A Ranger's Time Read online

  A RANGER’S TIME

  A Novel by

  EDWARD L GATES

  Edited by Heidi M. Thomas

  Copyright © 2015 Edward L. Gates

  All Rights Reserved

  Reg: TXu 1-921-250

  United Stated Copyright Office

  ISBN: 0996145702

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9961457-0-1

  Cover designed by the author

  This book is dedicated to the loving memory of

  The Bean.

  Those who know him, know why …

  Acknowledgements

  Although the thoughts and words in this novel are strictly those of the author, this book would not and could not have been written without the help, direction, cooperation, friendship and understanding of a lot of people and institutions. Those directly involved, and whom I relied on the most, are listed below. There have been others who have helped shape this story; too many to mention here. To all those, forgive me for not mentioning you by name, but you have my deepest and most sincere heart-felt thanks. I count on all of you in my life, and will continue to do so.

  First and foremost I want to thank family. My wife, Barbara, and my children Ed and Jon, were always in my corner. They always believed in me even when I had moments of self-doubt. Barbara is an endless source of encouragement and support. I want to thank her for being one of my toughest critics. Sometimes we didn’t agree, but she always presented a different perspective that made me think of new possibilities and viewpoints.

  None of this would have been possible without Dorothy Cora Moore (author of The Atlanteans). Your knowledge is boundless and I can’t thank you enough for sharing it. It was your guidance and, most importantly, your encouragement that gave me the confidence and determination to take my scribblings to a new level. Your help and direction was invaluable. I will always be in your debt.

  I especially want to thank my editor, Heidi M. Thomas, award-winning author of the Cowgirl Dreams Trilogy. She’s not only a great author, but a brilliant editor as well. She took editing a step further, making suggestions that really tightened up the characters, the story line, and the story’s overall flow. What makes her so invaluable is that she found the obscure continuity issues that were in this story. I couldn’t have asked for anything better.

  To Candace and Steven Gates, thank you for taking your time to review this work as it was being written. Your equine and historical knowledge was priceless. Gus was no more than a passing thought until you made him real and gave that added dimension to the story. Thank you for sharing your knowledge. And thank you for being my test reader and bringing to light historic deficiencies in the story. Your input and feedback was exactly what was needed to tighten up the story.

  The Panhandle Prairie Historical Museum Research Lab – I want to thank the entire staff there, especially Milly and Warren for your cooperation, information, and kindness that I could never repay. Everyone there was more than accommodating in helping me fill in the historical aspects of early Amarillo. Your input brought an air of authenticity to this story.

  Amarillo City Library – I owe a debt of thanks to the staff of the upper floor research area. Any questions I had were quickly and expertly answered. They brought to light books, records, maps, and information about historic Amarillo. The kindness and the historical information they provided helped build authenticity to this story.

  Last, but not least, I want to thank The Prescott Review Group: Mary Ann Clarke, Judith March Davis, William T. Johnstone, and Dougal Reeves. All accomplished and brilliant authors in their own right. Thank you all for coming to my rescue on every chapter. I shudder to think how this book would have turned out without your invaluable insight and input. I am forever in your debt and at your service.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to any real persons, either living or dead, implied or otherwise, is purely coincidental. Certain names of people, businesses, and institutions in Amarillo in the late nineteenth century are a matter of historical record and are used throughout this story for the sole purpose of setting a scene. Their names are used strictly as a historical reference and nothing more. There is no mention of their actions and or character in this story and none are implied.

  1

  The Ranger

  August, 1887

  Somebody’s going to die here. Charlie prayed it wouldn’t be him. He slowly inched his hand to his holster and unhooked the leather hammer strap. This was going to go real bad real soon. Ranger Charlie Turlock nervously watched the eight men standing in front of the ranch house.

  A hot, dusty August breeze swirled around him and fanned his dirty white duster. A bead of sweat escaped the sweatband on Charlie’s hat and traversed the wrinkles that lined the weather-beaten face of this old Texas Ranger.

