A Ranger's Time Read online

  From a kneeling position, Walker threw another punch at Charlie that missed wildly and Charlie answered with a solid punch of his own to Abe’s chest. Walker grabbed his chest and rolled onto his side gasping for air. Abe couldn’t breathe. He rolled from side to side. Finally a breath came with a raspy, fluid sound. Then he coughed. He coughed a second time a little harder and then a third time even harder. When he finally got a good breath, he looked up at Marshall Cook holding his revolver.

  “I think you two ought to come along with me.” The marshal pointed his revolver at the front door.

  Abe Walker and Charlie slowly got to their feet. Blood trickled down Walker’s chin from the corners of his mouth. Charlie frowned. He’d only hit him once and it wasn’t in the face. Marshall Cook marched the two out the front door of the saloon. The three walked up the street to the marshal’s office where he locked Abe Walker in the stone jail cell.

  “You all right?” Amos handed Charlie back his guns and his belt.

  “Yeah, just saw some stars for a minute. That old bugger sure packs a wallop for a guy his age. I feel like I got kicked by a mule.”

  “You got no right to hold me, Marshal,” Abe hollered with a shallow, raspy voice.

  “I got every right, Walker.” Marshal Cook walked to the heavy wooden cell door and spoke through the small window. “Let’s see now, you attacked an officer of the law, you disturbed the peace, I haven’t checked with Henry yet, but I’m sure there was property damaged, and, as far as I’m concerned, you might have been involved in that shooting tonight.”

  “You’re loco, lawman!” Abe responded between coughs. “I was in that saloon all night, and you got my gun. I had nothing to do with that shooting. I got witnesses.”

  Abe Walker started to cough. He coughed until the marshal finally opened the cell door and handed him a canteen. Abe took a drink and his coughing spell began to subside. Blood dotted the front of the old man’s shirt.

  “You want me to get Doc Morgan down here?”

  “That old sawbones couldn’t pull a tick off a dog,” Walker tried to hold back his cough. “Besides, he can’t do nothing for me. No one can. I’m a lunger. Been one for a couple years now. It just keeps getting worse.”

  Marshal Cook shook his head and left the canteen with Abe Walker. He closed and locked the cell door and turned to Charlie.

  “You hear that?”

  “Yeah. That explains the blood I saw on him. I didn’t mean to hit him in the chest,” Charlie said, “I just wanted him off of me.”

  “If he’s got that affliction, this will probably be his last drive.”

  “Well, I’m sorry he’s sick. But, truth be told, I don’t care if the bastard dies tomorrow. It’ll save me the trouble of killing him. He’s done nothing but make misery for a lot of people his whole life.”

  “Well, now that I got him, what do I do with him?” the marshal asked.

  “Just keep him here,” Charlie said. “Those cowboys won’t leave here until Abe goes with them. Nobody can sell his cows but him. They may try and come get him out tonight. And maybe Mac will be with them.”

  Marshal Cook nodded, sat down, and started going through the paperwork scattered across the top of his desk. He looked at Johnson leaning up against the cell wall. “You want to go get some shuteye for a spell? I’ll be here.”

  The deputy thanked the marshal and said he would be back in a few hours. He handed Charlie his shotgun and left. Charlie sat across from the marshal, rubbing the side of his head. After a few minutes of silence Marshal Cook looked at Charlie.

  “You look like hell, Charlie. You should get some rest, too. You going back home or you gonna stay somewhere in town?”

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep much. I think I’ll go sit with the boy for a while. I’ve stayed at Morgan’s place before. He said I could stay there anytime I wanted to. I may go over there if I need to lie down.”

  “I’m sure Hanna wouldn’t mind if you bunked in with her,” the marshal said with a sly grin. Charlie gave the marshal a condescending look and shook his head.

  Marshal Cook continued to stare at Charlie as if wanting him to leave. Finally Charlie set Johnson’s shotgun down on the marshal’s desk, slung his gun belt over his shoulder and walked toward the door.

