Ranger Justice

by James J. Griffin

  “Thanks, darlin’,” Jim gratefully told the waitress. As she headed to the kitchen to place his order, Jim took a swallow of his coffee, then asked, “You boys about ready to start surveyin’?”

  “We sure are,” Doherty replied, “We’re just havin’ breakfast while the liveryman gets a team and wagon ready for us. Soon as that’s done, we’ll be headin’ out.”

  “I just might ride with you aways,” Jim noted. “You can’t be too careful with everythin’ that’s been goin’ on around here.”

  “We can take care of ourselves,” Miller protested.

  “I know you can, Andre,” Jim readily agreed, recalling how the railroader, despite being wounded, had shot and killed two drygulchers and driven off the rest who had ambushed his track crew, “but I’m gonna ride along for your protection whether you like it or not, plus I’d like to get an idea where you’re thinkin’ of runnin’ your tracks. Might give me a clue about these killin’s.”

  “Reckon we can’t stop you, and we wouldn’t mind the company,” Miller conceded.

  “Now you’re being reasonable,” Jim grinned. “I’ll amble over to the stable with you. Won’t take me long to saddle up.”

  “You gonna be all right?” Doherty asked. “You took a pretty good beatin’ last night.”

  “I’ve had worse,” Jim shrugged. “I should be fine. By the way, I’ve been mea-nin’ to ask you somethin’. You said the railroad gave you some maps with preliminary routes sketched out.”

  “That’s right,” Doherty confirmed.

  “Either of you happen to recollect if one of those routes might go through a place called Gypsum Creek Canyon?”

  “I don’t believe so,” Miller answered.

  “I’m positive none does,” Doherty concurred. “Any particular reason why you ask, Jim?”

  “Dunno for sure,” Blawcyzk admitted. “Just that one of the killin’s took place out there. A Mexican homesteader was shot and his adobe burned. Doesn’t seem to be any reason for it. I’m still tryin’ to come up with anythin’ that’ll help me piece things together. Reckon askin’ you about that canyon was a long shot.”

  “I wish we could be more help,” Miller replied, “Well, we’re just about done eatin’. Paul, why don’t we head over to Murphy’s to see if that wagon’s ready? We can load our equipment while Jim finishes his meal.”

  “That’s fine with me if it’s agreeable with the lieutenant,” Doherty answered, “It will take us more time to load than for him to saddle.”

  “That works out just about perfectly for me,” Jim replied, “It’ll give me a few minutes to swing by the doc’s so I can visit with Steve and the sheriff before we ride out. How about I meet you at the stable in forty-five minutes?”

  “We’ll be ready,” Doherty assured him. “See you there.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “Sam, dunno about you, but I’m more worn out than if we’d been chasin’ a passel of renegades halfway across Texas,” Jim complained as he rode back into town, with Miller and Doherty following behind in their rented buckboard. “I’m gonna give you a good rubdown, then grab myself a quick supper and fall into bed.” After stopping by Doctor Sweeney’s early that morning to find out that, surprisingly, Steve Masters was not only still clinging to life but had actually seemed to improve somewhat overnight, the Ranger had never spent a longer, more frustrating day in his entire career, trailing the two railroad surveyors as they slowly and painstakingly studied the landscape, staking out a potential route for the Texas Pacific tracks. By mid-afternoon, Jim was almost hoping someone would attempt to ambush the railroaders, so itching he was for action. His paint snorted agreement as Jim reined him to a stop in front of Murphy’s livery and swung out of the saddle.

  Jim rubbed his horse down thoroughly, then turned him over to Jeff Murphy for feeding and watering. Sam and the stable owner had reached a truce of sorts, the gelding allowing Murphy to enter his stall and clean it without trying to tear him apart. After leaving Sam with a friendly slap on the neck and a warning to behave, Jim headed down the alley toward the Bon Ton Café.

  Just as he reached the main street, a boy of about eight or nine trotted up to Jim on a wiry pinto pony. “You the Ranger?” the youngster asked, eyeing the badge pinned to Jim’s vest.

  “Sure am, son,” Jim smiled, “What can I do for you?”

  The boy smiled shyly in return as he answered. “A man paid me a dollar to tell you he wants you to meet him at the Blue Tail Fly.”

