The Rise of a Warrior

  Then Court saw the edge. “Stop!”

  They both reined in, and Stanton leapt from the saddle. He ran to the edge and looked over. It was a sheer drop to the river some one hundred feet below.

  Stanton frowned, then looked back at Court. “You got him, didn’t you?”

  Court nodded. “Yeah. Hell, he flipped forward outta the saddle. Must’a fallen into the river. The water mocs’ll take care of him if there’s anything left to take care of.”

  Then Court looked around. “Where’s Mason?”

  Stanton had forgotten about their friend. “Damn. Guy shot him.”

  Court reined his horse around. “Let’s go get him.”

  They rode back out onto the trail. About forty yards back the way they’d come, Mason Philby lay face up just off the trail in the brush.

  Court dismounted and ran to him. “Aw Jesus... I’m sorry, Mason. I’m so damned—”

  But Philby shook his head. “No. Listen. Listen.” He took a deep breath. “He was Talbot. Jade Talbot. Me an’ him. Robbed a bank in Laredo.” He rolled his head side to side. “Long time ago. I... I was Powell... Morgan Powell. It’s okay now. Okay now.”

  Court shook his head. “You’re gonna be all right, Mason. We’ll get you back to—”

  Again, Philby shook his head. “No. It’s okay now.” A slight smile curled his lips. “Was good... bein’ a Ranger.” He sighed and was gone.

  For a long moment, Court held him. After a time, he looked at Stanton. Quietly he said, “Do me a favor, would you?”

  Stanton nodded. “Anything, Court.”

  “Two favors. First, stay here with him for a little while. I know ol’ man Johnson. I’ll ride down an’ get a wagon, all right? We’ll bury him there. An’ the other thing, you know, forget what he said about that other guy, that Powell guy, all right? I have no idea who that is. Shot like that, how it must’a hurt, I suspect he was talkin’ out of his mind.”

  Stanton nodded. “Sure.”

  Court looked at him and nodded, then lowered Philby’s head and shoulders to the ground and got up. “He was a damn good Ranger.”

  Stanton nodded.

  Court turned away, then mounted and rode west.

  *

  At the old man’s cabin, he stepped down and crossed the broken porch. The door was open. “Mr. Johnson?”

  The old man was still sitting behind the long table. The slash of sunlight was nearer the left corner of the table than it had been an hour ago. He looked up. “Yes? Oh, hi Ranger. Court Edwards, that you?”

  “It’s me, Mr. Johnson. Need to borrow your wagon for about a half-hour. I’ll be needin’ a spot of your ground too.”

  “A spot of ground?”

  Court nodded. He stopped just short of the table. “Fella shot and killed Mason Philby, one of my Rangers. Don’t know whether you knew Mason.”

  “Philby? Oh yes, yes. Mason Philby. Yes sir, he was in a time or two. Shot, eh? An’ killed?”

  “Yeah. Mistaken identity from what I gather. Guy called him by some other name, then shot him. Me an’ the other Ranger got the guy but he flipped off his saddle into the river. Guess the water mocs’ll get him.

  “Mr. Johnson, been anybody else through here this mornin’?”

  “Oh... well, yes, Jade Talbot come through about... oh, maybe an hour ago, maybe two. Said he was on his way to Amarillo. Funny, he asked me the same thing.”

  “He did?”

  “Well, no. I mean, he asked me the other end of that. Asked if I’d seen any Rangers come through, an’ then here you are. Ain’t that a coincidence?”

  “Maybe. You sure he went on to Amarillo?”

  “Yep. Well, I didn’t see him goin’ down the trail on the other side of the river, but I did hear him crossing. What I mean, he splashed in, splashed out. Water’s so deep right now you don’t hear much splashin’ when they’re in the middle.

  “So I couldn’t swear he went on to Amarillo, but if I was a bettin’ man an’ had a dollar to my name, I reckon I’d feel safe bettin’ he did.”

  Court nodded. “Okay. An’ nobody else came through?”

  “Nope. Nobody else but you.”

  “All right. Thanks, Mr. Johnson. Wagon’s out back?”