  Charlie and fellow Texas Ranger Dick Adams escorted two deputy US marshals to Abe Walker’s southwest Texas ranch to serve an arrest warrant on a saddle tramp named “Bull” Murphy. He was wanted in Wichita for killing a bartender.

  Cattle baron Abe Walker leaned against a post on the front porch of his house. He stood with his right hand resting on his gun. Even in his mid-sixties, he was still a titan of a man. His six-foot, two-inch frame and broad shoulders gave him the air of authority. He too carefully watched everyone like a mountain lion ready to pounce. He wore the defiant smile of a man in control.

  The four lawmen stood in the courtyard to Abe’s right facing Bull Murphy, two other ranch hands, and foreman Mac Sherman. The men formed a disorganized circle. Their eyes shifted back and forth from one person to another. The tension was intensified by the oppressive heat and humidity. Marshal Williams, from Wichita, just announced his intention to arrest Murphy and return him to Kansas to stand trial.

  “Well, I don’t believe I like that notion, Marshal,” Bull Murphy said. “I kinda like it here, so I don’t think I’ll be obliging you.” There was a pause as Murphy looked at Mac Sherman and Abe Walker. He smiled at the four lawmen across from him. “I work for Mr. Walker here in the Pecos and everyone knows the only law in the Pecos is Mr. Walker’s law.”

  The ranch hands and Abe Walker laughed. Walker sauntered along the porch railing to the top of the porch steps. “You got your answer, Marshal! I’m starting a drive soon and I can’t spare any hands. I think you’d better leave now.”

  The two marshals looked at each other and began a short conversation that no one else could hear. No one wanted a gun battle, but at this point there was no getting away from it. Charlie thought he noticed a slight smile break on the corner of Marshal Hendricks’s mouth.

  “Oh, hell no,” Charlie muttered. The deputy marshals turned back toward Murphy and drew their guns. But at the same time, everyone else drew theirs. At the first shot, the men scurried in all directions. Adams and Charlie joined the shootout.

  Mac Sherman drew and fired at Marshal Hendricks, striking him dead center in his chest before the marshal could get his gun completely out of his holster. His chest erupted with a crimson discharge and the marshal collapsed. Marshal Williams fired twice at Mac but both shots missed. Then the marshal loosed a couple of rounds at Murphy dropping him instantly. Walker and the other ranch hands fired at the lawmen.

  During the melee, Walker’s 18 year old son, Jeremiah, came out of the house brandishing a Henry rifle. He shot Deputy Marshal Williams who crumpled to the dirt. Jeremiah then turned his rifle to Dick Adams and fired a shot that missed. Charlie raised his Colt and pulled the trigger. It was empty. He quickly pulled the Smith and Wesson from his belt and fired. The porch wall behind Jeremiah exploded with the boy’s blood and he dropped to the floor. Seeing his son go down, Abe Walker dropped his gun, slumped to the porch floor, and cradled the body of his
son in his arms.

  Mac Sherman fired a shot at Charlie that barely missed his head but nicked his right ear. As an instinctive move, Charlie spun and fired in the direction of Mac. Charlie’s bullet careened across Mac Sherman’s forehead ripping the skin to the bone. It was a lucky shot. Mac fell to the ground. The shooting was over.

  Charlie stood with guns in both hands surveying the scene. Thick grayish-white gun smoke shrouded the courtyard in front of Abe Walker’s ranch house, and the acrid smell of blood and burnt powder filled the air. The echoing sounds of countless gunshots still rang in Charlie’s ears.

  “Dick? You hit?” Charlie hollered.

  “No! No, I’m okay.” Dick walked over to the two marshals lying on the ground. “How ‘bout you?”

  “Just a scratch. I’m fine,” His right ear stung and burned. Charlie holstered his empty Colt and reached up to touch his ear. A thin streak of blood ran down his neck and was being absorbed by his collarless tan and brown patterned cotton shirt.

