by Cotton Smith
“You’re one of the Rangers who grew up here, aren’t ya?” the waiter asked, pushing a free hand through his unruly hair.
Carlow took another sip. “Yes, I am. Time Carlow’s my name. What’s yours?”
“I’m Russell Erickson. We went to school together for a year. A long time ago,” the waiter said quietly. “Don’t suppose you remember?”
Setting down the cup, Carlow rose from his chair and held out his hand. “Of course I do. Where are my manners? Too early, I guess. How are you, Russell?”
“How are you? Looks like they roughed you up.”
“Did you get a good look at them?”
The waiter chuckled and said he had, then explained he was working two jobs and hoped to get married after he was able to handle it financially. He clerked at the general store in addition to waiting tables at the restaurant. His goal was his own ranch.
Glancing at Wittlock, he said, “I’m glad you came to town. Atkins and his two thugs have been going around town, saying they sent you packing.”
“Did you see how they came into town this morning?”
“No. Why?”
Carlow explained; his eyes darted toward the Wittlock table, then back to Erickson. The waiter slapped his thigh and laughed loudly enough that two tables of men stopped eating and looked over.
“Oops. I’m supposed to be seen, not heard,” Erickson said. “I’ll get your order going. Wait ‘til I tell the boys in the back.” He laughed and hurried away.
At a middle table in the back corner, four members of the town council finished their breakfasts and strolled through the restaurant, acknowledging diners and stopping to greet them. Carlow guessed their importance from the way they were handling themselves. When they came to Carlow’s table, the four hesitated and three of them went on.
The fourth, the town’s banker, cleared his throat awkwardly. “Mornin’, Ranger. I’m Simon Seikerman. I’m on the town council.”
“Mornin’ to you, sir.” Carlow made no attempt to hold out his hand.
“Heard there was some trouble in the Corao yesterday,” Seikerman said, and paused.
Carlow deliberately took a sip of coffee and said nothing.
The tight-faced banker pulled on his coat lapels, brushed off an imaginary piece of dust and said, “Bennett is a peaceful town. We don’t take much to bar fights and ruffians.”
Carlow looked up at the man; the Ranger’s eyes sought the banker’s face and the townsman was immediately uncomfortable.
Speaking loudly, so everyone in the restaurant could hear, Carlow said, “Seikerman, you’re talking to the wrong man. I didn’t start the fight. Atkins and his two men did. But you already know that. Atkins said he was a friend of Thomas Wittlock. He’s right over there. Go ask him why they came at me.”
He cocked his head. “While you’re at it, ask Wittlock why the four of them tried to sneak up on me last night. On the trail. To kill me.” His fingers touched the coffee cup and his fingers encircled its rim. “Ask Wittlock what happened. Why he and his friends had to walk back to town without their horses. Or their guns.”
He sat back in the chair. “As a matter of fact, you and your fellow councilmen might want to say thanks—for me not pressing charges and bringing more shame on Bennett. How about attempted murder of a state lawman, for starters?”
Chuckles rippled through the restaurant, followed by low murmuring.
Seikerman started to say something, but Carlow stopped him. “Go away, Seikerman. I’m leaving town right after I wire Ranger headquarters to find out where I’m needed next. But I’ll be back.” He paused. “Atkins and his two clowns had best be gone when I do. I’ve been as understanding as I care to be. I don’t like men who sneak up and try to maim me.”
Completely flustered, the banker pulled again on his coat lapels, straightened his back and left the restaurant.
Shortly after that, Erickson brought Carlow his breakfast.
“Man, that was wonderful! Absolutely wonderful,” Erickson said as he refilled Carlow’s coffee cup. “Stuffed-up toads. All of them.”
Carlow grinned. “Thanks, Russell. I’m sure you’re the only one who thought so.”
Leaning over again as if to pour more, Erickson said, “Don’t be so sure of that, Time. A lot of people think you’re the best Ranger in Texas. Hey, I don’t think many had seen Atkins get whipped before, much less the three of them. Not everybody has a problem with the Irish, you know.”
