Prophet's Rest Read online

  “You can’t send me out in a blizzard; a man could freeze to death out there.” Campbell retorted.

  “Personally, after all the trouble you’ve started, I don’t give a hoot in hell. I suggest you find a place to sit out the storm away from these cowboys. Otherwise, I can and will do what I said.”

  Turning his back on the man who sluggishly begun to pack his gear, Tucker raised his pistol into the air and fired. All activity stopped and hands flew to the grips of pistols.

  “Now that I have your attention,” the Ranger said in a quiet voice, “I want every one of you to do two things. First, I want this fight to stop. When you two get back to your homes, I don’t give a plug nickel what you do to each other. As long as you are within close proximity to me, you will fight only if the Farren gang should become stupid and ride into this town, and then only if I tell you to. Do you understand that? Second, this man is a troublemaker. I have ordered him to find another place to sleep until tomorrow. At first light you will gather your gear and if the blizzard has let up, ride back to Jasper.

  “Men, with all this snow, the trail has gone colder than a well digger’s ass. So, y’all are released from your duties as deputies. I will send vouchers in with Tims so the Sheriff of Jasper can get your money wired in from Austin for the time you have served, and you should get it within the month. Thank you all for the time you gave up from your other duties. The State of Texas appreciates it.”

  Nine men began packing saddle bags and checking tack for their ride back to their respective ranches or homes in Jasper. That done, each and every man in the building returned to his respective bedroll and settled in for the remainder of the night.

  With an imperceptible motion to McCarty and two others, Prophet turned and left for his own quarters. Once there, he went to the fireplace of the small cabin and swung the spit arm over the flames with a camp pot filled with water and ground coffee. One by one, three men entered and approached the fire to warm themselves.

  Ranger Lou McCarty, born in the deep woods and hollows of Mississippi, was first. Then came Ranger Terrance Wheeler, the quiet one of the group. Wheeler was from Tennessee and seldom spoke. Last, Stanley Rosenthal, a Minnesota Jew and ex-army sharpshooter that had no qualms about dispatching people to meet their maker.

  “Damn, Cap’n that prolly ended the fightin’ in there forever. Them cowboys ain’t never seen you do nuthin’ like that before,” McCarty said.

  “They will never see it again. Listen, Lou, you three men have been with me since I got my commission and have covered my ass through one scrape after another. What I want to do is ride the hell out of here and find Gunner Farren on my own. None of us are getting anywhere with this gaggle of ranch hands. What I am going to do is simple. I am packing up and leaving at first light. Boys, I have had enough of doing everything by the book. I guess that now makes me a Bounty Hunter or, put more plainly, a vigilante. If I had my way, each and every one of you could continue to ride with me. However, Terry, and you too Lou, that’s a choice I can’t ask you to make. You boys have been Rangers as long as I have and I can’t ask you to resign just because I can’t do what I have to legally. Stan, you have rode with me longest, first in the war and for years now I have asked you to volunteer your time over and over. Damn man you should have become a Ranger when I did. You’d sure as hell have commendations running out your ears by now.

  “When we get to Dodge, I’m going to send a telegram to Captain Findley resigning my commission. I will wait a day for his answer and then I will head out in search of Gunner Farren. You three will have to go it alone and I hope, if our trails cross, that I can stay out of your way. I’m not going to guarantee that I will be able to though. This has become personal and I have to do what my heart tells me is right.”

  With his plans laid on the table, he turned and went to the small hearth and, with a rag, removed the now steaming coffee pot. He filled tin cups and went to sit near the hearth, staring into the fire.

  Several minutes later the three visitors set their cups down and Terrance spoke up.

  “Captain —,”

  “Don’t call me that anymore, Terry,” he interrupted. “It’s Tucker, and that’s all I want it to be. I won’t be a Ranger after the ride to Dodge; whether we find the Farren gang or not. Boys, I’ve traipsed across five states for nearly twenty years as a Ranger, and now, I want nothing more than to find a place to homestead and settle down.”

