Assignment, p.3
Assignment, page 3
“Listen, I was thinkin’ today we’d all ride together and I’d give everyone the lay of the land. But you guys have been here for a day or two. Have you been out and looked around at all?”
Longstreet nodded. “Yeah. Rafe and I rode out west a ways and circled around. We didn’t see much, but we got a good feel for the terrain.”
Garcón, wiry and around 5’10” had a thick mop of black hair protruding from beneath his black hat. He put his hands on his hips and looked at Ringley. “Pete and I did the same thing, Corporal, only out to the east. With what you said about Sandoval most often raiding from the south, we looped through down there on our way back too. Like Quincy and Rafe, we didn’t see any people to speak of, but we’re more familiar with the area.”
Ringley nodded. “Okay. Change of plans. I think we’re all pretty used to working thin. It might be a good idea to go ahead and start showing our presence.”
Simkins said, “So looping pairs?”
Ringley shook his head. “I don’t want to send out fewer than three.” He looked around at all of them. “Everybody hear that? If two of you feel like taking a ride, be sure to find at least one more to go with you.”
They all nodded.
Ringley said, “Okay, so for today, Quincy, I want you and Ranger Elkins to loop out wide to the west again. Start to the northwest and loop back around to the south. Plan to be back by supper. And take Ranger Garcón with you.”
Garcón frowned. “But I’m—”
Ringley raised one hand to stop him. “I know you’re over from Beaumont. But for the time bein’, we’re all workin’ Brownsville. Tomorrow we’ll switch off.” He looked at Pete. “Ranger Simkins, you, me, Wes and Pinchot will ride south, then loop back east and north.”
Simkins nodded. “Sounds good.” He turned away to go saddle his horse.
Ringley looked at Quincy. “So my group’ll be in the southland this morning, and then you’ll loop through there in the late afternoon. That’s two chances to catch a glimpse of Sandoval and his bunch. And like I said, tomorrow we’ll switch off. We’ll take the west loop and you guys will take the east.”
Quincy nodded. “Done deal. And say about 6 for supper?”
Ringley said, “Yes sir, that’ll work. But stick to your route. You ain’t back by 7 we’ll come lookin’.”
Quincy looked at Budreaux Garcón and Rafe Elkins. “Well, let’s saddle up.”
*
A few minutes later, Pete Simkins led his mare out of the stable. When he was in the saddle, he, Corporal Ringley, Wes and Pinchot walked their horses to Washington, then prodded them a bit and headed east. Less than a half-mile out of town, Ringley led them due south.
About the time Ringley’s group was turning south, Longstreet, Elkins and Garcón rode away from the livery stable to the northwest.
Chapter 5
When they’d ridden for close to an hour, Corporal Ringley reined-in. Before them was a broad river. “The Rio Grande.” He pointed. “Over there’s Mexico. Those buildings you see down there are Matamoros.”
Wes stopped Charley next to him on the right.
Pinchot reined-in alongside Wes and said, “Aw, dang it.”
Wes looked around and down. “Whoa, that ain’t good.” He grinned.
Pinchot was glancing down at his own left leg. A section of mesquite branch clung to the outside of his calf. A thick thorn had gone through his jeans but was only scratching his skin.
Pinchot sidled his horse to the right a couple of steps. Just as he leaned over to pull the small branch away from his jeans, an explosion sounded.
Pinchot said, “Oh!” and fell off the saddle to the left.
His horse bolted away to the right.
Both Wes and Ringley recognized the white stream of smoke coming from a thick stand of mesquite about thirty yards away to the right front. A split second later, just after Pinchot’s horse bolted, they were leaning forward in the saddle, their revolvers in their hands, splashing through the river and charging the mesquite bosque.
At twenty yards as he exited the river, Wes fired, then cocked and fired again just as Ringley fired for the first time.
At fifteen yards they heard a loud grunt and part of the top of the mesquite seemed to shiver.
A stretched second later, Wes was off Charley, crouched in a cloud of dust and moving into the mesquite from the north. He shoved aside branches with his left arm as he went, the thorned branches whipping across his face and arms, his Colt still leveled in his right hand.
