Mac was grinning and trembling with excitement. He turned to his right and said, “Captain, did you see—”
But the captain wasn’t there.
Wes and Corporal Edwards were still a block away when Corporal Connolly fired at the fleeing Indian a final time. The shot missed and the Comanche continued south. Connolly turned the corner to the north. “Captain?”
Wes stopped in the middle of the street and fired at the Comanche, but he missed.
Corporal Edwards glanced back and yelled, “Come on!”
Mac was on both knees, bending over an inert form. “Oh my god... he’s down,” he said. Then he looked up and yelled, “He’s down! The captain’s down!”
Corporal Connolly ran to him. He stopped beside Mac and then knelt. He started to lean closer, but he stopped. There were three arrows protruding from the center of the captain’s chest. “Jesus,” he said quietly, and settled back on his heel.
Mac hadn’t moved. He was staring.
And just like that, silence descended. The only sound was the faint crackling of the fires in the distance.
The dust was settling. The frantic Comanche horses were gone, and the yipping braves with them.
The captain was dead.
Then there were boots on the boardwalk as Corporal Edwards and Wes came running up and stopped, gasping for breath.
Corporal Edwards looked at the inert form, then turned away and walked into Main Street near the corner of Main and Second. “Sons of bitches. The filthy, rotten sons of bitches.”
Wes looked at him, then reached down patted Mac on the back. “C’mon, Mac. Step over here with me.” He waited a moment, then said, “Mac, c’mon. C’mon now.”
He finally had to reach under Mac’s right arm and lift him to his feet. He turned him away and guided him into the street, nearer to Corporal Edwards. Wes said, “It was intentional, wasn’t it?”
Edwards nodded.
“The rest was just a diversion? The fires, all the noise?”
Again, Edwards nodded.
Wes shook his head. He was about to say something else when he happened to glance down Second Avenue. “Oh damn! There!” He pointed.
Corporal Edwards looked where Wes was pointing just as Corporal Connolly and Mac both looked up from the captain.
Several blocks distant, a dim form was sitting atop a horse in the middle of Second Avenue, his slim silhouette backlit by the fires. When everyone was looking, he raised his left arm. In it was a Comanche bow.
Connolly and Edwards would know that relaxed stance anywhere. They had seen it on the rim of Boquillas Draw.
As the Rangers watched helplessly, Four Crows turned his horse and rode slowly up the street to the north.
* * *
After they’d transported the captain’s body to Hanson Funeral Home farther east on Main Street, Corporal Connolly, as the ranking Ranger, told the others to meet him in Ranger headquarters at 1 p.m. Then he dismissed them.
Corporal Edwards went back to find Stanton and escorted him to the doctor’s office. His wound was a clean shot and was more grazing than not. The bullet had entered his left chest, but it had traveled just under the skin and exited his back beneath his armpit.
By sunrise, the few fires in town were extinguished. Only the old unused barn was a complete loss, but it was a loss even before the fire was set.
At 1 p.m., the Rangers gathered in their headquarters.
Corporal Connolly had them gather near the table they had used for a desk. “I’ve been down to see Sam at the telegraph office. I sent a telegram to the governor’s office in Austin. I informed them of the attack and the result.”
He lowered his head for a moment. “They answered me almost immediately. We are to stand down and take no action until Captain Wilson arrives. He was supposed to be here on Wednesday anyway, so he’s still comin’ on Wednesday. He’ll be on the stage.
“The stage should get here around 2 p.m., so I’d like everyone back here by then. I’d like all of you to be here, inside the headquarters. When the stage arrives I’ll meet it, and then I’ll bring the new captain in and introduce him.”
He paused and looked around. “Any questions on anything?”
Corporal Edwards said, “Captain Flowers’ funeral?”
Corporal Connolly nodded. “Thanks, Court.” He looked at the others. “Captain Wilson was supposed to relieve Captain Flowers of his command. I asked ol’ Henry down at the funeral home to hold off on the funeral until sunset on Wednesday. He said that wouldn’t be a problem.” He paused for a moment. “Only fitting the captain should be properly relieved.”
The others nodded.
Quietly, Wes said, “It was Four Crows, wasn’t it?”
Connolly looked away.
Edwards said, “Yeah. It was Four Crows.”
Wes nodded. “Well.” He nodded again.
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You’ve reached the end!
Thank you for purchasing this novel. If you enjoyed it, watch for more novels, novellas and short stories from Harvey and his personas. Follow them all at HEStanbrough.com. For announcements of new releases, follow Harvey on Twitter @hstanbrough or on Facebook at facebook.com/harvey.stanbrough.
About the Author
Harvey Stanbrough is an award-winning writer and poet. He’s fond of saying he was born in New Mexico, seasoned in Texas, and baked in Arizona. After 21 years in the US Marine Corps, he managed to sneak up on a BA degree at Eastern New Mexico University in Portales in 1996. Because he is unable to do otherwise, he splits his writing personality among his personas: Gervasio Arrancado writes magic realism; Nicolas Z “Nick” Porter writes spare, descriptive, mainstream fiction; and Eric Stringer writes the fiction of an unapologetic neurotic. Harvey writes whatever they leave to him.
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Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction, strictly a product of the author's imagination. Any perceived resemblance or similarity to any actual events or persons, living or dead, and any perceived slights or people, places, or organizations are products of the reader’s imagination. Probably.
Credits
Cover photo, formatting and cover design by Harvey Stanbrough
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