A Ranger's Time Read online

  Charlie thanked the captain again, and walked out of the office with a new sense of serenity. Captain McMurry followed Charlie out to his horse. “You still ridin’ this ol’ crow-bait plug?”

  “What do ya’ mean? Gus here’s a good ol’ horse. Been with me a long time.” Charlie stroked Gus’s neck. “Hell, he knows me better than I do. He ain’t as strong or as fast as he used to be, but neither am I. He’s got more game than a lot other mounts. Nah, I think he and I will probably go out together.”

  Charlie climbed into the saddle, waved to the captain, and headed up the street to the livery to get Gus boarded for the night. The next morning he’d head north to Amarillo. Patrolling cattle sounded like an easy, low impact assignment. And it would probably keep him far away from Abe Walker. He was at ease.

  .

  2

  Upton

  June, 2220

  Russell trembled with nervous anxiety. He feared something would go wrong this time. This would be his third attempt and with each trip he’d gotten a little more nervous. His first two time jumps were without incident. In fact they were somewhat exhilarating, in a strange sort of way. Having one’s atoms disassembled and then reassembled in another place and in another time was a little daunting. There were so many things that could go wrong, and Russell worried about each one of them.

  “Relax,” Michael said. “You’ve done this before and never had a problem.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one being ripped apart,” Russell replied.

  Russell Hicks, a young scientist specializing in theoretical physics and astrophysics, was one of three technicians assigned to the top secret time travel and teleportation project. These black projects are owned, operated, and funded by the government. But no one knew exactly who in government. The lines connecting the DARPA projects to any government agency were blurred at best. Officially, they don’t even exist. The National Lab in Upton, New York housed the time project, although, no one would admit it.

  Michael O’Riley and Steven Marcohen were the other two techs. Steven and Russell graduated together and were hired by the government right out of college. Michael, the “old-timer” of the project, had been there the longest and was designated Lead Technician because of his seniority.

  Russell looked at his reflection in the glass wall of the time chamber. “I look like an idiot in these clothes.” He wore a tie-dyed tee-shirt, dark blue jeans that were a little too tight, and white vinyl gym shoes.

  Steven tried to hide his snicker. “No, no. You look… fine.” He turned away trying to hide his laughter.

  “Yeah, go ahead and laugh, Steve. Next time we’ll send you back to the cavemen!”

  “It’ll be fine, Russell,” Michael said with a smile. “The archive chips reported that in 1992 people wore these… these… What are these called?”

  “Tee-shirts!” Steven said.

  “Right, tee-shirts and jeans,” Michael continued. “Did you dose?”

  “No. I don’t like the way that stuff makes me feel.”

  “The meds are supposed to relax you, Russell. That’s what they’re for. Everybody doses. At least every once in a while.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Russell said. “I’ll be fine.”

  The lab door opened and a man in a grey suit entered and walked toward them. Russell looked at the clock; 9:20 PM. His time jump was scheduled to execute in ten minutes. Civilians were not supposed to be in the lab outside of the day shift. As he got closer, Russell recognized him as Paul Camber, a sales representative for one of the hundreds of companies contracted with the government to supply project parts.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” Russell whispered to Michael.

  “Go check the power panels,” Michael said. “I’ll handle this guy.”

  Russell and Mr. Camber met a month earlier. He left their meeting with a cautionary feeling about this salesman. He had a feeling that Camber was not to be trusted. Paul Camber saw Russell and looked away. Michael stopped Paul and the two briefly talked.

  Russell waved his data cell over a sensor in each power panel and the information appeared in a virtual display above that panel. With the data results captured in his cell, he moved to the next panel. He was engrossed in his data retrieval and hadn’t noticed Paul Camber had left.

  “Russ!” Steven called out. “It’s time.”

  Russell took a deep breath and walked over to Steven. Michael joined them.

  “Let’s go over it again,” Steven said.

  Russell rolled his eyes. “How many times do we have to go through this? Like Mike said, I’ve done this before.”