  “Well then, Tucker may I be the first to join you. I can only speak for myself but I have come to the very same place as you have. I am tired and want to get on with whatever life I have left. Hell, Sir, I’m pushing fifty-five and it’s time. My resignation will be added to yours.” Terrance turned back to his cup and took another sip.

  All eyes were on him, for none had heard him speak more than single word answers to any question put to him. Breaking the silence, Lou McCarty spoke clearly and adamantly.

  “Sir, I am the only Ranger here with the least experience and I intend to stay with the Rangers for a while longer. I figure I will ride with you to retain some legality to this chase. I say that because I know you will find those outlaws no matter what. Besides, look at it the way I see it; I can help and want to be there when this bastard goes down.”

  “You are sure about this then?”

  “Yes sir, I am, Cap’n,” McCarty answered.

  “Well, that only leaves me and I wouldn’t pull out on you three if I were paid. Tucker, you’re my friend and I will stay the course with you, no matter how it comes out.”

  “Very well, pack up quietly. We’ll ride east to Dodge and send a telegram to Austin, letting them know of the resignations and I’m going to put in for your Captaincy Lou. You’ve earned it. We wait a day for Captain Finley’s reply, and get on with tracking down Gunner Farren. As for the men over in the barn, they can do what they want, but I suspect at first light they will ride out, snow or no snow and head back to their homes in Jasper and get back to riding fence or pushing cows.”

  “What if we have to chase this bastard clear into the mountains?” McCarty asked.

  “If that’s what it takes, so be it. Lou, my brother was killed in that stage robbery. I’ll chase Farren to hell if necessary, with or without the law behind me. If that ain’t acceptable to you, say so now.” He stared into the eyes of his old friend, his intent and determination clear to everyone in that cabin.

  “Amen,” Terry added, showing the unity of purpose they all had come to.

  * * * *

  Through the next few days of riding, the late season snowstorm diminished rapidly. The group from Texas was haggard and weary when they reached Dodge City. Their first stop was the telegraph office to file a report and inform their commander of the decisions each of them had made. With that duty out of the way, Tucker took a room for them and joined Lou and the others in the adjoining saloon.

  “You boys look like you was rode hard and put away wet. What’ll you have?” the bartender asked.

  “Whiskey all around,” Lou proclaimed.

  “That will be two dollars…where you boys from?”

  “Texas of late, Mister, ah …”

  “Perkins, Jonathan Perkins. Texas, huh? Long way from home, ain’t you? And you don’t look like drovers. First herd don’t usually get here ‘til early summer. So what brings you boys up from Texas at the tag end of winter?”

  “Mister Perkins, you sure are curious for a bartender. That’s all right as long as you don’t go getting too curious,” Lou warned.

  “Sorry, Mister. Now don’t go getting all riled up. I guess it’s been a long winter. We don’t see many travelers through the cold months.”

  “That’s all right, feller. We’ve been lookin’ for a man and his gang of cutthroats what’s wanted for murder and armed robbery down in west Texas. You ain’t seen no group fits that description passin
’ through, have you?”

  A look of disdain passed over the bartender’s face and he nodded at a man sitting alone near the back wall.

  “Billy Farren! Boys, you best talk to the sheriff over there. Farren and his band rode through a month ago. They stopped long enough to rob the General Store and kill Gertrude McAfee. Gerty wouldn’t hurt a mouse and they shot her down in the street. Y’all talk to the sheriff.”

  Perkins turned away and quietly polished shot glasses before his anger and despondency over the lady’s death overwhelmed him.

  Tucker finished his drink and walked over to the corner table. He removed his winter coat and hung it on the back of a chair facing the sheriff. He still wore his Ranger badge and it stood out on his vest.

  “You boys are Rangers? Well now, what brings you to my fair town and the fine state of Kansas?”

  “Gunner Farren, Sheriff. We’ve been on his trail for four months. I intend to take him back to stand trial for my brother’s murder.”