  Charlie looked around as the smoke began to clear. Bull Murphy was down. Mac Sherman was down. Another ranch hand was wounded and being tended to by another hand who never pulled his gun. One of the marshals was dead and the other was badly wounded. Abe Walker sat on the porch holding the lifeless body of his only son and heir in his lap. His hands and arms were covered in the boy’s blood.

  Time seemed to stop for Charlie. He couldn’t move. The carnage before him would be forever etched into his memory.

  “You killed my son!” Abe Walker shouted at Charlie. “You’ll pay for this, Ranger!”

  Charlie pointed his gun at Abe Walker and cocked the hammer but couldn’t pull the trigger. He felt dark and empty inside looking at Abe holding his dead son. Visions of a dead young traveler from Charlie’s past flashed in his brain. He just stood and looked at Abe. He couldn’t quite make out all that Abe was saying over the ringing in his ears, but he got the message just the same.

  “You hear me, Ranger?” Abe shouted again. “You’re a dead man! I’m gonna gun you down, you bastard!”

  Charlie refocused on the situation before him. He kept his revolver in his hand and walked over to check the bodies. He kicked the gun away from Murphy and checked his breathing. There was none. Then he walked over to Sherman’s body. The ringing in Charlie’s ears began to subside. Charlie kicked Mac’s gun away. Mac’s face was awash in blood, but he stirred. The foreman opened his eyes and looked up at Charlie.

  Sherman reached up and touched his bloody forehead. “Damn you, Ranger! I’ll get you for this. You’re a dead man.”

  Charlie turned and walked away without a word.

  “I owe you! We’ll meet again, Ranger,” Mac threatened. Charlie never looked back.

  Dick Adams helped the wounded Marshal Williams onto his horse while Abe persisted in his verbal assault of the lawmen. Charlie glared at Abe as he walked by the porch but didn’t say anything. He and Dick loaded the body of Marshal Hendricks onto his horse and tightly secured it. Then Dick got on his horse, pulled his gun and kept it leveled at the ranchers while Charlie mounted Gus, his grey dappled gelding. He walked the horse closer to the porch. Abe stood and stared at the Texas Ranger. Charlie saw the hate and anger through the tears in the rancher’s eyes.

  “I’ll leave you to bury your boy. You can leave Murphy for the buzzards and coyote’s for all I care.” Charlie turned Gus to leave but stopped and looked back at Walker. “It didn’t have to be this way. You could have stopped it. This is all on your hands, not mine.”

  The rage was plainly visible in Walker’s reddened face as he stepped to the edge of the porch and pointed his finger at Charlie. “Your time is up, Ranger,” he managed to squeeze out through clenched teeth. “I’ll take your life for my son’s life. I’ll find you! I’ll find you and gun you down like a dog.”

  Charlie nudged his horse and walked away leading the horse carrying the body of Marshal Hendricks.

  That night, Charlie, Ranger Adams, and the wounded marshal rode into the town of Pecos with the body of their murdered companion. Charlie and Adams left the two marshals in Pecos in the care of the local lawman and doctor.

  The next morning the two rangers headed east toward Lubbock to rejoin their battalion. They crossed the Pecos River and rode in silence all day and into the night before they were safely out of west Texas Indian Territory. When they finally camped, the two sat around the fire in silence. Charlie stared hypnotically into the fire, watching the flames dance among the logs, while he made meaningless doodles in the dirt with a small stick. He ran the shootout over and over in his mind. Every shot, every cry of pain, every movement of every participant played in slow motion. He could still smell the gun smoke and hear the deafening blasts of each shot.

  “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Charlie finally said never looking up from the fire.

  “What do you mean?” Dick asked.

  “I’m getting too old. Ain’t got the stomach for it anymore.” Charlie paused and with a violent thrust, threw a small stick into the fire. “Hell, Dick, I just shot down a young boy.”

  “That boy shot down a US Marshal and tried to kill me,” Dick retorted. “Hell, Charlie. You saved my life and probably that marshal’s life.” Charlie didn’t answer. “And then you took out that foreman with one shot,” Dick continued. “I never saw a shot like that! You put a bullet in his head from over fifty feet away! That was really some shot.”