  “This man have a name?”

  “Sure. He’s Mason Jeffers. Everybody knows him.”

  “How about you, son? What’s your name?”

  “I’m Roger Kergaravat,” the boy replied.

  “Well, that handle’s quite a mouthful,” Jim chuckled. “How about I just call you Rog? And you can call me Jim.”

  “Sure, Ran…I mean, Jim,” the youngster agreed.

  “Fine.” Jim reached into his pocket, dug out a silver dollar, and tossed it to the boy, who leaned from his saddle and easily snatched it in mid-air.

  “Gee, thanks Jim,” Roger grinned.

  “Can you tell me if Mr. Jeffers was alone, or were some of his men with him?” Jim asked.

  “He was by himself, unless some of his men were hidin’ in the saloon,” the youngster knowingly answered.

  “Thanks, Rog,” Jim responded, “You go back and tell Mr. Jeffers I’ll meet him in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll tell him right now,” Roger promised. He turned his pony and loped away.

  “Wonder what in blue blazes Jeffers wants?” Jim mused as he ambled toward the Blue Tail Fly. “Reckon he’s kinda riled about what happened to his men last night, but they started that fight. Well, if he’s alone like that youngster says, seems like he’s not lookin’ for trouble anyway.” He laughed to himself as he reached the alley alongside the saloon and spotted Roger’s pony tied to a post, and the boy perched atop a stack of discarded crates from where he could peer through a grimy window and into the bar. “Looks like Rog’s hopin’ to see a fight,” he murmured. “Well, mebbe Jeffers is ready to oblige him.”

  “Lieutenant. Over here.” Mason Jeffers called to the Ranger from a rear corner table as Blawcyzk stepped into the saloon.

  “Evenin’, Mr. Jeffers,” Jim warily replied, as he reached the rancher’s table. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Please, have a seat,” Jeffers invited, “I assure you, I have no intention of startin’ trouble. I just felt it was time for us to talk again.” As Jim took the chair against the wall, Jeffers asked him. “Have you eaten? No, I suppose not,” he answered his own question, as he took in the Ranger’s sweat-stained clothes, still marked with the soil of a day spent in the saddle. “I can have Josh whip up some ham and eggs if you’d like.” He indicated a bottle and two glasses on the table. “And would you care for a drink? This whiskey is the finest available west of San Antonio.”

  “The ham and eggs sound good,” Jim admitted, “but I’ll just have a couple of sarsaparillas to go along with ‘em.”

  “You only want soda pop?” Jeffers said in surprise. “Well, if that’s your preference,” he shrugged, as he signaled to one of the bartenders.

  “Yes, Mr. Jeffers?” the saloonman queried.

  “The lieutenant would like a double helping of ham and eggs and some sar-saparilla, Hugh,” Jeffers ordered.

  “Right away. And is there anything else you need?”

  “That’s all for now,” Jeffers answered. As the bartender headed for the kitchen, Jeffers returned his conversation to Blawcyzk. “I suppose you’re wondering why I wanted to speak with you, Lieutenant.”

  “I am a mite curious,” Jim admitted, “I suspect it has something to do with the fight I had with some of your men last night.”

  “That’s correct,” Jeffers returned. “Lieutenant, I’ve realized that we’ve been workin
’ at cross purposes. Losin’ Jasper Wylie last night, plus havin’ several more of my cowboys laid up for who knows how long, has made me decide I can no longer afford to keep buttin’ heads with the Texas Rangers.”

  “That’s fine,” Jim replied, “but there has to be more of a point for this meeting than that.”

  “There is,” Jeffers stated, as he gazed at Jim’s battered face. “Let me plainly say that while you may have won the first two rounds, Lieutenant, fightin’ the Rafter Q has clearly taken its toll on you. And rest assured sooner or later you will be killed if we continue this fight. I have the men to gun you down, and I will, even if it’s necessary to go against my principles and have you shot in the back. You’re in a fight you can’t possibly win.”

  “Like you had Steve Masters shot in the back?” Jim growled.

  “I’ll let that remark go for the moment,” Jeffers smoothly replied, “Except to repeat neither I nor my men had anythin’ to do with your pardner’s shootin’.”

