Archive: Ultimatum & Other Stories

Episode One of Ultimatum

Reverend Nate listened to the music being performed by the church choir. They sounded good, for a collection of ranchers and homesteaders. But he admitted to himself that most of his attention was focused on the pianist, Angie Brighton. What would she think if he confessed that his interest in her went beyond planning the music for the Sunday services and Wednesday night prayer meeting?

And how would the rest of the congregation handle it? These were good people who had accepted a lot. Was he asking too much? Yet, he was a lonely man, and…

The music ended. Reverend Nate silently rebuked himself. A pastor shouldn’t spend Sunday morning agonizing over personal problems. He got up from his chair on the church platform and quickly walked to the pulpit which stood in the middle of the platform in front of the choir loft.

He smiled at the group of about seventy-five people sitting on wooden pews. He opened a large Bible to the place where he had tucked the red ribbon which served as a marker. “Our Scripture this morning comes from--”

The church’s two front doors made a banging sound as they were shoved open and an arrow flew through the small building, burrowing into the pulpit. Screams filled the air as a group of sixteen Indians entered, forming a line along each side of the church. Their leader remained standing in front of the doorway, holding the bow that had made the shot. Seven of the Indians were carrying rifles: new and shiny and pointed at the people sitting in the pews. 

Reverend Nate gestured with both hands for the congregation to remain calm. He walked to the front of the pulpit, yanked out the arrow in a defiant gesture and threw it to the floor. The clergyman then stepped off the platform and walked up the center aisle toward the leader.

The man holding a bow spoke in a mocking voice. “The white man’s God has little power. Akando can scare His people with only one arrow.”

“Akando speaks with forked tongue,” Reverend Nate fired back. “Akando does not come alone. He brings many braves, some carrying guns. Akando knows the people of the Book never carry guns in a church. A church is sacred ground.”

“Nata has learned the ways of the white man well. He has even taken a white man’s name. He has forgotten his family, who are now with their ancestors because of the white man.”

Reverend Nate breathed deeply and held in his anger. “My family was killed in a tribal war by other Indians. I was orphaned at the age of eight. A man of the Book and his wife adopted me and raised me as their son.”

“They taught you the ways of the white man.”

“They taught me the ways of all men: that violence begets violence, that those who take up the sword perish by the sword. Akando would do well to heed such wisdom.”

Akando went silent. His eyes took in the tall man who now stood a few feet behind Nata. The man was named Bret Carson. He was a U.S Marshall. Like Nata, he was unarmed and, like Nata, still dangerous.

“We have come for a purpose,” Akando abruptly proclaimed. “You will hand over to us the man you call Tully Jones.”

Despite the guns being pointed at them, a few people in the congregation laughed. Reverend Nate purposely smiled in a condescending manner before speaking. “Akando brings no honor upon his name by associating with Tully Jones. Tully is a barfly. A lazy, dishonest man.”

“You will hand over to us the man called Tully Jones,” Akando repeated. “You have until the sun is at its highest peak tomorrow. I will wait at the top of the hill East of town. If you fail, my braves will kill every person in the town of Hardin and burn the buildings.”

Bret Carson took a step forward. “Akando, as far as I am concerned you and your so called braves are nothing but a band of outlaws. You’re renegades. Your own tribes want nothing to do with you. I won’t hand over Tully or anyone else. And if you attack this town, you’ll have the U.S. Calvary to answer to.”

Now it was Akando’s turn to smile.  “The soldiers will need two days to journey here from the nearest fort. If you do not do as I say, when the soldiers arrive they will find dead bodies and ashes.”

Akando turned and walked out the door, his band of outlaws following after him. The last one to depart fired a shot, shattering a window in the side wall of the church.

Episode Two

***

 Deputy Rip Gowdy felt increasingly nervous as he continued his round. Everyone in the town of Hardin was on edge and it was easy to understand why. He slowed down his walk as he came to the church.  Angie Brighton was standing on the church’s small porch.  She was looking toward the hill east of town.