  Charlie glanced up at Dick and snickered. “I never saw him.” He looked back into the fire. “I just turned and fired. It was nothing but pure luck.”

  “Just the same, it was one hell of a shot.”

  The two sat in silence for a while longer. Charlie raised his head. “I’ve been doin’ this for over twenty years, Dick. I’m 47 years old and I’m tired. My body can’t take all this saddle time anymore. I can’t keep up with you young fellas.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t know what I’d do, though. The rangers have been my whole life. I guess I’ll talk to Captain McMurry when I get back to Lubbock. This may be my last year as a ranger.”

  “You’re a legend, Charlie,” Dick said. “McMurry ain’t gonna let you just walk away. I’m sure he’ll find something else for you to do in the battalion.”

  “Yeah. Maybe so.”

  Dick watched Charlie stare into the fire. “You think Walker will follow through with his threat?”

  “Yep, I do,” Charlie said. “He’s a hard case. He’ll never forget this or me. It’ll fester in him over time. Yeah, he’s gonna hunt me until one of us is dead.”

  “You should’ve killed him on the porch.”

  “Yeah, I reckon so,” Charlie said. “Just couldn’t do it with him holding his boy.”

  Four days later, Dick Adams and Charlie Turlock rode into Lubbock, Texas and reported in with Captain Sam McMurry. The captain was a small, thin man with graying hair and a full bushy moustache. As a quiet, soft spoken man, he was renowned for his ability to arrest men with little or no gunplay, which earned him the nickname of “Soft-Voice” McMurry.

  Dick went into the captain’s office before Charlie. After a short visit, he came out, shook Charlie’s hand and said goodbye.

  “Where you off to?” Charlie asked, a little surprised.

  “Austin. Gonna see my family for a spell and join up with the battalion there.”

  “It was a pleasure riding with you, Dick. You’re a good man.”

  Dick Adams smiled at Charlie and shook his hand one more time. “Good luck to you, Charlie,” he said and walked out to the street. Charlie watched him mount his horse and ride out of town.

  “What’s this I hear about you quittin’ the company?”

  Charlie turned around to see Captain McMurry standing behind him with a smile on his face and an extended hand. Charlie returned Sam’s smile, shook the captain’s hand and the two walked into the captain’s office and sat down.

  “Gettin’ too old, Sam. I can’t take all that time in the field anymore. I’m tire
d, not as quick as I used to be. I can’t see very good anymore and I can’t hear as good either.”

  “What do you want to do, Charlie? If you want to stay with the rangers, I can get you in on a desk job if you want.”

  “Nah, I’m not a politician. That’s your job. I wouldn’t be any good riding a desk. I don’t want to leave. Hell, I don’t know what I’d do with myself. Don’t you have any local, easy assignments I could do?”

  “Actually, I think I do. There’s a new settlement up north around the Frying Pan Ranch. I think they’re calling it Amarillo. Anyway, there’s been a string of rustlers and mavericks raiding them ranches in the area. The bosses are fit to be tied. Local law can’t deal with it. They’ve been asking for some help guarding their cattle. They want those raids stopped … at any cost, if you get my meaning.” Charlie nodded. “I’m sending you up there with a couple of other rangers to do whatever you need to do to discourage any further trouble. Got it?”

  Charlie couldn’t have hoped for anything better. He was relieved and excited about this new prospect. “When do we go?”

  “The other group left yesterday. Get some rest, restock, and head out tomorrow. It’ll be a good assignment, Charlie. You’ll be able to put your head on a pillow every night.” Captain McMurry grinned.

  Charlie nodded. “I appreciate this. Where am I staying?”

  “The ranchers will put you up. Check in with them. I’ll probably pull them other rangers out of there after a while. You stay as long as you need to.”

  Charlie stood up to leave.

  “One more thing,” the Captain said. “You’ll be working along with the local lawmen in Amarillo. Make sure you keep them informed of what you’re doin’. I’m going to have you run prisoners up to the Colorado Territorial prison every once in a while. It’ll be a good break for you.”