Someone came walking up behind them and Erickson excused himself and went to another table to see what they needed. Throughout the restaurant, most had returned to their meals; a few, though, continued to watch.
“Good morning to you, Ranger. Didn’t know you were in town,” said the gray-haired man from Ellie’s table, holding out his hand. A star was evident on his lapel.
“Name’s Carlow. Time Carlow, Marshal.” The young Ranger accepted the greeting and noticed the shoulder holster under the lawman’s coat.
“Heard plenty about you, Time. I’m Penniston Ballis,” the lawman said, adjusting his glasses. “Came from Uvalde. Might have heard of me. I broke up the cattle war over there. About ten years ago.” His shoulders jumped slightly, as if a current had run through them.
“Heard about that. You did well, Marshal Ballis.”
“Thanks. A lot more quiet here since you boys got rid of Silver Mallow and his bunch.” The lawman’s shoulders jumped again. “What brings you to Bennett?”
Everything in Carlow wanted to say that he didn’t care what Bennett did, but he knew better than that. A Ranger represented Texas; his personal problems were just that, personal. Kileen had told him so. Often.
“Just riding through, Marshal,” Carlow said. “Rode into Bennett because I grew up here. That’s all.” Carlow answered the unspoken question. “You can tell Wittlock not to worry. I don’t blame him for his friend’s stupidity.”
“How long are you staying?” Ballis folded his arms.
Carlow smiled. “I could take offense at that, Ballis. I’ll be riding on as soon as I finish my breakfast and wire my captain. Well, I might go to the general store for some supplies.”
“Do you need some tending for that eye? Looks pretty mean.”
“It’ll be fine. Been hurt worse.”
Ballis wasn’t sure how to respond, then surprised Carlow when he asked the Ranger if he wanted to press charges against Atkins and his men. He looked relieved when Carlow said he didn’t. Then Ballis turned pale, when the young Ranger repeated his threat from last night about seeing them again.
“B-but that would be m-murder, Ranger.”
“No. That would be justice,” Carlow said, sipping his coffee. “If you want to help, tell them now would be a good time to leave town. I’ll be back. They better not be here when I come.”
Without another word, Ballis returned to Wittlock’s table and shared his conversation. Ellie glanced back at Carlow and he was glad he wasn’t looking.
The meal tasted good. Very good. Trail food wasn’t nearly as tasty. Neither he nor Kileen were particulary good cooks, although the big Irishman thought he was. Carlow was nearly finished when both Ellie and Wittlock got up from their table and headed out. Ballis remained at the table, drinking coffee. They stopped at his table and Carlow put down the last remnant of toast and looked up.
“Mornin’, folks,” Carlow said, and avoided looking at Ellie. “Enjoy your walk, Wittlock?”
“Time, please, Thomas has something he wants to say.” Ellie’s face was a plea. From her expression, he thought it was the first time she had been told of yesterday’s fight in the bar and last night’s attempted ambush. Her face was a mixture of fear, anger, disbelief and embarrassment. Dimples dominated her cheeks, now flushed with the range of emotions going through her. Her eyes went to Carlow’s bruised face and darted away.
“Of course.”
Looking around, then at Ellie, Wittlock said, “I came over to apologize. I had no intention of seeing you hurt.
I…just wanted you…to leave.” He licked his lower lip; his shoulders rose and fell. “It was my fault. I should’ve guessed Atkins wouldn’t do things…well, politely.”
Staring at the tall man with long sideburns, curly hair and a prominent hawk nose, Carlow responded, “Wittlock, the only reason you’re sorry is because it didn’t work. Your friends got whipped instead of me. Athough they tried real hard.” He held a hand to his bruised face. “And your attempt to ambush me last night failed. Ellie might believe that crap—or think she has to, but nobody else would. Move on, you’re…”
“That’s not true, Time,” Ellie interrupted.
“Look, Ellie, what you do with your life—and Jeremiah’s—is none of my concern. You’ve made that quite clear,” Carlow said. “But don’t try to make me believe your husband is sorry.”
She stood, red-faced, for a moment, then trounced out.
Fuming, Wittlock started to leave, but Carlow’s command to stay stopped him. The young gunfighter unnerved him greatly.
