Wheeler replied. “In the meantime, why don’t you just relax and enjoy your ride. We’ll be in Snyder in ninety minutes or so. We’re still running the trains more slowly than we will once all the detail work is finished.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me,” Clay said. He stretched out his legs and tilted his Stetson over his battered face.

  Clay and his partners dozed for a bit. About an hour later, Clay awakened and glanced out his window. A stagecoach was racing at breakneck speed on the road paralleling the tracks. The driver was whipping his team mercilessly, urging them to even greater speed.

  “Jim, Dade. Look out there.”

  Clay pointed to the coach.

  “What in blue blazes is that fool doing?” Dade asked.

  “Looks like the idiot’s tryin’ to outrun this train,” Clay answered.

  “There’s a crossing about a mile ahead,” Wheeler observed. “It appears that driver is trying to beat us there.”

  “He should be shot for abusin’ those horses like that,” Jim said. “When he rolls into Snyder I’m gonna have a long discussion with him…and he sure won’t enjoy i
t.”

  “If he reaches that crossing at the same time as this train there won’t be anything of him left to talk with,” Clay responded.

  They watched with growing trepidation while the stagecoach hurtled alongside the train, the jehu ignoring the engineer’s frantic blasts of the whistle.

  “He’s gonna kill himself and everyone on that stage,” Clay muttered.

  “Darn fool!” Dade added.

  The locomotive rumbled over the crossing just ahead of the stage. The coach’s driver pulled back hard on the reins, causing the leaders to rear. They stopped just before crashing into the tender.

  “I’m not gonna talk to him. I’m gonna pound some sense into him,” Jim snapped. “And make sure he loses his job.”

  “I’ll finish what you start,” Clay added.

  “What you just observed won’t be a problem much longer,” Wheeler said. “Once we start regular service, the

  stage line will be out of business. We have offered all their workers employment with the railroad; however, I don’t believe that particular individual is suitable.”

  “I’d agree with you,” Clay answered. “Endangering folks like that. Jasper, how much longer until we reach Snyder?”

  “About thirty minutes,” Wheeler replied. “I’ve already sent word ahead to reserve a room for you and stalls for your horses. You’ll be settled in no time.”

  “We appreciate that,” Jim answered, “But we need to make a stop about five miles before town.”

  “Oh? Why?” Wheeler asked.

  “We’re gonna drop off Dade and his horse. He’s gonna head out and do some pokin’ around on his own,” Jim answered.

  “That’s right. I’m now Kiowa Dave, half-breed renegade,” Dade grinned.

  “Dade’s real good at playin’ a half-breed or Mexican,” Jim explained. “That way, he can often find out information a Ranger never could.”

  “I understand,” Wheeler answered.

  A half-hour before reaching Snyder, the train ground to a stop. Dade descended from the coach and retrieved Spook from the boxcar, then disappeared into the brush.

  The remainder of the journey was uneventful. Once the train pulled into Snyder, Clay and Jim unloaded their horses and left them at the stable. They settled in chairs in front of the newly-built hotel to await the stage’s arrival.