  “I think I’ll just stop in next door,” Charlie said. “Then I’ll go on down to Doc’s place. He’s got a real comfortable sofa.”

  The marshal nodded and went back to shuffling paperwork. Charlie opened the door and heard Abe try to holler.

  “You go to hell, lawman,” Abe rasped. “I’ll be out of here in no time.”

  “You’d better hush up, Abe, or you’ll get to coughing again,” Marshall Cook hollered back. “You’d better get some rest, cuz you’ll probably have some company later on tonight.”

  “You want me to stay?” Charlie stood in the open doorway.

  The marshal shook his head. “You go on. I can handle this. Besides, Johnson will be back in a few hours. Get some rest. I think you’ll need it.”

  13

  Jail Break

  Charlie walked next door to Hanna’s Eatery, still rubbing the side of his head from Abe Walker’s punch. He looked through the window of the darkened restaurant and noticed a dim light coming from the kitchen. He tried the door but it was locked. Charlie lightly tapped on the window and waited. Hanna peered around the kitchen doorway, walked through the restaurant, and unlocked the door.

  “He still hasn’t woken up,” Hanna whispered.

  Charlie nodded and followed her back to the kitchen. The oil lamp was no longer on the kitchen prep table, but the candle and globe remained. He was a little surprised at how good Russell appeared. He looked back at Hanna.

  “I took that old stained shirt off of him and got him cleaned up just like the Doc said,” Hanna explained. “I still have a couple of Walter’s shirts. It’s a little big for him, but it’s better to have a nice clean one.”

  Charlie smiled as he walked closer to Russell. His hair was parted in the middle and combed off to each side. He looked so young, barely a whisker on his face.

  “He’s breathing steady, now.” Hanna smiled.

  Charlie nodded and sat down on the stool next to the cot. “I can’t thank you enough, Hanna. I’ll pay you back for this. I promise.”

  “Oh, shoot, Charlie. You don’t owe me anything at all for this,” she said with a slight giggle. “I’ll leave you alone for a little while, now.”

  “You go get some sleep,” Charlie ordered. “I’ll sit up with him for a while. You’re going to need your rest for tomorrow’s breakfast crowd.”

  “Well, maybe I will lie down for just a bit.”

  Charlie heard Hanna walk through the restaurant and open and close another door that led to her bed chamber. He put his hand on top of Russell’s hand and leaned forward close to his ear.

  “You listen to me. You have to come back here, you hear me?” Charlie whispered in Russell’s ear. “It’s not your time. I’ve got some things I have to tell you before we part ways. But you have to come back here to me. Some things are going to happen real soon and you have to be gone before they do.”

  Charlie squeezed Russell’s hand. “Come back,” he whispered again.

  He sat on the stool and leaned against the prep table. With his elbow on the table and his head in his hand, the events of the day replayed in his mind. He felt his eyes getting heavy in the dim light and quiet surroundings. He watched Russell sleep, and before long, he dozed off as well.

  A couple of hours had passed since Charlie and Deputy Johnson left the marshal’s office. Marshal Cook had finished organizing the paperwork on his desk and was looking forward to the deputy returning because he was beginning to get a little tired himself. He put a fresh pot of coffee on the stove. He hung some of the gun belts he collected in the wall cabinet. Some others were hung on the hat pegs along the side wall, and the rest were rolled up and set in a line across his desk. Just as he sat back dow
n, three of Abe’s hired hands came into his office. The marshal rose and pulled Johnson’s shotgun across the desk closer to him.

  “Can I help you boys?” He recognized two of the three as the ones that stood around Abe at the faro table. He hadn’t seen the third one before.

  “We’re heading back to camp. Just came in to pick up our hardware,” the first cowboy said.

  The hair on the back of Cook’s neck stood up. Something didn’t seem quite right.

  “Kind of early for you all to be calling it a night.” Marshal Cook carefully watched the three.

  “Well, we’re out of money and you got our boss locked up. Kinda took the spirit out of us being here,” the first cowboy said, with a hint of disdain in his voice.

  The last cowboy smiled at Abe through the cell door window. After a silent pause the marshal dropped his hand onto the stock of the shotgun and looked over the three.