Gowdy put an index finger to his hat. “Good afternoon, Miss Brighton.”

A wave shot through the woman’s body. “Oh…Mr. Gowdy.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“My fault, Deputy. I guess I’m a bundle of nerves right now.”

As he stepped onto the porch, Gowdy observed that even when she was a bundle of nerves, Angie Brighton was a feast for a man’s eyes. She stood at about five and a half feet with blondish brown hair and green eyes.

Gowdy assumed the perfect posture needed to appear taller than Angie Brighton. He was about the same height as the young woman, and a few pounds overweight.

Angie’s eyes shifted back to the hill east of town. “Six Indians standing up there like statues,” the woman’s voice was close to a whisper. “They seem to be carefully observing everything in Hardin. I think there are three more braves sitting in the grove of trees. I wonder where the others are?”

“That’s exactly what they want you to wonder, Miss Brighton. Those Indians are tryin’ to spook the whole town.”

“Well, in my case at least, they are succeeding.” Angie gave the Deputy a weak smile. He still appreciated it. “One thing I don’t understand,” the young woman continued. “Why didn’t Akando and his men just grab Tully Jones themselves?”

“I’m afraid you gotta blame me for that.”

Angie’s eyebrows went up in a questioning look.

Gowdy explained: “Two days ago, Tully barged into Porter’s General Store and claimed he was gonna buy the place out. He started throwin’ things around and doin’ some serious damage. I had to arrest him.”

“Was he drunk?”

“Yup.”

Angie Brighton sighed, and looked back at the Indians. “Tully Jones has been in jail for the last two days. That’s why Akando can’t get to him.”

“And Tully is stayin’ in jail. For his own protection. We don’t know why Akando wants a worthless barfly like Tully. Tully says he don’t know either, but Tully Jones has never been known for honesty.”

The young woman turned and put her hand on the church door. “I’d better get inside and start practicing for the evening service. I’ll be praying for you and Marshall Carson, Mr. Gowdy.”

“Thank you, Miss Brighton!”

As he continued his round, Rip Gowdy mused that Angie Brighton was as odd as she was beautiful. The town was threatened with destruction in less than twenty-four hours. What difference did it make what the piano playing at the evening church service sounded like?

For a moment the deputy got caught up in his private musings. He didn’t notice the crowd of men gathered outside the Half Moon Saloon. “Rip Gowdy, on your way to lick the marshall’s boots?”

The words sounded like they came from a barfly. Rip was surprised when he stopped, turned, and saw that Henry Willford, the town barber, was yelling at him. Henry was surrounded by three other men. All of them could be called solid citizens. All of them had been in church that morning. Now they were standing outside of a saloon, drinking and looking eastward at the people waiting to kill them.

Episode Three

Gowdy decided to treat the insult as a joke. He smiled broadly and ambled toward the four men. “Good to see you gents.”

The men left the boardwalk and made their way into the street to meet the deputy. They stopped a few feet beyond the horses that were tied to the hitch rail. “We ain’t so happy to see you, Deputy. How come you and that marshall won’t turn over some worthless drunk to Akando? You’re allowin’ ever one in this town to be slaughtered by a bunch of savages.”

“This town has law, Henry,” Gowdy replied. “We’re not turnin’ a man over to a gang of killers.”

As Rip spoke, Henry remained in place, but his three companions formed a circle around the deputy. Gowdy heard a voice from behind him. “Well, I’ve got a gun on you right now, Rip. Maybe the marshall will let Tully Jones loose in exchange for the safe return of his deputy.”

Gowdy silently cursed himself for being so careless. Yes, he was dealing with so called respectable citizens. But these were also men driven half-insane with fear. A fear stoked by alcohol. He should have had his guard up and never allowed them to trap him like this.