  “But the Rafter Q was sure behind tryin’ to lynch Steve,” Jim retorted, “and if I should be killed, there’ll be another Ranger, probably more’n one, come ridin’ in here to clean up Terrell County once and for all.”

  “That’s exactly my point,” Jeffers answered. “We’re both after the same thing here, findin’ whoever’s behind the killin’s, and especially trackin’ down whoever killed my wife. I realize now that I was wrong in not seein’ Ranger Masters might have been framed. You have to understand how much I loved Rebecca. I was so upset at losin’ her I wasn’t able to think straight. It’s high time we worked together to get to the bottom of these murders.”

  “That’s all well and good, but exactly how do you mean that?” Jim challenged, “You’ve done everythin’ in your power to hang Steve Masters and keep me from gettin’ to the truth about what happened to your wife. I just don’t trust you, Jeffers.”

  “I hope to change your mind, Lieutenant,” Jeffers quietly answered, “I brought you here to tell you I’m willin’ to answer any questions you might have for me. And I’m also willin’ to open the Rafter Q’s books for you to examine if you wish. I’ll also make sure my men cooperate with you, and I promise you’ve had your last fight with the Rafter Q.”

  “Sounds like a plan to get me to your spread so I can disappear just like Mike Thompson,” Jim snapped.

  “Or a way for you to search my ranch and hopefully find that missing Ranger’s body,” Jeffers shot back.

  “I guess I have to give you that,” Jim reluctantly conceded, as Hugh slid a plate heaped with ham and eggs in front of him.

  “Here’s your supper, Lieutenant,” the bartender said, “hope you enjoy it.”

  “I will. Thanks, Hugh,” Jim replied. As the Ranger lifted a forkful of eggs to his mouth, Jeffers said, “Lieutenant, just take your time and enjoy your meal. We can talk more over coffee once you’ve finished.”

  “There’s no need for any more talk,” Jim quietly responded. “I appreciate the supper, and I’ll admit you make a convincin’ argument. Maybe you’re talkin’ straight, I dunno. But I’ve been a lawman long enough to know that a leopard doesn’t change its spots all that easy, Jeffers. Sure, you might show me your books, but only the ones you’d want me to see. More likely I’d get a bullet in my back soon as you had the chance. I’ll get to the bottom of these killin’s without any help from you. And if it turns out you did have nothin’ to do with ‘em, then I’ll be the first to apologize to you. Meantime, thanks for the chuck.”

  “I was hopin’ to be able to convince you,” Jeffers shrugged, as he rose from his chair. “But obviously I’ve wasted my time. Well, I’ll leave you to your supper. Good night, Lieutenant. And if I were you, like you said, I’d watch my back.”

  “Always do,” Jim retorted, gazing levelly at the rancher. “You might wanna take that same advice. Although when I come after you, any bullet you take’ll be right through your middle. And that’s no idle threat. It’s a promise.”

  As Jim stepped into his hotel room and lit the lamp, his gaze settled on his saddlebags, lying where he’d tossed them in the corner.

  “Doggone it!” he exclaimed, “After that little ruckus in the saloon yesterday, I forgot all about that Thornberg file I picked up at Sloane’s office. Reckon I’d better look through it before I hit the sack.” With a sigh of resignation, he removed the folder from his saddlebags and laid it on his bed. After opening the window to let any possible cooling breeze into the stuffy cubicle, he hung his gunbelt from the bedpost, peeled off his sweat-sticky shirt, then pulled off his boots and settled back on the mattress.

  The first few pages Jim perused provided little of interest, containing mostly a few notes about Thornberg’s arrival in Texas and personal information. However, the Ranger’s interest was piqued considerably when he found a letter addressed to the Blue Coal Company of Pittston, Pennsylvania.

  “Gentlemen,” the letter began. “After extensive exploration of the Terrell County region, I regret to inform you that there are no valuable coal deposits in this area. While I have found a few small veins of low quality lignite, they are not large enough to warrant commercial development. There is absolutely no evidence at all of anthracite or bituminous deposits. I have informed the partners in the Seven Winds Mining Syndicate of this.”