Ringley rode just past the left edge of the mesquite and dismounted in a cloud of dust that drifted away lazily to the south. A saddled, riderless horse was also headed south into Matamoros.
Ringley plunged into the brush from the southeast, listening beyond the sounds of his own progress for anyone else. Sweat left trails from the brim of his hat down over his forehead and cheeks.
Just before he broke through into a small clearing, Wes said, “It’s all right, Corporal. He’s dead.”
Ringley shoved a final branch aside and stepped into the clearing. He holstered his revolver.
There, amidst a thick patch of Russian thistle, a heavyset man with a thick black moustache lay flat on his back, his head lolled over to the left. His eyes were still open. He was wearing boots, jeans, a vest over a rose-colored shirt and a gun belt with a single Colt on his right hip. A Henry repeating carbine lay next to his outstretched right hand.
Below his back, a broad sombrero lay mostly flattened, still attached to his throat by a chin strap. Blood ringed a blackened hole just above his hairline over his left eye. The base of the back of his skull was gone, bits of it mixed with the leaves, small branches and dirt of the clearing. A thin trickle of blood had already turned tacky just below a second, grazing wound on the right side of the top of his head.
As Ringley reached for the carbine, he said, “Damn, I guess he’s dead. Must’a been bent over when your bullet took him.” He looked at Wes. “Did you see him?”
Wes shook his head. “Nah, light glinted off the barrel of his carbine.” He turned away. “I gotta go check on Pinchot.”
By the time Ringley said, “Go ahead,” Wes was halfway back to Charley. He quickly mounted, heeled Charley in the flanks as he turned him, and splashed back across the river toward Pinchot.
But it was all right. Pinchot was sitting up, holding his right upper arm with his left hand. The boy’s eyes were still wide. His hat lay upside down a few feet away. His horse was nowhere to be seen.
Probably the boy was in shock. Wes reined-in, dismounted and ran to Pinchot as the cloud of dust drifted off to the south. “You okay?”
Pinchot was grimacing, but he worked up a grin. “I’m fine. Man, I’ve never seen such a thing!”
“Yeah, it ain’t no fun gettin’ shot at. Even less gettin’ hit.”
“No, I mean the way you and Corporal Ringley went after him. You guys were sudden!”
“It’s a Ranger charge. You’ll learn.”
“Is he dead?”
Wes frowned. “Ringley ain’t. The Mex who shot you is.” He moved closer and crouched. “Let me see that.”
As Pinchot moved his right hand, something splashed through the river and then hoof beats sounded, getting louder.
Wes looked up just as Corporal Ringley flashed past several yards to the west. Then he looked down at Pinchot’s arm again. The shirt sleeve bore a rip about five inches below the shoulder. Angry red skin showed through the tear. Wes ripped it wider, then looked through, probing a little as Pinchot flinched away. “Looks like he just gave you a warnin’ shot.” Wes grinned. “Like a rattler. You know how he rattles good before he strikes?” He jabbed two spread fingers toward Pinchot’s eyes and Pinchot jerked his head back.
Pinchot grinned. “Yeah, I know.” He paused, then frowned. “Good thing I was reaching for that mesquite branch. So, we gonna bury him?”
“Well, that’s up to the corporal, but if it was up to me I’d leave that to his people. Or the coyotes and cats. Or whatever they’ve got down here.”
Pinchot nodded, then said, “Can I see him?”
“I guess.” Wes frowned. “Does it matter?”
Pinchot shrugged. “I think I ought’a see the man who tried to kill me.”
“Well, I don’t think he was tryin’ to kill you in particular. He was just tryin’ to kill anyone wearin’ a Ranger badge. But sure, you can probably see him. If you’re sure.”
Corporal Ringley came riding up from the west with Pinchot’s horse in tow. He looked down at Pinchot. “You all right?”
Pinchot nodded. “I’m good.”
Wes said, “He’s just grazed. Be sore for a day or two.” He paused. “He wants to ride over and see the guy.”
Ringley frowned. “Why?”
Pinchot said, “He tried to kill me. I wanna see him.”
“Okay. If you’re all right, mount up. We’ll get that over with and then we’ll go on with our patrol.”