  “It’s a good idea, Russ,” Michael chimed in. “We need to make sure we all know the plan.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m supposed to check pollution levels in 1992. And then slightly disrupt a specific event to see if there is a butterfly effect across time, right?”

  “Exactly,” Michael said. “In August of ninety-two a young boy won first place at the Amarillo Fair for his animal. He went on to hold political office in Texas. We want you to change the outcome of him winning that first prize and see if it makes a difference in his future, or anyone else’s future.”

  “How will you know?”

  Steven explained. “We recorded the major happenings in the boy’s life period. We also recorded what happened to the two runner’s up. Those files are sealed away. When you get back we’ll record them again and then unseal the pre-recorded files and check for any differences. Now get ready.”

  “You got six hours,” Michael added. “Then we’re bringing you back, whether you’re finished or not. Got it?”

  Russell nodded and smiled at Michael but the smile was not returned. In fact, Michael never raised his eyes to look at Russell.

  “Just do what you need to do and then find a place to hide until we retrieve you.” Michael walked over to his console and sat without another word.

  “What’s got into him, all of a sudden?” Russell said under his breath.

  Steven shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? Don’t worry about it. You know how moody he gets. It’s time.” Steven walked to his console leaving Russell standing alone in front of the glass chamber that housed the time travel apparatus. Russell took a deep breath and set his ID chip and his data cell in a lockbox. He entered the glass chamber and climbed the two steps leading to the titanium platform. Two six-foot concave disks were mounted on the platform, one silver and one gold. They faced each other and were about three feet apart leaving enough room for Russell to stand between them. Russell positioned himself between the disks and looked through the glass walls at Steven. He looked at Michael, who normally would be watching. Michael sat at his console with both hands on the controls and his back toward Russell.

  Steven slipped on his eye protection and gave Russell the thumbs-up. Russell wanted to step away and halt the jump. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. He reluctantly returned the thumbs-up signal to Steven. Steven turned to his console and Russell watched the red digital timer across the room start the countdown. When the counter reached one, Russell closed his eyes and held his breath. There was a bright flash of light, a loud snap of electricity, and the glass chamber was empty.

  3

  Encounter

  June, 1892

  For the next few years, following his meeting with Captain McMurry, Charlie worked for the bosses of the five major ranches surrounding Amarillo in the panhandle. He got to know all of them fairly well. Mr. Stewart, the ranch manager at the LIT, told Charlie he could bunk in an old deserted buffalo hunter’s cabin on the LIT property. The cabin sat atop a wooded bluff overlooking the ranch lands just four miles north of Amarillo. The Amarillo River flowed close by so the cabin always had a good supply of water. This cabin became Charlie’s home.

  The prisoner trips to the Colorado Territorial Prison became more and more frequent. But he didn’t mind. It was easy work, not very dangerous, an
d it got him away from the ranches and Amarillo for a while. It was a good respite from his routine duties. He would collect prisoners from the jails of neighboring towns and transport them to the territorial prison in Cañon City in the Colorado Territory. Charlie found the trips to Cañon City relaxing.

  He loaded the prisoners on the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe railroad in Amarillo and rode it all the way to Cañon City. He normally had around five or six prisoners to contend with. By the time he picked them up and chained them to the floor in a special-built prisoner rail car, the fight was out of them and they were fairly resigned to their fate. All Charlie had to do was sit on a nice cushioned stool for two days and watch the prisoners with a coach gun across his lap. In Cañon City the prison wagon was always there to meet the train. Charlie marched the men off the train and into the wagon. He exchanged signatures and paperwork with the guards and then he was done.

  For the first few trips, he would stay in Cañon City anywhere from a day to a week until the next train came by heading back to Amarillo. The waiting was the worst part of the trip. He was bored. While riding the train to and from Cañon City, he longed to be out on the trail again. He missed the solitude and peacefulness of the prairie.