The deputy spoke in a low monotone. He didn’t want to inflame emotions any higher. “You men are too smart to be actin’ like this. Now--”

“You’re the fool, Rip Gowdy!” The voice from behind him grew louder. “You and that worthless marshall.”

Henry Willford smiled but his face held terror. “We’re takin’ you over to my shop. I got an empty closet you can fill for a while, Deputy.”

Rip Gowdy stood overwhelmed by his predicament. He was being taken prisoner, in broad daylight, by a group of men who had never broken a law before in their lives. The Town of Hardin was close to exploding. If he started a fight and seriously hurt one of his captors, mayhem could break out and the good citizens of Hardin might kill each other before the Indians got a chance.

Episode Four

***

Rance Dehner was tired and looking forward to a few days rest in Hardin. He and Bret Carson hadn’t gone fishing together in over a year: time to do something about that.

As he neared the town, Dehner began to suspect that Marshall Carson might have other things on his mind beside dusting off his fishing pole. The Indians lining the top of a hill outside of Hardin were not there for a picnic.

As Rance rode into Hardin, he saw Rip Gowdy surrounded by four townsmen. One of them was holding a gun on the deputy. A small number of people were scattered over the town’s boardwalks, watching intently but doing nothing.

“This town has gone crazy,” Dehner whispered to himself.

The detective spurred his horse into a gallop toward the four men who were taking Rip Gowdy captive. All four townsmen looked at the intruder and froze with indecision.  Dehner leapt onto the gunman. The two men hit the ground.  Dehner grabbed the Colt from the tall, thin man and buoyed back onto his feet.

Rance knew nothing about the situation and handed the gun to someone who did. “Deputy, I hope I just interrupted an elaborate joke.”

“Nothing funny about this, Rance,” Gowdy’s eyes scanned his four would be captors. “Just four gents acting stupid. Very stupid.”

The four townsmen refused to look Gowdy in the eyes. The Deputy barked angrily at them. “Go home! All of ya! And stay outta saloons!”

The four men quickly dispersed. Dehner told the deputy he’d meet him at the marshall’s office after stabling his horse.

As he rode to the livery, Dehner looked around at the citizens of Hardin. Most of them were now silently gazing eastward at the strange collection of Indians standing on a hill. The detective reckoned he would not be doing much fishing on this visit.

Episode Five

***

Marshall Bret Carson tried to keep the anger from his voice. “I want you to make another round, Deputy. And be careful! Don’t take anything for granted!”

“Yes, Marshall.” Rip Gowdy’s voice was contrite. He hastily turned and left the office.

Carson sighed and ran his hand through thick black hair that was too long and bushy. The lawman hadn’t had the time to stop at Henry’s Barber Shop. Carson was a burly, large boned man who had already absorbed two gunshot wounds while serving as a U.S. Marshall. At thirty-three he seemed totally consumed by his calling.

“Rip Gowdy not working out?” Dehner asked.

Bret opened a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of sarsaparilla. He gave Dehner a crooked smile. “It’s too damned hot for coffee and I’m not allowed to drink on the job.” He yanked a cork from the bottle and took a long sip.

About a year had passed since Dehner had been in Hardin working on a case. He had established a friendship with Bret Carson and to a much lesser degree with Rip Gowdy and Reverend Nate. The rest of the people he had come to know well in Hardin were now in territorial prison.

Carson placed the bottle back in the drawer. “I don’t want to be too hard on Rip. He has his good days, but not enough of them. Right now, we can’t afford mistakes.” The lawman brought Dehner up on everything that had taken place at the church that morning.

 Dehner thought the situation over for a moment then asked, “Has there been any trouble with the tribes in this area?”

The marshall shook his head. “About a year ago there was a quick flare up. A moonshiner sold a few braves some bad whiskey. Two died of poisoning. Of course, their tribe demanded justice and I didn’t blame them. But the poisoning wasn’t intentional. Just a stupid jasper using old pipes for his still. I arrested the moonshiner. He got a long sentence. That seemed to satisfy everyone.”