  “So Thornberg wasn’t workin’ for a university after all,” Jim muttered half-aloud, “he was down here huntin’ for coal. And if he’d discovered any, that sure would’ve made whoever owned the land where he found it very rich. And that’s a powerful reason for murder. Also would explain the Texas Pacific’s interest in buildin’ a spur line down here. But if there’s no coal, then why’s the railroad still considerin’ that line? Let’s see what else Thornberg had to say.”

  “However,” the letter continued, “there are several interesting formations that lead me to believe there is still the possibility of this trip not having been completely futile. I have been exploring several canyons in the area more thoroughly, and I believe there may be extensive deposits of ore that will prove quite profitable. I am enclosing several samples for your examination. If you agree with my findings, please respond to me as quickly as possible, so that we may reach a mutually profitable arrangement with the Seven Winds. Needless to say, this information must be kept in the utmost confidence. If word should get out before we are able to execute a contract with the Seven Winds, undoubtedly speculators would drive land prices through the roof, severely reducing if not eliminating entirely our prospective windfall. It is unfortunate that the Seven Winds already controls the lands in question, thereby making it impossible for Blue Coal to obtain mineral rights or outright ownership directly. However, I believe it is still possible for us to negotiate a contract with Seven Winds that will be most advantageous to The Blue Coal Company.

  Let me reemphasize that the potential profits if my analysis proves correct are enormous. Therefore, to further ensure the location of these deposits remains our knowledge alone until we are prepared to proceed, obviously I have divulged their location to no one but the principals of the Seven Winds Syndicate, nor have I disclosed the type of ore to anyone but the members of the Seven Winds. In addition, I am not forwarding the exact location to you in this missive, but will send that information by separate letter.

  Please respond immediately once your analysis of the samples is completed, as time is of the essence. As soon as I receive your response, I will proceed immediately to negotiate an agreement between the Seven Winds Mining Syndicate and The Blue Coal Company.

  Also when you respond, please advise status of the potential merger with the Newcomb Brothers Coal Company, as that may well affect our position in Texas. Considerable capital will be needed to properly develop any holdings we might obtain in Terrell County.

  Awaiting your instructions, I remain respectfully,

  Kurt Thornberg, Senior Geologist”

  �
�So that’s it!” Jim exclaimed. “There’s some kinda valuable mineral deposit around here. And while Thornberg doesn’t say where it is in this letter, I’ll bet my hat it’s in Gypsum Creek Canyon. That’d explain Pablo Cruz’s murder. The owners of the Seven Winds Syndicate wanted that land, but they didn’t want to pay for it, or else Cruz wouldn’t sell, so they got rid of him. Looks like I’ll be takin’ a ride out that way in the mornin’. Doesn’t explain the other killin’s, but I’ll guarantee at least a couple of the victims were members of that syndicate. Lundgren and the banker for sure, probably Sloane too, since he had this information. Looks like at least one of the pardners has decided he wants the whole kit and kaboodle for himself. And I’d also bet Thornberg sent phony samples to his company, ones that’ll assay as worthless, and was plannin’ to throw in with the Seven Winds on his own hook. Looks like he was playin’ both ends against the middle, so he’d come out all right no matter who ended up con trollin’ those deposits. Otherwise he would’ve told Blue Coal what kind of ore he was sendin’ and where he’d found it. Appears he needed to be gotten out of the way too. Now let’s see if there’s anythin’ else worth readin’ in this file.”

  Much to Jim’s frustration, there was nothing more in the folder that would help in finding the killer he was searching for. “Can’t believe this,” he muttered in disgust, “There’s nothin’ in here that even gives me a hint as to who’s behind the Seven Winds. And there wasn’t any file for Seven Winds Mining in Sloane’s office, either. I’d’ve remembered that. Whoever killed Sloane must’ve taken that file.” He stretched and yawned. “I’m too plumb wore out to think straight,” he murmured, “And I’ll want to get an early start. Reckon it’s time to get some shut-eye, and take a fresh look at this tomorrow.” He leaned over the table and blew out the lamp, then stretched out on the mattress to recite his evening prayers.

  Despite his exhaustion, sleep refused to come, as Jim’s mind kept going over what he’d discovered in the Thornberg file. He shifted uncomfortably as he attempted to doze off.