Pinchot grinned and stood up. “Yes sir.” He looked around for his hat, found it, and pulled it onto his head.
Wes and he and Ringley exchanged a look.
Ringley looked at Pinchot. “You ever seen a dead man before?”
“Yes sir. My grandpa died. I found him.”
“No, I mean a shot dead man. It ain’t what you expect.”
“I’ll be all right.”
Ringley looked at Wes again, who had just settled into the saddle again on Charley. As Pinchot mounted, Ringley said, “All right. Let’s go.”
Back across the river, Wes reined-in just south of the stand of mesquite and pointed. “Right through there, a little southeast, about 10 yards.”
Pinchot frowned. “You ain’t goin’ with me?”
“No need for that.” He glanced at Ringley. “We’ll wait out here, make sure nobody else comes sneakin’ up.”
Pinchot grinned. “Ah. Right.” And he turned and went into the brush.
Ringley said, “That was a hell of a shot you made.”
“Nah. Like I said, I just saw the glint of light and fired just above it. The second shot was to make sure. Should’a hit him in the chest somewhere.”
“You probably would’ve if he hadn’t been bent over. I wonder if he was gettin’ ready to shoot again?”
“Maybe. Don’t matter, I guess. I’m just glad he didn’t.”
“Me too.”
From the mesquite bosque came the sound of retching.
Ringley said, “Well, I guess he found him.”
As Wes nodded, Ringley leaned back slightly and pulled the dead man’s Colt out from behind his gun belt. He held it up. “You want this?”
Wes shook his head. “I’ve got two. Give it to Pinchot if he wants it.” He eyed the gun. “Looks like a good’un.”
Ringley nodded absentmindedly and stuck the gun back in behind his gun belt. “The repeater was a Henry. I might keep that if you don’t want it.”
“I’m happy with my Winchester.”
“Good enough.”
Pinchot came out of the brush. He was pale. He looked up at Ringley. “You were right. It is different.”
Ringley said, “It gets easier.”
“Really?”
Wes said, “Well, seein’ ‘em never gets easier, at least not for me, but it gets easier not to look.”
Ringley nodded. “That’s it exactly.”
Chapter 6
In Amarillo, the day after Wes and Pinchot left, Mac took Slate Lawson back to the mounted range and ran him through his paces. At Chris Mendoza’s request, he and Stanton went along too. Both the newbies had run through the mounted range three times before 10 a.m. Afterward, Stanton and Mac traded places with them and ran through it themselves.
Mendoza was amazed. “How’d you guys get through it so fast?”
Stanton was still mounted, reloading his revolver. He grinned. “You’ll get quicker after you’ve been shot at a few times.”
Mac laughed. “Man, that ain’t no lie.” He looked at Mendoza. “After a while it’s almost like you and the horse are all one piece. You won’t even know if you or the horse is doin’ the shootin’.”
Stanton chuckled. “And you won’t care as long as you hit what you’re shootin’ at.”
Lawson said, “What’s it like to kill a man?”
Stanton looked at him for a moment, then shrugged. “It ain’t good.”
Mac said, “Thing is, it ain’t about killin’ the other guy. It’s about makin’ him stop shootin’ at you. If you was to miss but you blew his gun out of his hand or somethin’ and it’s layin’ over there in pieces somewhere, you’d go on after the next target.”
Lawson frowned. “Really?”
Stanton said, “Really. ‘Cause the next target’s still shootin’ at you. Or fixin’ to.”
Lawson said, “So then why do we shoot at center mass?”
Stanton sighed. “‘Cause that’s the part that’s hardest to get out of the way of a bullet. You point at a shoulder or a leg or a head and the guy moves a few inches the wrong way, you’ll miss clean.”
Mac said, “You point at the solar plexus and he moves a few inches, you’ll still hit somethin’.”
Stanton said, “And chances are he’ll stop shootin’ at you.”
Mac said, “At least long enough for you to fire again.”
Stanton said, “The point is, don’t take chances or you’ll end up dead. Always point at the biggest part. That’s the torso, from the waist up.”