  “With just you four; now that’s a good one!” A chuckle swept over the sheriff. “Ranger, Farren has an even dozen of the meanest, deadliest scum ever to walk the earth with him. You tell me you’re going to take him with only three behind you. Bullshit!”

  Anger flared briefly on Tucker’s face.

  “Believe what you want, Sheriff. All I need to know is which way that group headed after they cowed you and your fair citizens.”

  The inebriated old sheriff bristled. “Boy, you better back up a step. Me and my men trailed that bastard clear to the Colorado line. I buried two friends along the way. They fought hard and true, doing their duty. So don’t be coming in here sayin’ that me and mine are cowards. If I was a bettin’ man, I’d say the way that trail was headin’, they was makin’ for Colorado Springs. They bushwhacked us as we slept like a bunch of damn yellow scum. Y’all finish your drinkin’, rest up tonight and just move on out of my town.”

  * * * *

  Luck stayed with them as they left the plains and headed onto the trails that led them deep into the mountains of central Colorado. Information garnered as they followed the Arkansas River helped them make up time and gain on the rogue gang. They lived off the land, finding more than enough game to keep them fed and fresh water in plenty.

  Riding up next to his friend, Lou McCarty grinned like a man in heaven. “Damn, Cap’n, if it weren’t for the cold, this could be a huntin’ trip like the ones I went on when I was a younker.”

  “Damn if you ain’t right as rain, Lou. I was thinking that this would be the perfect place to retire from chasing bandits and rustlers.”

  “I know what you mean, Cap’n; the war was all I knew until joinin’ you with the Rangers. I’m not sayin’ that was a bad thing, but thinkin’ back, there are a lot of things we could have done that didn’t carry so much danger with it.”

  Chapter Two

  Twenty-two year old Shannon Hill sat silently in the fork of an ancient Cedar tree on the fringe of a winter deeryard that was presently vacant. She had faced away from the resting place and was watching a heavily trodden trail in the thinning snow.

  A crunching sound alerted her to a movement just over a rise almost even with her eyes. Quietly she raised the forty-five caliber Winchester to her shoulder and waited. The first deer to top the rise was a doe, heavy with pregnancy. It continued past her into the deeryard.

  Another doe, this one a yearling, walked along the trail slowly, sniffing the air from time to time. She stopped halfway to the yard and turned to look back up the trail, clearly agitated by something.

  A young buck topped the rise and stopped, surveying everything around him. Satisfied, he moved along the trail to the young doe and lowered his head, forcing her to turn and move on.

  As the scene played out, Shannon aimed at a point a few yards in front of where the two deer were walking. She let the doe pass. Following the buck one step, then a second, she fired. The young buck leapt to his left and made a run for cover. The thinning snow revealed all manner of tangled limbs and winter debris and so impeded his movement that he collapsed after only ten yards. The other deer were alarmed by the gunshot and left the deeryard at a dead run with tails held high in warning.

  Thumbing the safety of her rifle, she placed it in the saddle sheath she packed up the tree for that purpose. She lowered the weapon to the ground and climbed down the rough bark to the trail. Slinging her backpack and rifle case over her shoulder, she took a hollowed bull’s horn from her belt and sounded two short blasts on the instrument. The temptation to start a fire and warm herself passed as she considered how productive this one location had been all winter long.

  Within minutes Caleb Baker rode in with the packhorse in tow up the slope at right angles to the trail so as to limit the exposure of human scent on this active game run. Without a word he stopped at the downed animal and field dressed the carcass, removing the heart, kidneys and liver and wrapping them in a cloth. Scavengers would have all trace of the kill removed before daybreak the next day.

  The young man and woman lifted the now lightened load across the withers of the packhorse and secured it for the trek back down the mountain. Maintaining silence for the better part of a half-mile, it was Shannon who spoke first.

  “That was the last time we can use that yard this winter. By the time we need meat again I’ll have to track the bucks past the tree line or set up near the corn field.”