“Do you have any idea why these renegades are so interested in a barfly?”

Carson rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “None. But I’m going to have another chit-chat with Mr. Tully Jones. Like to join the talk, Rance?”

“I always enjoy scintillating conversation.”

As the two men entered the jail area, Rance noticed that Tully Jones was a curious contrast. His face was that of a typical barfly: pale and glassy eyed. He had the thin, slightly emaciated look of a man who drank most of his meals. His movements as he got up from the cot in his cell and walked toward his two visitors were slow and jerky.

But he was wearing a new brown suit that would have looked appropriate on a banker. His shoes, though already appearing scuffed, were also new and matched the suit.

Tully pointed at Dehner. “Is this man here to help protect me? You’re gonna need lotsa help--”

“Take it easy Tully, we’re going to take care of you.” Carson gave his prisoner a hard stare. “Now that you’ve had some time to think it over, have you come up with any notions as to why Akando wants a pow-wow with you?”

Tully scrunched up his face and shook his head. “No! Who can ever say what goes on in the mind of that savage?”

Marshall Carson’s voice remained friendly and calm. “Those are fine duds you’re wearing.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Must have cost some money.”

“I paid for it, proper like. Ask Swanson over at his store, he’ll tell ya--”

“I’ve already talked to him. Mr. Swanson tells me he was sort of curious as to where you got the money. I’m curious too. Where’d the loot come from, Tully?”

Episode Six

“I won it at cards.”

Carson gave a loud laugh. “I knew you’d say that. Checked with some of our gambling men. You’re not a bad poker player, Tully, but you’re not a particularly good one either.”

“All it takes are a couple of lucky nights!”

The Marshall fell silent, continuing to look at Tully; finally the lawman spoke in a low voice. “What’s been going on, Tully? Why is Akando so anxious to have us turn you over to him?”

Tully Jones turned his face downward. He was a man who had reduced his life to illusions sparked by booze. But one of those illusions was greater than the rest and worth gambling with what was left of his life. Dehner saw a look of combined desperation and determination streak Tully’s face.

Tully looked directly at the Marshall. “Ain’t none o’ your business what Akando’s thinking. You gotta protect me from that savage!”

The questioning continued for a while, but it was hopeless and Brett Carson knew it. The marshall’s voice was deep and angry when he and Dehner stepped back into the office. “I used to think Tully was a harmless drunk. Harmless! He’ll allow an entire town to be ravaged and its people killed because…because… I don’t know the because!”

Dehner nodded his head in sympathy. He then stepped out of the office and did a quick survey of the town. People remained scattered about on the boardwalk, their eyes focused on the hill to the east. They appeared scared and the detective didn’t blame them. As Dehner looked at the Indians on the hill, they looked as if they hadn’t moved at all since he originally spotted them. They looked stoic and patient, waiting for the moment when they would destroy the town and everyone in it.

Dehner stepped back into the Marshall’s office wondering what he could do to prevent a massacre, or if he could do anything at all.

Episode Seven of Ultimatum

***

            The evening service at the Hardin Methodist Church was getting off to a solemn start. Despite the fine accompaniment on the piano, the singing of Amazing Grace was limp. The mind of the congregation was on the threat of killers, not the power of the Almighty.

            When the singing concluded, Reverend Nate spoke from beside the pulpit. “All of you know what happened in this church this morning and the challenge that faces us as a town. Tonight’s service will be devoted entirely to worship through singing and prayer. To start our time of prayer--”

            A middle-aged man stood up and began to speak loudly. “Reverent, I got something to say!”

            Rance Dehner was sitting with Bret Carson in a front pew. Looking backward, the detective recognized the man who had interrupted the service. It was Henry Willford, the barber and one of the men who had tried to abduct Deputy Rip Gowdy.