Mac said, “‘Cause you can be sure that’s what the other guy’s aimin’ at.” Then he looked at Stanton. “You ready to head back?”
Stanton, his revolver loaded, stuck it in his holster and nodded. “Late dinner or early supper. Either one’s good with me.”
Mac frowned. “You reload your carbine?”
Stanton wagged one hand. “Later.”
Mac looked at Mendoza and Lawson. “You both reloaded? Completely?”
Both said, “Yes sir.”
Mendoza said, “A beer’d go down good too.”
Mac waited. Stanton was the senior Ranger by a week or so. But when Stanton didn’t respond to Mendoza, Mac said, “It’ll be mid-afternoon when we get back. We’ll swing by the HQ first. See if the captain and the others want to join us.” He looked at Stanton. “You think?”
Stanton nodded. “Sure. If the captain wanted a beer, we can have one too. Let’s go.”
*
But when they got back to Amarillo a little over an hour later, Ramón Sanchez came running out of the livery stable. He was waving his arms across his body. “Indians! Comanches came!”
Mac yelled, “When? Where?”
Sanchez stopped next to Mac’s horse. He looked at Stanton, then back at Mac. “This morning, about an hour after you rode out. From the east, I think.” He frowned. “How did they know?”
Stanton said, “Know what?”
“Crowley and the new man are gone. You four are gone. Then the Indians came.” He paused. “The captain says you are to stay in the office, all of you, and wait. He and one corporal went east. The other corporal and Stilson went northeast. They think they know where to find them. But you are to stay here. All of you.”
Mac said, “Got it.” He reined his horse around.
Stanton said, “Where you goin’?”
Mac stopped and looked back. “We should keep the horses with us until we know what’s what, right?”
“Oh. Right.” And he, Lawson and Mendez reined their horses around and followed Mac.
Mac dismounted to one side of the Amarillo Inn and whipped the reins around the hitching rail.
When Stanton stopped beside him, a question in his eyes, Mac looked up. “No reason to advertise where we are.”
“Right,” Stanton said again, and dismounted.
Lawson and Mendez did the same, and they all walked over to the headquarters.
*
The captain and Corporal Connolly came walking into the station shortly before 9 p.m.
The captain shook his head, then took off his hat and hung it on the peg above his desk. He glanced across the room. Mac, Stanton and the two new men were seated at the long table. “They didn’t come back through here, did they? The Comanches?”
Connolly walked over to the long table, pushed a chair back with his foot, and sat. Quietly, he muttered, “Damn it.”
Stanton looked at the captain. “No sir, they didn’t come back that we know of. We’ve been back since around 2 p.m.”
The captain nodded. “You men have a good showing at the range?”
“Yes sir.” Stanton paused. “And sorry we were gone so long. Mac and I decided to run through a couple of times too.” He shrugged. “Since we were already out there.”
Mac looked at Corporal Connolly. “So I guess they got away, huh? What did they do? We didn’t see any buildings burnin’.”
To Stanton, the captain said, “That’s fine. There was nothin’ you could have done back here anyway.”
Connolly said, “Apparently there was nothin’ any of us could do.” Then he nodded at Mac. Tired and disgusted, he said, “Yeah, they got away.” He paused. “Again. They didn’t set any fires. They just raided a barn on the east edge of town for grain, then rode out, pretty as you please.”
The door opened and Corporal Edwards and Jack Stilson came in.
Edwards looked at the captain. “We never saw hide nor hair of ‘em, Captain.”
The captain only shook his head.
Connolly said, “They shouldn’t be able to get away with that. Not right in broad daylight.”
The captain said, “No, they shouldn’t. Maybe if we set up a patrol in town or—”
Edwards said, “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but when? We already have our loop patrols. And this is the first time the bastards hit Amarillo since Captain Flowers was killed. Besides, patrolling the town is really the sheriff’s job. Him and his deputies.”
The captain only nodded. “You’re right.”
Connolly said, “Four Crows’ spy is obviously still in top form.”
Mac said, “I was thinkin’ that. When we rode in, Ramón Sanchez mentioned it too. He wondered how they knew to attack just now, when Wes and Pinchot are gone and right after the four of us headed out to the range.”