  “Mine’s right here on the desk,” the first cowboy said as he reached over the desk and picked up his holster.

  “My rig is the last one on the hook right there.” The second cowboy pointed to it. “And you got my Winchester in the cabinet there.”

  Finally the third cowboy said, “Mine’s the third from the right on that hook.”

  The marshal gave them each back their guns and told them they could put them on outside of town. If they strapped them on in town he would arrest them. They agreed and slowly left the office. As they left, each one cast a glance back to the cell where Abe Walker stood watching through the small window in the cell door. When they closed the door, Marshal Cook picked up Deputy Johnson’s shotgun, cocked both hammers, and moved back against the side wall. He didn’t have to wait long.

  Suddenly, the door to his office was kicked open and those same three cowboys quickly charged in with their guns drawn. Marshal Cook fired both shotgun barrels as the first two cowboys came through the door together. He immediately dropped the shotgun and pulled his pistol.

  The shotgun blasts killed the first cowboy and knocked the second one down. It forced the third cowboy back out onto the sidewalk. From the open doorway the third cowboy fired two shots at Cook but his bullets hit the desk and the wall behind the marshal. Marshal Cook returned fire and his second shot struck a solid blow in the cowboy’s chest. He fell backward off the sidewalk and onto the street. The marshal turned his attention to the cowboy writhing in pain on his office floor.

  Charlie woke up when he heard Hanna’s chamber door open and close. He listened to her walk across the restaurant toward the kitchen. Russell was still asleep. As Hanna re-entered the kitchen, Charlie noticed that she had washed her face, combed her hair, and changed out of her stained blouse. Charlie smiled at her.

  “You look real nice, Hanna.”

  She returned the smile and even in the dim candle light Charlie noticed a slight blush fill her face. Hanna told him to leave Russell to her and go get some rest. Charlie agreed and said he would head down to Doc’s place.

  Just as he was about to leave he was startled by two shotgun blasts from next door at the marshal’s office. Charlie pulled his gun belt off the prep table and drew his gun from the holster. He ran toward the front door and on the way he heard the exchange of handgun fire. He opened the door of the restaurant in time to see a cowboy fall off the sidewalk onto the street. Charlie slowly approached the marshal’s office and peered through the glass window.

  “Amos? You all right?” Charlie hollered to identify himself so as not to get shot.

  “Yeah. Come on in.”

  Charlie entered the small office and helped the marshal get the wounded cowboy up off the floor. His wounds from the shotgun pellets didn’t appear to be life threatening. Charlie checked the other cowboy on the floor but he was dead.

  Deputy Johnson was making his way back to the office when the gunfire began. At the first sound, he started running up the street toward the office. He stopped and checked the cowboy lying in the street. He told Marshal Cook that the cowboy in the street was dead.

  “Go get Morgan,” the marshal said to the deputy. “Tell him we got two dead and one wounded.” The deputy left.

  “You fired first. You’re a killer, Marshal,” Abe hollered. “This ain’t over, lawman. This is just the beginning.”

  Charlie stared at Walker through the door and then moved the wounded cowboy to a stool by the stone wall.

  “Sit down here against this wall and try not to bleed on the marshal’s floor,” Charlie said. Then he moved to the cell door and stared at Walker through the small window. “Let’s see now. That coward you got for a foreman shot an unarmed boy tonight and run off and left you all alone. You’re locked up in jail with a few thousand head of beef wandering around; you got two of your boys dead here and this fella shot to pieces. Did I miss anything? Doesn’t look to be going your way, Abe.”

  Abe Walker spat bloody saliva through the small window, which Charlie dodged.

  “My boys will burn this town to the ground to get me out of here! You hear me? You wanna save yourself and this town; you’d better let us go!”

  During his boss’s tirade, the wounded cowboy lowered his head and looked away. Charlie nodded. There wouldn’t be any more trouble from him.

  A bleary-eyed Doc Morgan showed up along with Deputy Johnson. The doctor wore the same white shirt and black trousers he wore earlier in the day. His hair was mussed and he wasn’t wearing his hat or his coat.