            Willford looked pale and his hands were shaking but his voice boomed with anger. “A lot of us have been talkin’ together, Reverent!”

            Reverend Nate smiled in an almost mischievous manner. “That’s good, Henry. I always encourage fellowship in the congregation. What was the result of this conversation you had with ‘a lot of us’?”

            The pastor’s humor was lost on Henry, whose voice remained angry. “Reverent, we think you should go talk to Akando.”

            “And what should I say to him?”

            “Beg Akando to give us more time! Tell him that this town is at the mercy of a fool lawman. But we’ll get that drunkard away from the marshall and turn him over. You’re one of his people! Akando will listen to you, you can even talk injun, so get out to that hill--”

            “Sit down, Henry. You have spoken your piece.”

            “That savage might listen to you, Reverent--”

            “Sit down, Henry!”

            Henry Willford sat down. Reverend Nate’s eyes flashed anger. He took a deep breath before speaking. “A house divided against itself cannot stand. Those words were spoken by Jesus and echoed by Abraham Lincoln. We must never surrender to evil. We must stand firmly behind Marshall Carson against this band of killers. And that’s what they are, vicious killers.”

            A large boned woman stood up and yelled in a shrill voice. “But they’re injuns! And you’re an injun. They’ll listen to you. This town has been good to you, Reverend Nate. It’s high time you repaid us!”

            A loud explosion filled the small church. A rash of startled cries was followed by a shout of, “That was the piano!”

            Angie Brighton stood up at the piano whose keys she had just pounded. She shot an intimidating look at the woman with the shrill voice, who immediately sat down. Angie then glared at the rest of the congregation. “It’s bad enough you are all behaving like despicable cowards! But you expect our pastor to crawl like a worm too. Reverend Nate owes us nothing but to proclaim the truth. And he just did tell you the truth as he spoke the truth to Akando this morning. It is the truth that will set us free, not a lot of sniveling nonsense.” 

            A quiet fell over the church. Reverend Nate looked at the pianist. His smile was one of gratitude.

            He turned back to the congregation. “I think we’re ready to pray now.”

Episode Eight

***

            After the service was over, people remained at the church, clustering together in groups. Many went outside to gaze upward at the Indians who made a terrifying silhouette against a moonlit night.

            Rance Dehner and Bret Carson remained inside where they huddled in a corner with Reverend Nate. “I’m glad you’re here, Rance,” the pastor said. “The Lord has brought you to our town to help in this moment of crisis.”

            “If that’s true, you may not be very happy with the Lord,” Dehner replied. “I need your help tonight.”

            The pastor didn’t hesitate. “What can I do?”

            “I need to spy on some Indians. Meet me in about an hour at the marshall’s office.”

            Nate’s face turned grim but he nodded his head. As Dehner began to leave the church along with Bret Carson, he noticed that the grim expression soon vanished from Reverend Nate’s countenance. The pastor was approached by Angie Brighton.

            “Reverend Nate, I apologize for my outburst. I’m afraid I lost my temper.”

            “No apology is necessary Miss Brighton, you…”

            As he stepped outside of the church, Dehner could no longer hear the conversation. He smiled inwardly and reckoned it was none of his business anyway.

***

             Marshall Bret Carson put his hand down after swearing in two part time deputies. His face reflected worry. “This is a dangerous plan, and your notion may be wrong, Rance. Maybe I should ride along.”

            Dehner shook his head. “Hardin is a town on edge. You can’t leave the place to Rip Gowdy. You’ve said yourself that he often falls down on the job.”

            Dehner was right but the marshall hated to admit it. After a few moments of silence, Carson shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “Be careful. Especially you, Rance. You haven’t had much experience dealing with Indians.”

            “Not so, Marshall. I once spied on a band of Apaches who were planning to attack a Cavalry regiment.” Dehner gave the Marshall a two finger salute as he and Reverend Nate left the office.

