by Cherie Shaw
Garth nodded as he thought to himself how ironic it was that he was here at this time, thinking of taking on a small time crook, after all the adventures he’d had on the high seas. He hadn’t exactly been sitting still, watching the waves roll by. Garth was a big husky man, and he’d had many a waterfront fight, and knew how to handle himself pretty well. He sure didn’t need a rifle either, though he was proficient in handling one. His fists still worked pretty damned well. He’d even fought a pirate or two, and come out ahead. Well, he’d join in whatever needed to be done here. This was family business. He was surely glad he’d arrived when he had. His business in London could wait, as this situation was just heating up, and he hadn’t had much fun for awhile, well at least not since he’d heard that Captain Devlin was being escorted in chains back to England.
It was midnight when the four men rode out of town, taking the back road so as not to draw attention to themselves. They had to take care, just for awhile anyway, as they were meeting the under-cover Texas Ranger, and they didn’t want to cause his cover to be blown, at least not until he was good and ready.
The meeting place was two miles out of town, neath the remains of a large cottonwood tree that obviously had been struck by lightening in years past, and was just barely standing, being held up by the dried up roots alone. The sparkling streambed was about twenty feet away from where they dismounted, and they could hear the gurgle of water rushing over rocks and boulders. The moon was about three-quarters full and pretty well lit up the surrounding desert and foothills. The gurgling stream reflected the moonlight with glistening stars in the water. Jake hadn’t arrived yet, and the men decided not to risk a campfire, so they stood quietly in the shadows of darkness, and listened for hoof beats.
It had been a quiet fifteen minutes while the men waited, after having ridden into camp, yet no one had heard the sound of Jake’s horse, hadn’t even been aware of his arrival, until he quietly walked up from a grove of trees behind where they were standing. He’d obviously tied his mount back somewhere among the shadows of the cottonwoods and oaks along the bank of the rushing stream, the same sparkling stream that, further on down the trail, ran along just outside the edge of town. Coyote Springs had been named for the creek or the creek after the town, whichever came first.
Logan made the introductions, and after hands were shook, the meeting began. No one appeared to notice the lone figure of the cowhand who had followed Jake from the line shack where he had been spending the night, before he was to be helping with the beginning roundup of cattle before dawn the following morning. At least the quiet cowhand had believed himself to have been unobserved.
Cougar Olson was a friendly quiet spoken sort of fella, but sometimes his curiosity got the best of him, and when he had suddenly woke to hear Jake riding out from the line shack where they’d been staying, his curiosity had taken over his common sense, and he had hurriedly saddled up, then tailed the newest ‘cowhand’ through the darkened desert trail. He now stood on a rise about twenty yards from where the men were standing talking in low tones. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but he recognized the figures of the men there. He noted the older white-haired man, with the British accent, who had ridden with the stage on the way to Coyote Springs. And the two men, Logan and Ricardo. It was dark, but he could see enough to establish who it was that Butch Hogan was meeting with. Cougar didn’t recognize the huskily built man with the massive shoulders, and the beard, but he figured he was an impressive fella, and one who he wouldn’t want to tangle with in the dark, and any other time, for any reason.
Olson wanted to scratch his head in puzzlement, but knew that any sudden movements could possibly be noticed. He was surprised that he hadn’t been caught tailing Hogan, as the man certainly didn’t seem the type to be easily fooled, nor should he have been this easily tailed. Olson had no intention of mentioning this meeting to any of the other hands, except maybe his good friend Bart McCain, an older man, and one who could be trusted. He didn’t know what was going on, though he was sure these were honest men, and weren’t planning anything shady. He figured he’d trust the lot of them, before he’d even trust the men at the ranch whom he worked for. But then he’d stayed on because the place paid well, though he didn’t work for the friendliest of men, probably not the most honest either. He’d wondered about some things, but kept his mouth shut usually.