“Wittlock, there’s a ranch not far from here. Owned by Portland Rose. Atkins told you he’s dead, I’m sure,” Carlow said, sipping the rest of his coffee.
“No, he hadn’t shared such with me or my associates.” Wittlock folded his arms, wishing he could be almost anywhere but here right now. “We don’t talk much.”
“Interesting friendship.”
“However, I believe I know of the place. Kinda rundown, as I recall. Why? You looking to buy it?”
“No. As I said, Portland is dead. So are his three brothers. They were caught robbing banks.” Carlow looked at his cup and decided he wanted more. “Don’t know who owns it after that. Maybe Atkins. Said he was a cousin. Just thought you ought to know.”
Wittlock thanked him, said he would look into the matter, excused himself and hurried away.
Carlow waved Erickson over for some more coffee.
A few minutes later, Carlow walked out of the restaurant and headed for the telegraph office. The young assistant, sitting on a chair against the wall, greeted him warmly. Carlow returned the greeting.
“How may I help you, sir?” the thick-mustached operator asked, tugging on his white shirt to pull back the cuffs.
Carlow sent a wire to McNelly telling him his order had been received and would be followed, paid for it and left. As he cleared the small office, a boy came running toward him.
“Ranger Carlow! Ranger Carlow!”
It was Jeremiah. The boy dashed up to him, almost out of breath. In his hand was the beaded sheath knife. Carlow watched the boy approach, partly glad to see him and partly wishing he hadn’t. It would only make leaving harder.
“Ma gave this to me. Just this morning! It’s beautiful,” Jeremiah said. “She said you gave it to her to give to me.”
Carlow wasn’t sure how to respond. “Well, I’m glad you like it, Jeremiah. Remember you have to take care of it. That’s a man’s knife. It’s no good if it’s dull.”
“Yes, sir! I will. I promise.”
Jeremiah studied the young Ranger, bit his lower lip and said, “I thought…maybe…you were…going to be…my new pa.” He squinted back emotion and the freckles guarding his face ran toward his wrinkled nose. “But…I already…have a new pa.”
“Yes, you do,” Carlow patted the boy’s head. “You’ll be able to do all kinds of things together.”
Jeremiah looked at his scuffed boots. “Yes…sir.”
“Well, you greet your mother for me,” Carlow said. “And your new father.”
“Are you going…away?”
Carlow felt emotion jump to his throat. For an instant, he couldn’t speak. “Ah, yes, Jeremiah. My uncle—Thunder Kileen—is waiting for me. We’ve got our orders.”
Jeremiah twisted his shoulders. “Will you…come back?”
Carlow knelt beside him. “Of course I will, Jeremiah. But you have lots of good things waiting for you—and your mother. You won’t remember me in six months.” Jeremiah shook his head, unable to speak.
Carlow pulled the boy to him and hugged him. “I’ll miss you, too.”
The boy wiped his eyes with his sleeve and stepped back. “I almost forgot. Ma wanted to see you. If you had a minute, she said. She’s over at Mrs. Jacobs’s store, you know.”
“Sure, Jeremiah.” Carlow stood. “Do me a favor, will you?”
“You bet.”
“I’ll walk over to the store—and you ride Shadow over there for me. Tell Chance to come with you. All right?”
The boy almost jumped out of his patched overalls. “Oh, wow! That’d be great.”
Inside the millinery store, Carlow looked around but didn’t see either Mrs. Jacobs or Ellie. He turned to leave; it was probably something Jeremiah wanted to have happen, not something requested. Carlow had been foolish to think so.
“Time? Oh, I didn’t hear you come in.” Ellie stepped around from the back room. Her eyes sought his. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t think you’d want to…after all that awfulness.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what got into Thomas. He’s a good man, Time. Really, he is.”
Carlow was irritated. Had she asked him to come over to tell him this? His voice carried the feeling. “Mrs. Wittlock, I’ve got to be riding. Did you need something?”
Her face pale and closing in on tears, she revealed what she held in her right fist. Carlow’s locket. Slowly she put it around her neck and looked at him.