            Outside, the detective and the preacher began to untie their horses from the hitch rail. “I didn’t know you outsmarted a band of Apaches, Rance.”

            “Didn’t say I outsmarted them,” Rance spoke in a low, conspiratorial voice.  “They caught me. Good thing that Cavalry regiment was near by.”

Episode Nine

Both men guffawed as they mounted up and rode out of town. They hadn’t gone far when Dehner spoke to his companion. “Bret told me you were adopted by a preacher and his wife when you were eight. Did you have much contact with Indians after that?”

            “Yes,” Nate replied quickly. “My parents did a lot of work with the tribes in this area, or as much as they could. My folks were very devout people who wanted to convert the Indians to Christianity.”

            “How did that go?”

            “They got a few converts. Not too many. But my parents also wanted me to understand where I came from. They didn’t want to cut me off from my heritage. I grew up knowing many of the Indians in this area. Still know a lot of them.”

            The two men became silent; they were starting to draw near the hill where the Indians were camped out. Dehner suddenly pulled up his horse and whispered, “Looks like someone has the same idea we do.”

            Both men watched in the moonlight as a rider started up the hill. He was riding fast and didn’t look in their direction. “I take back what I said,” Rance continued to whisper. “That man is no spy. He’s either expected or he knows Akando.”

            “He’s not an Indian,” Nate also whispered. “His horse has a saddle.”

            The newcomer was easy to follow. He obviously didn’t care if the hoofbeats of his horse were loud. Dehner and Reverend Nate rode quietly up the hill behind him. When the hoofbeats stopped, the two men dismounted, tied up their horses, and began to proceed on foot. There were enough trees to provide both good cover and an array of twigs on the ground which, if stepped on, could snap and betray their presence.

            Both men stopped and hid behind two separate trees as they got in range of a loud voice. The person talking was obviously not Akando and was obviously angry. “I don’t give a hoot ‘bout no big plans.  A deal is a deal and ya better do what ya said ya was gonna do, injun!”

Episode Ten

Akando did not shout. His words couldn’t be heard. But Dehner guessed from the tone of his voice that Akando was trying to appease the angry white man. The loud voice again sounded, “Ya better git to it, quick!”

            Again, loud hoofbeats sounded on the hill. Dehner and Reverend Nate both made sure their cover shielded them from the rider. But the caution wasn’t necessary. The rider didn’t look around. He didn’t look back either. The man was apparently confident that no Indians would come after him in retaliation for his angry words.

            The man, whoever he was, held power over Akando and his bunch. Dehner wondered what it might be, but he didn’t have time to give it much thought. Reverend Nate signaled with his hands that he was going to move in closer to the Indians at the top of the hill. Rance nodded and pulled out his Colt .45, indicating he was ready in case there was trouble.

            Nate advanced stealthily up the hill, vanishing into the shadows of the trees. When he returned about fifteen minutes later, Dehner could tell his friend was excited. Once again, hoofbeats could be heard on the hill; this time they came from the other side. And this time they were quiet. The people in Hardin would not be able to hear them.

            Nate signaled for Dehner to follow him. They returned to their horses, mounted and rode down the hill. When they reached the bottom, the pastor quickly explained what had happened.  “Akando has ordered five of his braves to a nearby house. They are being led by Sahale.”

            “Know anything about Sahale?”

            Reverend Nate grimaced. “He was violent and dangerous as a boy. He has become even worse with manhood.”

            “Why are they going to this house?”

            “Don’t know. Couldn’t hear that well. But I could tell from the tone of their voices that it is no social call. I know the direction they are heading. We’d better follow them.”

            The two men began to trail the Indians, wondering about the strange visitor whose demands Akando seemed willing to appease.

Episode Eleven

***

            Dehner and Reverend Nate stood at the top of a small hill that formed a horseshoe around a cabin. Both men were carrying Winchesters and looked down on the front of the cabin. The detective and the pastor watched as the five Indians rode up to the dilapidated wooden structure. Dehner peered through his field glasses. “The folks who live down there are operating a still. Could Sahale and four other braves have come out here just to buy a jug of tanglefoot?” 