One thing Cougar Olson had found out one morning, and had pondered over quite a bit. He had been looking for his tobacco pouch, and figuring he’d lost it out on the range, he’d meant to borrow a bit for a smoke, and unwittingly had peeked into the saddle bags lying on the cot next to his, thinking to just borrow a bit of tobacco, but instead his hand had pulled out a tin star, wrapped in a small piece of burlap. The badge was the kind worn by the Texas Rangers. He knew it right off, as his uncle had been a ranger years ago, until he’d lost his life in a shoot-out while attempting to stop a holdup.
Cougar Olson had quickly put the ranger badge back into the saddlebags. The cot next to his was where the newest cowhand, Butch Hogan slept. He wondered if Hogan was using an alias. He hadn’t for one minute thought the badge didn’t belong to Hogan. Olson wondered what was in the air, and who this man, Hogan, really was.
Cougar decided that this meeting was probably of some importance, though obviously none of his business anyway. Maybe he’d talk to Butch at some point, but as of now, his priorities were to get back to the line shack and get his sleep. Dawn and work came early. He slowly backed down from the rise among the thick foliage, trying not to dislodge any rocks with his heavy boots, he then found his horse where it had been tethered nearby, then headed back the way he had come from. He’d be asleep when Hogan returned to the line shack.
Ranger Jake Welby, alias Butch Hogan, chuckled softly, as he kept his voice soft and quiet, “I guess the young chap who was working with me and staying at the line shack, got a little curious. I heard him tailing me all the way here, nice enough fella, so I figured just maybe I’ll have a little talk with him in the morning. See just where he’ll stand. I’ve been known to take chances on folks before, and usually my instincts are fairly on the mark. I believe the boy can be trusted. He’s called Cougar Olson, and he’s young, though seems to have been around the territory enough to have seen some action, carries that six-gun tied down too. Quiet boy, though keeps his eyes open. He’s probably on his way back to the line shack by now.”
“Isn’t that one of the hands that was on the stage with us?” Lord Beckford asked, looking at Logan.
“Yes and a right nice chap. We saw him and the older fella too, back at the ranch.” Logan answered. “They both appear to be honest men, and I don’t believe for one minute that either of them are aware of the shady dealings going on at the ranch.
Ranger Welby began, “After I have a talk with Olson in the morning, I’ll make some excuse to head back to the ranch, just so’s I can be around when you boys arrive with that ‘friendly’ lawyer-man from town, and the fun begins. Wouldn’t want to miss it.” Jake added with a chuckle. Then he added, “Not even sure you all will need my two-bits’ worth though, with all the backup you have.” He nodded towards Garth, Logan, and Ricardo.
Lord Beckford stepped forward now and began in serious tones, “From the information that Logan and Ricardo have given me, as to the distance the ranch lies from town, I figure we’ll arrive sometime in early afternoon, with Phillips in tow, willing, or unwilling, either way, no matter.”
Garth joined in as he folded his muscular arms across a massive chest. “Uncle Claude, now you know very well, that lawyer fella will be willing to join us on that ride. He’ll be our ‘special’ guest, no less. No question at all of him being unwilling. He’ll be the willingest member of our war party. You can count on that fact.” With that he gave a gleeful laugh that shook the bushy auburn beard that took up the majority of the lower half of his strong handsome face.
Claude shook his white head, and nodded, “Point well taken, nephew.” H
e then turned to the Texas Ranger friend of Logan, and said, “Have no doubt, sir, you will and have been, very much needed in this situation, and as far as the confrontation tomorrow, although my nephew believes himself to be a one man army of horse soldiers, we are greatly in need of your expertise, along with your lawful backing.”
Welby answered, as he stroked his chin in a thoughtful manner, “I’ll do what I can to uphold the law. We rangers don’t make laws; we only enforce the ones that are there. However, when we see a situation as this one; ….no time to take it to a court of law, we sort of do a bit of pushin’ to settle things a might. The local sheriff feels the Texas Rangers know their own business; if he sees that an intentional crime has been committed, especially fraud, then he usually figures it’s over his head, and leaves it to the rangers, or legal proceedings take over; at times we do send for a district judge, depends mainly on each situation, then the judge takes a ranger’s testimony, usually figuring it for fact anyway. A judge’s time is pretty much taken up, but they’ll travel if needed.”