  By his fourth trip, he was tired of train travel. This time he loaded Gus into the stable car and brought him along. After the exchange of prisoners with the guards, he and Gus would make their week-long excursion back to Amarillo. He wasn’t in any hurry to get back and it wasn’t likely he would be missed. These return trips through the prairie gave him time to reminisce about his life and time to think about what future he had left. Charlie made a prisoner trip about every two or three months.

  The sun was almost set on this hot June day in 1892. The heat that bore down on Charlie all day long was finally starting to dissipate. He stood next to Gus on a bluff overlooking the town of Tascosa at the end of the Dodge City Trail in the Texas panhandle. This was a bad time to be here. After three long, rough days on the trail, the last place he wanted to be was in Tascosa at night. Usually, on his trips back to Amarillo, he’d stop here for supplies, food, or maybe a drink. This trip was different. He was in a hurry to get back to Amarillo. In his haste, he ended up here a half day sooner than normal.

  Charlie knew all too well of the chaos that broke loose in this old cattle town after dark. What little law there was usually turned its back on the ruckus caused by the cowboys and outlaws that frequented the saloons and brothels. He was in no mood to deal with that hell hole tonight. He was tired and sore and all he wanted to do was bed down.

  He rode wide of the town along the Canadian River bank and crossed the river at Bridge Street. On the other side of the river, he rode a few miles south along the bank through the tall switch-grass and cottonwood trees until he came to a small clearing next to a bend in the river. Charlie unsaddled Gus, removed his bridle and let him roam off to drink and graze while he set about building a fire. There was something comforting about a fire’s flickering glow: a source of warmth, relaxation, and light. In the dark lonely plains, it was the perfect companion.

  Charlie set out his bed roll near the fire and hung his gun belt over the saddle horn, making sure it was easily accessible. Darkness had engulfed the Great Plains and a cold night was approaching. Charlie sat on a rock next to his saddle and stared into the fire sipping his coffee. The trip from Cañon City, along the Montana Trail to Amarillo was a tough four-day trip for any seasoned rider. At his age, however, it usually took him a good six or seven days. It had taken everything he and Gus could muster to get to this river in just three days.

  Charlie hadn’t forgotten the orders he got from his new battalion captain, Bill McDonald, before he left Amarillo. He had warned Charlie that Abe Walker was driving his herd up from the Pecos and was heading toward Amarillo. The captain wanted Charlie to get back to Amarillo as quick as he could to help the local lawmen.

  Seeing Abe Walker and his cowboy thugs again was a meeting Charlie would rather avoid. In fact, he had purposely and affectively avoided it for the past few years. Walker’s last words from their first meeting rang vividly in Charlie’s ears. Issues were left unsettled. The next encounter would likely be someone’s last. He worried it might be his.

  Watching the fire had a hypnotic effect on Charlie. He lost track of time as he watched the flames dance in and around the cottonwood logs. He thought about his age. He’d always believed he could stay young forever. At 51, he could no longer turn his back on his daily aches and pains, his diminished vision, his tiredness and his lack of stamina. To make matters worse, he recently noticed a slight tremble in his hands.

  Charlie longed for the vitality and strength of his youth. He wondered if the decision he made when he was young was the right one. He thought about the trouble he caused and the reason he disappeared. He’d been running away from his past his whole life. Over the years he thought about going back, but deep inside he knew that once he left, he would never go back.

  Being a Texas Ranger had been Charlie’s life. He loved his job, and he was good at it. He poured another cup of coffee, moved to his bedroll and sat on the blanket. He just couldn’t see himself doing anything other than what he had done most of his life. His job kept him active. It made him feel useful. He needed a purpose to his life, and his job served that purpose.

  Charlie liked his time riding the trails back to Amarillo with Gus, reminiscing of past glory days as they went. All he could reminisce about on this trip, however, was the last time he and Abe Walker crossed paths five years ago.