  “Yep. Already hooked up. I was gonna ride out to find some driftwood after awhile, but I hadn’t got gone yet.”

  “Well, I’ll have it back to you in a half-hour or so. I’ll need to borrow a couple shovels then. An’ you can point out where you’d like me to put my friend.”

  “Deal. I’ll take a look around while you’re gone.”

  Court left and led his horse around the side of the building.

  * * *

  All in all, Captain Flowers thought it had been an exceptionally good day.

  Shortly before noon, Sam Pencilman had brought him a telegram from Colonel Crutcher at Fort Perry, thanking him for sending the Rangers and assuring him the situation was resolved.

  Pencilman was an odd little duck. Each time he had a telegram to deliver, he came in tentatively, delivered his message pensively, and disappeared like smoke in a high breeze. One of these times, the captain needed to catch him and talk with him about his obvious lack of self-esteem. There was simply no need to let it go on.

  The day before, Corporal Connolly and Ranger Stilson had taken Rangers Crowley and McFadden to the range in the morning and then out for tracking practice in the afternoon. The two senior men had come back with glowing reports for the new Rangers.

  And then today, on Corporal Connolly’s recommendation, they had reversed those training exercises, letting Crowley and Mac practice tracking in the morning and shooting in the afternoon. The variation would enable them to be familiar with and take advantage of the different lighting, temperatures and mental acuity that accompanied the different times of day. Then too, they had returned with glowing reports.

  When they’d returned at almost six p.m., the captain had sent them home for the day to be back in the morning at 8 a.m.

  Now, at just after 7 p.m., he was at his desk in Ranger headquarters, finishing a letter. It was his response to a letter he’d received a few days earlier from his sister in St. Louis. Their elderly mother was in ill health. His sister hoped he’d be able to visit before their mother passed.

  In his response, he had said he couldn’t leave at the moment because they were severely undermanned. However, he would be retiring as soon as his replacement was named, and he intended to return to St. Louis then for an extended visit if not permanently.

  He was certain his replacement would be named any day. He asked her to express his love for their mother and to let her know that he would be there to see her as soon as he could do so. He was about to sign his name to the letter when there was a tentative knock on the door.

  The knock was so light, at first the captain wasn’t sure he’d heard it. He focused his attention on the door and waited. After a long moment, he gave up and bent over the letter to sign his name.

  The knock came again.

  He looked up and frowned. Who knocks on an office door? Only Pencilman ever did anything that pensively, but surely it wouldn’t be him at this hour. “Yes? Come in.”

  The door opened as tentatively as the knock had sounded. Sure enough, Sam Pencilman’s head and narrow shoulders appeared. As if it were his normal state, his glasses had slid halfway down his nose again, and the tuft of hair at the front of his pate was sticking straight up, as it had been earlier in the day, and as it had been earlier in the week.

  Pencilman used the index finger of his left hand to push his glasses up his nose, which he then wrinkled as if he had just smelled something bad. For a moment, his mouth formed an O. It seemed the appropriate gesture to accompany the wrinkled nose. Then he said, “Captain Flowers?”

  “Yes, Sam, what is it?”

  The little man pushed the door open a bit farther and his left leg appeared, then his entire body. Still, he clung to the doorknob with his right hand a
s if the door were a security blanket.

  He held up a slip of paper. “A telegram. Well, what I mean, it’s for you. I mean, I have a telegram for you.”

  The captain nodded. “I can see that, Sam. Could you bring it over please?”

  Sam frowned and cocked his head slightly, then looked down at his hand. “Oh. Oh, yes sir.” He crossed the room. “Sorry, sir.” He stopped at the low gate that separated the captain’s area of the office from the rest of the room. He leaned forward, straining to reach the telegram far enough so the captain could grab it.

  The captain looked at him. “It’s all right, Sam. Just open the gate and come through. Or step over.”

  “Oh no sir. No sir. I would never—” He stopped talking, reached down with his right hand and pulled the small gate open, then stepped through. “What I mean, I don’t want to do anything that might seem disrespectful. I mean, stepping over the captain’s gate would be disrespectful, I think.” He reached the slip of paper up to the captain.

  Captain Flowers took it. “Sam, how long have you been bringing me telegrams?”