Welby shoved the black Stetson farther back on his head, then scratched his jaw, “I doubt this situation gets that complicated. Sounds like to me, these folks are just a bunch of coyotes, who’ll run soon’s they see a Texas Ranger step in. They felt that you, Claude, were a ways off in another country, and wouldn’t find out about this swindle for many a year……maybe never; meantime there’s a few of them that’s gettin’ rich sellin’ off a few head of steers now an’ again. Long as you kept getting them doctored-up monthly statements from that crooked attorney, they considered themselves in a pretty safe little setup.
“I strongly doubt they’d wait around for a court hearing. They’ll hit the trail soon’s they figure it’s you that’s arrived in the territory, may be they’ll take that lawyer with ‘em. He won’t practice law around these parts no more. That’s for sure. They just might already be packin’ up a wagon to head on out.”
The others nodded in agreement with Welby, and Logan had just begun to speak, when the low, but distinct sound of a shot came from off in the distance.
“Now that ain’t no hunter, this time of night, and with a small handgun at that.” Logan spoke hurriedly. What fool could that be?”
“Sounded like a small derringer.” Welby nodded, as he turned and headed back towards where his horse was tethered among the cottonwood trees, near the creek.
Just then the derringer shot was quickly followed by three louder shots, close together, and Logan, following behind Ranger Welby, said, “Now something way back in my memory tells me those three last shots came from a Winchester repeating rifle, maybe in answer to that derringer.”
Welby answered, “That’s a smart young fella, that Cougar Olson. Totes one of them Winchester repeating rifles in his scabbard, takes it everywhere he goes, just like I do. Wouldn’t be caught without my rifle in this country. And them shots seem to come from where he’d be on the trail right about now, on his way back to that line shack we been stayin’ at.”
Garth touched his uncle’s shoulder, “Uncle Claude,” he began, as they quickly walked back to the horses, “Perhaps you should have Ricardo accompany you back to town. The rest of us can head out to see what the shooting was about.”
He couldn’t make out Claude’s expression in the dark, though he pretty much could feel what his answer would be before it came.
“Young man, do you know whom you are speaking to?” Lord Beckford began. “If you think at my age I’m going to begin running at the first sign of trouble, then you don’t know your old Uncle Claude. This is my vacation too, you know, and what goes on anywhere around me, I will bloody well be right in the midst of it. Let’s go!”
Ricardo quietly grinned to himself, knowing the Lord Beckford, as well as he did. He reached his horse quickly and stepped into the saddle, following at a trot behind Logan, who was just an instant behind Ranger Welby. Swirls of dust rose from the trail beneath the horses’ hooves, as each man in the group nudged his horse into a gallop, then racing them down the rugged trail.
Ten minutes later found the group of horsemen near the turnoff to the rugged foothills trail, as a riderless horse came galloping towards them down between the thick grove of aspen trees and onto the trail. Eyes wild, stirrups flapping, the horse was breathing hard, and Logan caught up the reins and halted the frightened animal.
“It appears some hombre’s afoot.” Ricardo spoke softly. “Wonder who. Perhaps though it may not matter now.” And the five mounted men rode quietly, two Englishmen dressed in western garb, one Mexican sporting a tall colorful sombrero, one tall lean cowboy, and one rugged Texas Ranger. They rode carefully through the inky trail in the foothills barely distinguishable by the vague light of the moon.
Down the dark trail a ways, off into the near forest among aspen trees, Cougar Olson swore softly, as he knelt, lit a match, then held it close, trying to make out the features of the injured man lying among the brush and rocks.
“What in blazes was you shootin’ that little pop-gun at me for? I don’t even know you. Never seen you afore, you damned greenhorn.” As the man groaned, Cougar continued in an exasperated tone of voice, “Furthermore, next time you take to shootin’ at someone, get yourself a real shootin’ iron, not some kid’s toy pistol.”