  “Either would probably pay off, Shannon. The fields are weeks from planting, but I did spot doe in there last week, gleaning for corn. I bet they will be glad when they can come in for the new shoots. Let me know when you want the hunt and we can walk a half circle up and down wind to force the shot.”

  “Right! You remember what happened last time you tried that little stunt, Cal? Red is still swearing that you missed his ass by no more than an inch. If we do it, I will be downwind to take the shot!” Both began to laugh.

  “Aw, come on, Shannon. Might be fun doctoring your ass. That is, if I was good enough with a rifle to even hit a target that small.”

  “Flattery will get you more if you agree to skin and dress this buck.” Her smile was like the sun shining through the dark clouds that had moved in over the valley. “We better hurry though, looks like rain tonight.”

  “Sorry, I can’t do the skinning. Red has me bringing in the stock for shearing and I have to ride over to the cut to start the herd in. Maybe I can get him to do it for you. That way he can bring the hind quarter home and slice it in the morning for jerky.”

  “Okay, that will work just fine and I will give him the liver. I know you like that part best.” Her smile intensified at the retching sound he made over the intended jibe. It was well known that Cal hated liver of any kind.

  Following the trail down slope to the south, they both stopped as they neared the fringe of the forest. Caution was a well honed habit. It wouldn’t do to just go riding in with outlaws roaming the mountains.

  Sounding three short notes on her horn, the young pair waited for the answering reply from the homestead. None came. Both pulled rifles free and waited. They backed their horses and moved to deeper cover away from the trail.

  “Who’s that, Cal?” She pointed at a rider coming around the west side of her family’s barn.

  “I don’t recognize him. Uh oh, I think we got trouble. Look to the left; riders coming fast from the south.”

  “I see them. Let’s go, we need to get back up the mountain before they pick up our trail.”

  Suiting action to words both kicked their horses into a fast trot back up the trail. After a quarter-mile Shannon reined in and got off her stallion. Quickly cutting a hindquarter from the deer carcass, she used a fallen stick to spook the packhorse into flight away from the trail.

  Remounted, she backed her horse a few steps and walked the animal over her own footprints.<
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  “Let’s make separate trails a little further on and meet up at Pete’s old cabin near Clear Fork. You go left and I’ll swing around and ride back down a couple hundred yards and come around to join you.” Shannon took charge in a way that left no question.

  “Half circle to Pete’s. Got it. Just don’t get into a bind. I don’t know what happened down there but we need to stick together now,” Cal answered as he swung his mount off the trail and slow walked the mare to keep the thinning snow from being too disturbed.

  Shannon walked her horse a few yards further and turned back to a clearing she had spotted. Once there she turned and kicked her mount into a fast walk. As she topped a rise above the trail she dismounted and waited near a large oak tree that marked one boundary of her father’s homestead.

  * * * *

  “Why do we gotta keep tracking? Whoever sounded that horn must be clear to the other side of that valley. Damn, man, it’s getting cold and all them other boys are havin’ all the fun.”

  “Shut up, fool,” Ed replied. “Gunner said find ’em and that’s what we gonna do. You wouldn’t want Gunner on your ass, would you? ‘Sides, Lefty and the others are up on the other side, and just as cold.”

  The three men, unaware that they were being watched, came to the reverse tracks their prey had left and stopped. Blood dripping from his leg, “One Ball” Brown got down and looked the trail over and then moved to the clearing and checked the prints there.

  “This trail is a dead end, Ed,” One Ball stated as he swung back up on his newly liberated gelding. “Bet they came in from the other side. Sound echoes all around off these mountains. Lookit, this hoof print was made today sure ‘nuff, but they was no hurry in it and must’ve been made by someone out huntin’.”

  “Alright, let’s get on back. If Lefty don’t find ’em then we have to come back out tomorrow, but for now we gotta report to Gunner what we done found. He ain’t gonna be happy.”

  “Good! I surely want me a piece of that pretty gal what was hidin’ in that root cellar,” Blue said