The Ogallala Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “You Sam Ketchem?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tillman Wagner said be in the street in ten minutes, or he’d come in here and drag you out there.”

  “You tell him fine, but one more thing.” His words halted the boy, who was about to run for the front door. “Be sure and tell him to wear his best clothes.”

  “Huh?”

  “I don’t want the folks in hell seeing him any other way.”

  The boy made a face, swept his uncombed hair back and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll tell him.” He fled.

  “You can’t go out there alone,” Capton said, sounding shocked Sam would even consider doing so.

  “They gunned down my brother and ambushed me once. It’s time we settled this feud.” Sam looked at the clock on the wall. It would soon be six p.m.

  Several shocked people rushed out of the bank. Soon there were shouts in the street outside.

  Sam removed his Colt and loaded the chamber under the hammer, then carefully eased the hammer down. It was dangerous to have a live cartridge under the firing pin.

  “You have a shotgun in here?” Sam asked Capton.

  “We do.” He motioned for Barnabas to fetch it. “I can still send word to the law.”

  “Doubt it would help.”

  When Capton’s assistant returned and handed Sam the weapon, Sam broke open the well oiled Greener. Both chambers were loaded.

  “Get him some shells,” Capton said.

  Sam viewed the scene outside the front windows. Word must have reached the people in the street, for the traffic had rapidly dissipated. Five minutes were left on the clock. Sam might be giving his enemies time to set up an ambush. Somehow he felt that Sizer would never try a head-on gunfight. Tillman would because of his own stupidity, but he might be a decoy.

  “I’ve got some whiskey in my desk drawer,” Capton said.

  Sam shook his head and undid his gun belt. He decided to shed the chaps. The stiff leather would only hinder his movements if he needed to move fast. He handed Capton the shotgun and his holster rig. In seconds he had removed the chaps and taken back the holster to strap it on. Then he filled his vest with brass casings for the weapon Barnabas had brought him.

  “Have you been in many gunfights?” the youth asked in a soft voice.

  Sam shook his head and took the Greener. “No. I don’t want to be in any more, either. Thanks.” He saluted them and turned for the thick door.

  “God be with you,” Capton said after Sam as Barnabas swung back the door.

  Sam let his eyes adjust to the bright light, then stepped on the porch. Three riders were coming up the empty street from the south. He recognized the gray in the lead and the rider standing in the stirrups: Tommy Jacks.

  The rider reined up at the rack and nodded to Sam. “Where are they?”

  “They’ve been in the Elk Horn up the street for some time, but I figure they’ve moved. They sent word for me to meet them in the street. I can handle them.” He looked hard at Tommy Jacks, Jammer and Webber, who all dismounted.

  “We’re here now,” Tommy Jacks said and stepped down, jerking a Winchester out of the scabbard. “Jammer, you get up on the boardwalk. “Webber, you take this one. I’ll be in the street with you.”

  “I can handle them,” Sam said.

  “We can handle them better together.”

  Sam nodded. “I didn’t—”

  “We know you didn’t ask for any help. But we’re here. Where are they?”

  “Coming out of the Elk Horn right now.”

  Tommy Jacks nodded. “Watch ’em, boys.”

  Both of the other drovers nodded and advanced with Sam and Tommy Jacks.

  The silence impressed Sam—only the wind in his ears and the clink of spur rowels sounded as they walked up the street. Sizer, Wagner and a big guy waited two hundred feet away.

  “Four against three, huh?” Sizer said.

  “We didn’t come to fight fair,” Sam said. “We came to kill you. Now it’s time to cut or shoot. This is your party.”

  “All right,” Sizer said. “I made a mistake.” He held his hands wide of his body. “Deal me out.”

  “Getting too hot for you?” Tommy Jacks asked. “Been different three on one, wouldn’t it?”

  “Well, I ain’t out of it! I want that sumbitch who killed my brothers dead.” Tillman Wagner’s hand went for his gun.

  A blast from the bank’s shotgun threw Wagner five feet backward, and his own gun exploded in his holster as he slumped to the ground. Hit by rifle and pistol shots, the other two men wilted in the dust of the street without firing a shot. Sam thought Sizer had tried to turn and run, but too late. The big man’s expression never changed. Wind swept the gunsmoke away as three law officers rushed on the scene, shouting, “Hold your fire.”

  “We have,” Sam said, then walked to the bank to return the weapon.

  “Stage is coming!” someone shouted, and others started dragging the bodies out of the way.

  For a moment, Sam paused as the dust cleared from the four horses pulling the stage. The driver climbed down and opened the coach door.

  “Ogallala,” he shouted and stepped back.

  An attractive woman stuck her head out and then stepped down. “Sam Ketchem?” she asked in her smoky voice.

  Absently he handed the shotgun to Barnabas and started across the street.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m Sam Ketchem, and I live at Frio Springs, Texas.” He swept off his hat. “Be my pleasure to show you that Texas Hill country. They don’t have a singer down there who would hold a candle to you.”

  Her sleepy brown eyes sparkled. “Have you been in another altercation here today?”

  “Yes, ma’am, Miss Ruby, I have. But we didn’t shoot anyone who didn’t need it.”

  “I understand. I didn’t expect to find you—but you said—”

  Sam couldn’t take his eyes off her. His guts roiled. “Ma’am, I’d like to introduce my crew, and then I’d like to find the finest meal in Nebraska.”

  “Good. I thought a lot about you drawing your gun on my managers.” She took his arm. “I figured a man with that much gall might treat me like a lady.”

  “By dang, I can sure do that, Miss Ruby.”

  She kissed him on the cheek, and they went on toward the hotel.

  Epilogue

  Sam Ketchem married Ruby Zacowski a week later in the Methodist church in Ogallala, Nebraska Territory. Kathy McCarty married Tommy Jacks Riddle the same day.

  Over the next decade the Bar K grew. Riddle became Sam’s ranch foreman, then his overseer. Sam added more land to his spread and became active in politics. After being elected to the legislature, he soon became a force in the state senate.

  Miss Ruby met Etta Faye at the governor’s ball and the two had a long discussion about Sam. Later that evening, Miss Ruby confided in Sam that Etta Faye had told her how she was the one who pushed him into seeking office. He only shrugged away the answer.

  In 1892, Texas state senator Samuel Ketchem, while en route to a political party gathering, was riding on a lonely stretched of road between Kerrville and Frio Springs when he was ambushed by parties unknown. Despite the efforts of the Texas Rangers and other law enforcement agencies, the crime was never solved. An unknown woman driving a buggy on that same road on the eve of the murder was never identified.

  When Miss Ruby passed on, ten years later, with no children, the Bar K was divided among Tommy Jacks and Kathy Riddle’s children. Darby took the old home place and kept the brand. Darby’s son, Samuel, inherited the place upon his death. A lawyer and politician, Samuel McCarty kept the home ranch and added to the holdings. His oldest son, S. K. McCarty, became the rancher in the family. He still burns the Bar K brand on his cattle in the Texas Hill Country.