  “You look like you just got out of bed, Doc,” Charlie said.

  “Damn right I did. What happened here?”

  “That one in the street and these two here tried to bust their boss out of jail. They didn’t quite make it.”

  “Their boss?” Morgan asked.

  “Amos has Walker locked up in jail,” Charlie said, and after a moment added, “He’s got tuberculosis, Doc.”

  Doc Morgan shook his head. “That’s bad. It’s a death sentence. Is he coughing up blood?”

  Charlie nodded.

  “Well, it’s just a matter of time, then.” Doc Morgan handed his house key to the deputy. “Get someone to help you get these fellows out of here and take them down to my back room. I’ll tend to them later.” Doc Morgan looked at the wounded cowboy sitting on the stool against the stone cell wall. “Let’s get that shirt off and see where all that shot ended up.”

  “I’ll help Johnson with the bodies.” Charlie turned to Marshal Cook. “You need me here anymore tonight?”

  “Naw, you go ahead. I think I’ll be okay for a while.”

  “I may lay down on your sofa for a bit, Doc,” Charlie said.

  “Help yourself,” the doctor said. “You know where the blanket is.”

  “Thanks.” Charlie walked out to help Deputy Johnson sling the bodies over Johnson’s saddle. They walked the horse to the rear of Doc Morgan’s place and set the two dead cowboys on the floor next to the large wooden table in his back room. After the deputy left, Charlie lit an oil lamp. He pulled a blanket from a shelf in the back room and walked through to the front parlor where an old overstuffed sofa sat along the front window.

  Doc’s front parlor was a small room just off the entry door where the doctor greeted patients and clients. The walls were covered in a maroon and grey striped wall paper and accented with dark stained wood trim. The large grey fabric sofa sat under the front window and a matching winged back chair sat off to the left side. Charlie couldn’t ever remember hearing a note from the old pump organ on the opposite wall next to the door leading to the doc’s back room. A round dinette-sized wooden table sat in the middle of the room covered with a lace cloth and an oil lamp in the middle of the table. A small secretary desk containing his paper, ink, and quill, sat next to the door leading to the entry. A large thick patterned rug covered most of the dark hardwood floor planks, tying together all the colors in room. It was a very pleasant and comfortable setting.

  Charlie took off his jacket, his shirt, and his boots, and turned the lamp down to a dim glow. He lay down o
n his right side on the sofa, covered himself with the blanket and tried to sleep. He focused on the flickering of the flame as it danced across the cotton wick in the oil lamp, trying to ignore the steady pounding in his head, and soon he drifted into sleep.

  14

  Future Facts

  Charlie woke from another dream. Sleep came to him in only brief periods this night. He would wake, fully alert from some insignificant dream, then take what seemed like forever to drift off to sleep again. He was startled awake when the doctor came back home and went right upstairs to his bedroom. The pounding in his head from Walker’s punch had diminished a bit, replaced with a steady dull ache.

  The muggy June night added to his discomfort. He sat up on the edge of the sofa and looked out the front window which faced the stockyard corrals across the street. It was still dark with no sign of a sunrise. He couldn’t turn off the thoughts that kept swirling around in his head. In his anger he wanted Mac Sherman and Abe Walker out of the way forever. With Abe’s illness, it looked like he would soon be dead. Mac, on the other hand, had to be dealt with.

  How to deal with Mac was going to be a challenge. Charlie never claimed to be much of a gun hand. He knew he would lose a one-on-one gun battle with Mac. He had to out think him.

  With the incessant thoughts and dreams running through his mind and the pain in his head, it was useless to try and go back to sleep. He turned up the oil lamp and sat for a minute looking around at a blurry aura surrounding Doc’s parlor room. That’s when he noticed his vision was a little fuzzy. Probably from the lack of sleep. He felt gritty and he smelled of horses and a week’s worth of sweat and trail dust. He needed a bath, a shave, and a change of clothes, but all that would have to wait until he got back to his cabin.