            The pastor shrugged his shoulders and looked confused. “Nothing here makes any sense to me.”

            “This much we know,” Dehner spoke quickly. “We’ve got five of the people who are threatening to destroy Hardin and kill everyone who lives in it, bunched up together. I’m going to the other side of the hill. We’ll try to arrest them. If that doesn’t work…”

            Nate nodded his head. He understood.

            Dehner moved quickly as he watched the brave whom Reverend Nate had pointed out as Sahale walked toward the cabin door. Sahale knocked and the door immediately opened. The approaching horses had awakened whoever was inside. There was a brief conversation, then Sahale began to walk back to his horse. He was carrying a jug. Dehner had seen no sign of money being exchanged. No surprise. Being awakened in the middle of the night by five Indians just might make a moonshiner inclined to hand out free samples.

            Sahale mounted his horse and began to drink from the jug. He nodded toward two of the other braves. A spark suddenly glowed in the hand of one of those two braves.

            Dehner laughed inwardly. “Talk about white man’s ways,” he whispered to himself. “Those guys are using match sticks.”

            The detective’s amusement was short lived. The brave next to the one with the lighted match was preparing his weaponry. He was going to send a flaming arrow into the cabin.

Episode Twelve

Dehner stood up and shouted. “All of you are under arrest. Throw down your weapons and put your hands up!”

            A brave immediately beside Sahale lifted his rifle. Dehner’s first shot knocked him off his horse; the man yelled in pain as he hit the ground. Sahale threw away his jug and slid off his horse.  He grabbed the Henry from his fallen comrade. Sahale’s first shot missed. Dehner returned fire and also missed.

            Sahale ran toward the cabin, motioning for the other braves to join him. The cabin would provide shelter and hostages. Rance levered the Winchester and was ready when one of the braves fired in his direction. Dehner aimed carefully and brought the shooter down.

            Reverend Nate provided the shot that ended the gunfight. He hit Sahale, who tumbled to the ground before reaching the porch of the cabin. With three of their companions now down, the remaining two Braves stopped and raised their hands.

            Dehner shouted to the two Indians to remain still, then quickly looked all around the hillside. “I’m going down first, I want the rest of you men to cover me.”

            As he moved down the hill, Dehner spotted Reverend Nate. He couldn’t be sure but he thought the pastor was stifling a laugh.

***

            Sahale was dead. The two Indians Dehner had shot were wounded but they could ride. Rance and the pastor had tied the hands of the two others behind their backs. Dehner and Reverend Nate knew they needed to return to Hardin, but there was business that required immediate attention. Both men kept an eye on the four Indians, who were sitting in front of the cabin. The detective and the clergyman were standing on the large porch of the cabin they had just saved from being burned down.

            Standing beside them were Ferlin and Irma Barstow. Ferlin was tall but stoop shouldered with only a modest scattering of teeth in his mouth. Gray had overwhelmed most of his once black hair and his forehead seemed to be growing upward. Irma was a bit shorter than her husband with gray hair, a long neck and a flat, broad face.

            The shooting that had just taken place made both Barstows mildly irritated, as if clouds were threatening a picnic. Ferlin’s voice sounded pious as he talked to Rance and Nate. “Ya can ask the Marshall. He tole me it was okay ta sell tanglefoot as long as I don’t git too big for my britches. Been sellin’ here for ten years or more and none of it never killed no one.”

            “That is encouraging,” Reverend Nate said.      

            “Ferlin never took to farmin’,” Irma added.

            “Pap tole me farmin’ was the best way to go,” Ferlin sounded as if he were still angry with his father for giving bad advice. “He said a farmer is workin’ for the good Lord. Well, I’ll tell ya, the good Lord ain’t always such a good boss. You plant and sometimes the stuff grows and sometimes it don’t. Ya got no problems like that with makin’ tanglefoot. It comes out good all the time.” 