Olson stood up and shook out the match, dropped it in the dirt and rubbed it into the ground with his boot toe, then continued, “Anyhow, you only got scratched on the shoulder with one bullet, I missed the other two shots, while I was hittin’ the dirt, so I wasn’t aimin’ straight. Don’t see no other damage, so quit your moanin’ an’ groanin’, lest folks think someone’s dyin’. I hear horses on the trail, prob’ly folks wantin’ to know what all the noise is about.”
Henry Adams groaned as he clutched his bloody shoulder. “Get me to a doctor quick. You aren’t even who I thought you were, but whoever you are; you are a cold-natured no-account. You’ll let me die out here in this desert country, without medical treatment.”
Henry raised himself up on his elbow as he peered through the darkness at the horsemen who pulled up, and quickly were dismounting. He pointed towards Lord Beckford and Logan, shouting, “See them, that tall cowboy with the black Stetson, he’s the one, a scoundrel, he’s been courting my future wife. My beautiful Olivia, the love of my life. I’ve seen him with her. And that old uncle of hers, the white-haired chap. He tried to break us up.”
Henry struggled to sit up, as he continued shouting, “That tall cowboy, he’s the one you should shoot; he’s a disgrace to your country, running around with my sweetheart.”
Cougar Olson politely pushed the injured man back down to the ground, then spoke, “If’n you don’t shut yore trap mister, I believe I will shoot you in the other shoulder. Then you’ll have good reason to yell.”
Henry shouted back, “I’ll see you all in hell.”
Cougar chuckled, “Let me know if you want a free trip there; this long rifle of mine holds seventeen shots, so I figure there’s fourteen left, as I always count how many times I squeeze the trigger. Just say the word, glad to oblige. However, as for me, I’ve got a lot of livin’ to do yet. But I aim to accommodate other folks, if they ask.”
Henry Adams had no answer, wishing he could find his derringer, as it had fallen somewhere in the brush near where he had fallen. The rented horse he thought he had tied to a tree, had taken off too. Things just were not working out as he had planned.
‘Ranger Welby walked over, and bent over the man on the ground. “Do any of you folks know who this gent is?” He spoke respectfully, though he figured the man would have been the one who had fired the first shot from the small handgun.
Lord Beckford answered, “I can tell from here, that he’s the chap who has followed my niece, Olivia, across the globe, a mighty bad decision on his part.”
Henry Adams clutched his shoulder again, suddenly remembering that he was suffering from a flesh wound. “Will someone kindly take me to that town of yours, and have a doctor
tend my wounds. I’ll likely bleed to death, while you folks stand around chatting.”
Lord Beckford spoke to the group of men, “Do you chaps think we should take this character to a doctor, or an undertaker?”
Garth answered his uncle, as he folded his arms across his massive chest. “Well, it seems to me, Uncle Claude, that this gentleman needs a little careful handling, being as he’s so handy with weapons, maybe we should consider him a dangerous criminal, and have the sheriff lock him up for a few years.” He thought a moment, then said, “Oh well, let’s just tote him into town, and have the local pill pusher put a great big bandage on that little tiny scratch.” With that statement, Garth swooped down, and quickly hauled up the ‘patient’, throwing him over his shoulder, then amid Henry’s screaming protests, marched over to his horse, and bodily threw him over the back of the horse that Garth had been riding. Then he quickly stepped into the saddle, amid more loud shouting from Adams.
Garth warned Adams, “Just lie still there, friend, I sure wouldn’t want the responsibility of ‘accidently’ injuring the other shoulder, if you wiggle too much, I just may have to borrow Logan’s rope and tie you up a bit.”
Then Garth looked back at the others as he called to them, “I’ll see you all back in town. Need to get this gent some care.” With that he quickly guided the horse into a fast gallop down the trail, Henry’s head bouncing upside down all the way.
