Dark Journey Home (26 page)

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.

Ranger Welby had introduced Olson to Garth, and they
had shook hands just before Garth had ridden down the trail to town, with the
prisoner across the back of his horse. 

Olson spoke to the ranger, “I know your name ain’t
Butch Hogan, but whatever you want to call yourself, friend, it’s alright with
me just wanted to let you know.  And, b’fore you say anything, for my tailin’
you tonight, well guess I was just curious.”

Welby chuckled softly, “Young fella, this old coon
hound knew you were on my tail from the time you left the line shack.  Believe
me, in my line of work, it pays to be alert.  Though, I can’t blame you for
getting suspicious.  You an’ me, we’ll have us a talk soon’s we get back to the
line shack, then, come daylight, we need to be back at the ranch.  We’ll have
us some kind of an’ excuse, but we need to be there as all hell’s liable to
break loose, if it ain’t already done so.”

Olson answered slowly, “Well, best I can figure,
there’s been somethin’ goin’ on that don’t read right about this whole setup at
the ranch, so whatever you need me to do, ‘Ranger’, I’ll be there backin’ you
all the way.”

Welby chuckled again, “Couldn’t fool you, could I?” 
You must have seen my badge tucked away.”

“Well, I run outta tobacco.  Didn’t mean to snoop.”

“How about McCain?”  Welby asked about the older
cowhand, Olson’s friend.

“He’ll stay.  We just need to give him the word.  He’s
a good man, and honest too, won’t stand for wrong doin’ no how.”

Welby turned to the other men, “I guess I’ll hit the
trail back to the line shack with Olson, get a little shut-eye, then we’ll see
you all tomorrow at the ranch.  Let’s hope they already skipped out, might save
us a bit of artillery in suggestin’ they move out.”

Logan
answered, “If
that attorney’s still in town, we’ll bring him along, should be fun to watch
‘im dance.  Might turn out to be quite a show.”

Olson had started to mount his horse, then turned
again, holding onto the reins, “You suppose the marshal or sheriff, whoever’s
in charge at this time of night, would lock up that greenhorn what took a
potshot at me?”

Welby rubbed his jaw, and thought for a moment before
answering, “Possible……..might be.”  He turned then to Beckford, “Suppose
there’ll be leavin’s to be locked up, by the time your nephew gets back to town
with ol’ Henry?” 

Beckford chuckled, “I doubt if Garth would attack
someone as weak as Henry is at this time.  Wouldn’t be a challenge for him. The
chap obviously couldn’t fight his way out of a cloud of cigar smoke.  He does
need a scare put into him though.”  The thought of Henry Adams alone on the
trail totally at Garth’s mercy, brought another smile.  He was sure that by
this time Henry had remembered who Garth was, although it had been over ten
years since Garth had bodily tossed Henry Adams from Beckford Manor, and Garth was
now sporting a heavy auburn beard.