  Sam pushed his glasses up his nose again. “Oh. Well, close to five or six years, I’d say.”

  The captain nodded. “Closer to six. And have I ever once said to you that I thought you were being disrespectful?”

  “N-no sir.”

  “That’s right. You’re one of the best men I know, Sam, and I’m glad to know you. I wouldn’t ever do anything to seem disrespectful to you either. You see what I mean?”

  “Oh, but Captain, I mean, you’re a Texas Ranger and I’m just a little—”

  “You’re not a little anything, Sam. You’re ‘just’ the man who keeps me in touch with the whole outside world. None of my Rangers can do what you do.” He proffered his hand. “I appreciate you, Sam, and I’m glad to know you. I’m proud to be associated with you.”

  Sam shook his hand, and a grin spread across his face. “Well, thank you, Captain. Thank you.”

  “So let’s not have anymore talk about disrespect and all that, all right? Let’s just treat each other as equals. Just two men doing our jobs. All right?”

  “Yes sir. Captain. I mean, yes, Captain. I mean, if you think that’s best.”

  “I do, Sam.” He held up the telegram. “Thanks for this.”

  “You’re welcome, Captain.”

  The captain just looked at him.

  “Oh, yes sir. I, uh... what I mean, I need to be going.”

  The captain nodded. “See you later, Sam.”

  “Yes sir.” He turned and all but ran from the room. Smoke in a high breeze.

  Captain Flowers shook his head, then unfolded the telegram and read it.

  It was good news.

  His replacement, Captain James Henry Wilson, would arrive in three days on the stage. When Captain Wilson was satisfied that he no longer needed Captain Flowers’ assistance, Captain Wilson was authorized by the governor to relieve Captain Flowers of his command. Captain Flowers would then consider himself retired. His pension payments would be sent to his sister’s address in St. Louis.

  He sat back in his chair and smiled. As the smile faded, he said quietly, “God how I’d love to do it all again.”

  A half-hour later the captain had signed the letter to his sister and taken care of a few minor office chores. He rose from his chair, walked across the floor and took his hat from the rack beside the door. He stopped for a moment and turned around, just looking.

  There was the table the men used as a desk. The chairs, scattered about the room, seemed never to be in the same place two days in a row. The small, neat fence and gate that separated his area of the office from the rest reminded him of the courtrooms in some of the larger cities.

  The sense washed over him that his desk, the area he had occupied for the past six years, looked empty without him sitting there. That was an odd feeling, considering he’d never seen himself sitting there. He grinned. Probably the office was just too quiet. It felt morose.

  A drink or two over at the Inn would help him through it. Maybe Jim or Jack were still downstairs. Maybe even Wes and Mac if the older guys hadn’t worked them too hard. The thought made him smile.

  *

  In the saloon, Corporal Connolly and Rangers Stilson, Crowley and McFadden were sitting at a table near back corner.

  Jack Stilson sipped his beer, then leaned forward, his forearms on the table, and looked to his right. “So Wes, when you saw Four Crows up there, were you using a spy glass?”

  “A what?”

  “A spy glass. It’s kind of a metal tube that expands out. Well, really there’s two or three tubes and each of ‘em has special glass in the end. So the inside tubes expand out of the outside tube.”

  Wes frowned. “What’s it for?”

  “It lets you see far off things like you were three or four times closer. When you get it stretched out, you put the little end up to your eye and look through the tubes.”

  Corporal Connolly said, “I think you said Four Crows was about three hundred yards away. If you looked at him through a spy glass, he’d look like he was only a hundred yards away, or even fifty.” He took a sip of his beer. “How close he looks depends on how big the spy glass is.”

  “Naw, I didn’t have nothin’ like that.”

  The captain overheard as he came up. “A telescope. A spy glass is also called a telescope because it telescopes out. We’ll have to get you one.” He grinned and gestured toward the table. “You guys mind?”

  Connolly grinned. He raised his glass. “Not at all, Captain. Pull up a chair.”

  Captain Flowers grabbed the back of a chair from a nearby table and swung it around as Wes and Mac each edged their chairs to the side a bit to make room.