“Time, I decided I want to wear this, if it’s all right with you. I wanted to tell you. I want to remember our moments together,” she murmured. “That’s why I gave Jeremiah the gift and told him it was from you.” Her bosom swelled with feelings she knew could not be released. “I wish it had…worked out. I guess I resent…the Rangers taking you from…me.”
“Well, ah, that’s nice,” Carlow said, and stepped backward toward the door. “I hope you have a good life, Ellie. You and Jeremiah. I really do.”
It wasn’t what he had expected and he knew staying there would only be a mistake. He loved her. He wanted to hold her and tell her that. But it was too late for that. Too late.
“I…ah…better leave, Ellie. Else I’m liable to grab you and kiss you and tell you that I love you.”
She half turned, her eyes closed. “Please…go.”
He spun and left without hearing her choked affirmation: “I…love you, Time.”
As he strode onto the sidewalk, an anxious Jeremiah came forward with Chance at his side.
The boy started to say something, but Carlow saw a reflection from a dark figure across the street beside the general store. A gun! Atkins!
“Jeremiah, get inside. Now!” Carlow drew his hand carbine. “Down, Chance. Down, boy!”
The boy hesitated and Carlow shoved him down and stepped in front of him. Chance dove on top of the boy.
Orange flame spat from the figure—and from a second-story window to his left.
Both shots missed. One splintered the sidewalk; the other slammed into Mrs. Jacobs’s storefront. Carlow leaped off the sidewalk and to his left, to direct the gunfire away from the boy. He held his gun butt against his thigh with both hands and fired, levered and fired again, then again and again.
The silhouette fired at the middle of the street, tumbled off the sidewalk and was still.
Carlow ran across the street, toward the downed figure. Atkins was dying. The young Ranger kicked the Winchester at the man’s side into the street. Orange flame spat again from the upper window, cutting Carlow’s coat sleeve. Another cut the bottom of his long coat floating out behind him. Carlow threw himself next to the general store and fired into the window, emptying his hand carbine.
As suddenly as it had started, the gunfire ended.
Ellie opened the door slightly and screamed for Jeremiah to join her. The boy responded, bringing the wolf-dog with him. Blood was leaking from a splintered piece of wood that had struck the animal in his lower back.
“Come on, Chance,” Jeremiah said, and looked up at
Ellie as he entered the shop. “Ma, Chance is hurt. You gotta help him. He covered me. So I wouldn’t get shot. He’s a wonderful dog. He’s my friend.”
Carlow jammed new loads into his gun. Where was the other Atkins thug? Had the man lost his nerve? Or was he just waiting for the right opportunity?
From the sheriff’s office came Marshal Ballis with a shotgun. Two strides behind him was a skinny deputy with another shotgun.
“Ranger, what’s going on?” Ballis yelled when he saw Carlow standing against the building. “Are you hit?”
“Don’t think so. Atkins and his friends tried one more time,” Carlow yelled. “That’s Atkins.” He pointed his gun toward the still figure below him. “There’s another in the hotel. Been quiet for a while. Don’t know if I hit him or not.”
“You raise quite a ruckus when you come to town, Ranger.”
“Stay there. I’m going into the hotel,” Carlow shouted. “Watch the back door.”
The terrified hotel clerk told him what room the shooter was in and handed him a key, and Carlow bounded up the stairs. The clerk managed to say only one man had taken the room and paid in advance. At the door of 215, Carlow paused and shoved the key into the lock. He waited, stepping to the side of the door, then pushed it open. And waited.
Nothing.
On the floor beside the window sat the stocky cowboy who had been with Atkins the previous night. His right arm and shoulder were soaked in blood. A Winchester lay a few feet away.
“D-don’t shoot, R-Ranger…please.”
“I won’t—unless you make a move for that gun.”
“I-I w-won’t. H-had enough. T-told ‘em you would be tough to k-kill.”
“Good for you.”
Carlow kicked the rifle away and demanded to know if the man had a pistol. He said he didn’t. Carlow examined him and decided he was telling the truth. The young Ranger leaned out the window and yelled to Marshal Ballis, “Going to need a doctor up here.”