  Charlie remembered that day like it was yesterday. He picked up a small stick and poked it into the dirt over and over. He remembered every shot of every man. He could never forget that awful smell of dust and burnt gunpowder mixed with the odor of all that blood. Over the years he heard about the horrible scar Mac Sherman now had on his forehead. Charlie was certain Mac thought of him every time he looked in a mirror. Most of all, however, the regrettable vision of shooting down Abe’s son, Jeremiah, had never left Charlie, even after all these years.

  Retirement from working as a Texas Ranger for the past 25 years didn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore. When he got back to Amarillo he would talk to the captain about his options; that is if he survived the inevitable confrontation with the cattle baron and his crew. Charlie stood and stretched. He tossed his small stick into the fire. I should have killed that old man along with his boy.

  He soon shook his thoughts away, and let out a short whistle. Gus walked over near where he was sitting. In all Charlie’s years with his horse, Gus had never gotten used to being around a fire. He would come no closer than the ring of light the fire emitted. The larger the fire, the farther he stayed away from it.

  Securing the front legs with a hobble just outside the firelight, Charlie stepped back away from the blaze to admire the sky.

  “No moon tonight, Gus,” he said. “Stars look pretty bright.” He patted Gus on his neck, and the gray returned the affection by nudging Charlie’s shoulder.

  “Good night, ol’ pal.” Charlie crawled into his bed roll and loosely pulled his blanket over him. As hard and uncomfortable as his bedroll was, his aching body welcomed the reclining position. He rolled on his side to watch the fire. The crackling sounds of a campfire and the soothing babbling of the water rolling over the rocks always soothed him. Before long he was sound asleep.

  Charlie woke with a shudder. Had he heard a noise or did he dream he heard something? It took a moment to get his bearings and then he froze. What and from where? His ears strained in the stillness. Nothing. He propped himself up on his elbow and listened more attentively, trying to hear the slightest sound.

  Charlie looked over at his horse. Gus was staring intently at him, his eyes wide and his ears pointed, and then gave a low neigh. Something was troubling him. Over the years Charlie had become acutely aware of Gus’s slightest movements and noises. He furrowed his brow. He senses something.

  Charlie got off his make-shift b
ed and pulled his Colt from the holster. He slowly walked to Gus and put a calming hand on his nose.

  “What is it, boy?” he whispered. “What ya’ hearin’?”

  Charlie backed himself along Gus’s side, and out of what little light the dying fire emitted. He didn’t want to make himself a target for whoever or whatever might be lurking in the dark.

  Gus snorted, and tried to back away from whatever he was sensing, but Charlie grabbed the rope on his halter and held him close.

  “Easy there,” Charlie urged quietly. He squatted amidst the sagebrush, still clutching the rope in one hand and his Colt in the other. He stared out into the blackness where Gus was facing. Charlie thought this might be one of Walker’s advance scouts looking for water and grazing land for tomorrow. But then he reconsidered that notion. It couldn’t be. They wouldn’t be this far north yet, and they surely wouldn’t be riding in the middle of the night. Charlie had to get Abe Walker off his mind. Maybe it was some outlaw from Tascosa out here to do no good. Either way, he stayed out of the fire light.

  He listened for any discernible noise in the quiet of the night. He still could not hear or see anything.

  Gus snorted again. Charlie had never seen him agitated like this. Gus has been exposed to every kind of critter and varmint there was. He had been around gun battles, chases, and hunts and none of that ever bothered him. However, something was scaring him now. He stared wide-eyed at Charlie.

  A slight breeze came out of nowhere. A hot wind started at ground level and seemed to rise up and around them in the cold night air.

  Gus shook his head and snorted, his nostrils flared as he tugged to get free of Charlie’s grasp. His eyes got wider and his ears were laid back.

  The breeze quickly turned into a wind. It raged stronger and stronger. Gus kicked at the wind and pulled hard to break free. Charlie stroked Gus’s neck and tried to comfort him to keep him secure. The wind became like a tornado. He grabbed for Gus’s rope and reached out for a nearby Mesquite tree for added support and to help keep Gus close.