  The captain sat down and looked at Corporal Connolly. “Edwards, Stanton and Philby ought to be back sometime tomorrow, probably around noon. When they get back, check with everybody and see how many we need. We ought to have one for each man plus a few extra for when new men hire on.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The bartender brought a glass of beer and set it in front of the captain. “I know you’re leavin’ us soon, Captain. Just want to say it’s been an honor knowin’ you.”

  The captain looked up and smiled. “Thanks, John. I appreciate that.”

  The bartender smiled and nodded, then headed back toward the bar.

  The captain sipped his beer and grinned. “I’ve heard good things about Captain Wilson. He’ll do good for you guys.” He hesitated. “Still, I almost wish I could ride out one more time. Feel the heat of battle one more time.”

  He sipped his beer again. “It ain’t to be, but at least I know when I retire I’ll be leaving Texas in good hands.” He raised his glass. “To you, gentlemen, and your colleagues.”

  Connolly hoisted his glass too. “And to you, Captain.”

  They all drank, and the captain slid back his chair and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll turn in. We have a lot to do in the next couple of days to get ready for the change over. Goodnight, gentlemen.”

  In one voice, Connolly and Stilson said, “‘Night, Captain.”

  Wes and Mac nodded and raised their glasses.

  Mac said, “‘Night, sir.”

  *

  Four hours later, a loud knock came on the door to his room in the Amarillo Inn. “Captain?” The knock came again. “Sorry, Captain, but we need to talk with you.” Again, the knock. “Captain? It’s Corporal Edwards and Ranger Stanton. Captain?”

  Dressed in trousers and his undershirt, socks and suspenders, the captain pulled the door open just as Corporal Edwards was about to knock again. He rubbed one hand down over his eyes and face, then blinked.

  “Sorry, I was asleep.” He blinked again. “Court? Is that Stanton with you? What time is it?”

  “Yes sir, it’s me an’ Ranger Stanton. It’s almost midnight, sir. I’m sorry about the late hour. Could we come in, sir?”

  The captain p
ulled the door farther open. “Of course. Sorry. Please, come in, both of you. What’s the matter?”

  Court walked past him. “We lost Philby.”

  Stanton followed him into the room.

  The captain’s mouth dropped open. “What?” He closed the door.

  The captain sat on the bed and gestured toward the two chairs in the room. “Please, sit. Take a breath and tell me what happened.”

  “Well, everything went okay at the fort. I mean, there was some trouble but we took care of that. I’ll fill you in on that later or tomorrow.”

  The captain waved one hand side to side. “Never mind that. The colonel wired me. I thought everything went fine.”

  “Yes sir. But on the way back, you know that wide ford up at Mr. Johnson’s place?”

  “Yes.”

  “There was a guy there. Well, actually he was east of there about a mile. He was waiting, I think. But it was mistaken identity, Captain. He called out some man’s name an’ then he charged us.”

  “What name?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Phillips or Polson or something like that. Some name that started with a P. But then he charged us, outright.”

  “There was only the one man? And he charged you by himself?”

  “Yes sir. He fired two or three times an’ one of his bullets killed Mason.”

  Stanton said, “It was the first one. His first bullet hit Ranger Philby.”

  Court looked at him and nodded. Then he looked back at the captain. “We turned on him, Captain. I winged him, I’m pretty sure, an’ then Blake here nailed him, but he was still ridin’. I think that’s when he turned hard right off the trail, when Blake got him.

  “Anyways, I wasn’t thinkin’ about where we were, I mean with the river right there an’ all. Anyways, I fired at him again an’ I think Blake fired again.” He looked at Blake. “Did you fire at him after he turned off the trail?”

  Stanton nodded. “I think so. I don’t remember though, to be honest.”

  “Well, anyways, I fired at him an’ I think Blake fired at him after he turned. Well, one or both of those bullets hit him an’ he flipped forward out of the saddle, right up over his horse’s head.

  “But then when we got close, his horse was just standin’ there. We were gonna ride around him and go get the damn guy, but it turned out his horse was right near the edge of a drop. That’s why he stopped. I’ll bet it was a good hundred feet straight down to the river.”