            “That does raise some significant theological issues,” Reverend Nate seemed to be enjoying himself.

            Dehner needed to move the conversation onto a more pragmatic track. “Do you ever sell moonshine to the Indians?”

Episode Thirteen

“A mite,” Ferlin answered. The injuns hunt ‘round here some. They’re not supposed ta, but it don’t bother nobody none. Huntin’ can give a man a thirst. Now and agin an injun or two will stop by.”

            Rance fell silent for a moment as his mind scrambled with a variety of notions. The detective then spoke abruptly as if an idea had just occurred to him. “Do you folks know Tully Jones?”

            “That fool!” Irma spoke with contempt. “Tully and his big dreams. He comes ‘round her sometimes with one of his nutty schemes.”

            “When was the last time you saw him?” Dehner asked quickly.

            “Oh…maybe a year…no…probably not that long. He stopped by here tryin’ to pull us into one of his crazy plans.”

            Dehner tried not to sound anxious. “What was this crazy plan all about, Mrs.Barstow?”

            “I didn’t pay him no never mind, can’t remember much. Some injuns had died from bad tanglefoot. Tully thought he could make money off that somehows.”

            “I remember!” Ferlin shouted. “He was gonna set him up a business with the injuns. Sell them tanglefoot that he’d promise was good.”

            Irma began to laugh. “Tully can’t lace his boots right. We wouldn’t go into no business with him.”

            “What happened when you turned him down?” Dehner asked.

            Ferlin joined in his wife’s laugher. “He got madder than a rabid dog. Said if we didn’t want to get rich, he’d go to the Macklin brothers. They live on the other side of Hardin.”

            Now it was Reverend Nate’s turn to shout. “Of course! The Macklins!”

            “You know them?” Rance asked.

            Nate gave a whimsical laugh. “Not really, but I’ve seen and heard them around town.” He paused for a moment. “I’m sure that was the voice of one of the Macklins I heard tonight while spying on Akando and his braves.”

            “The man who was making all those demands on Akando was a moonshiner.” Dehner’s voice was toneless. He wasn’t asking a question.

            “I’m sure of it!” The clergyman responded. “The Macklins are named Lester and Karl. I don’t know which one it was--”

            “We need to get back to Hardin,” Dehner interrupted. He took a coin from his pocket and handed it to Ferlin.

            The moonshiner’s eyes went bright. “How many jugs ya want?”

            The detective smiled and shook his head. “None. That is for the information and I do have a favor to ask.”

            “Sure.”

            Dehner nodded towards Sahale’s corpse which was lying in the front yard. “Would you bury the body?”

            “No trouble attall,” Ferlin spoke in a neighborly fashion.  “I’ll plant him in the back. He might make them bushes grow a few more berries. Only there won’t be no marker or nothin’ like that.”

            “Ferlin and me never took much to readin’ and writin’,” Irma said.

Episode Fourteen

***

            Marshall Bret Carson paced about his office. “Are you sure about all this, Rance?”

            “Well…yes…I haven’t got it all nailed down yet, but I’m getting there.” Dehner assessed the three men who were with him in the Marshall’s office. Bret Carson looked confused and skeptical. Deputy Rip Gowdy looked hostile. Reverend Nate seemed to be the only true believer in Dehner’s theory.

            “Rance, I’m no detective like you,” the marshall stopped pacing and stood still. “Just a plain lawdog. Could you go over all this again for me?”

            “Sure.” Now Dehner began to pace. “About nine months back, some braves died from drinking bad moonshine. The stuff came from a moonshiner who didn’t know or care what he was doing.”

            Rip Gowdy still looked hostile. “So?” 

            “Akando saw a way to make money. He wanted to buy guns for himself and his fellow thugs. He and his bunch may be renegades, but they still had friends in the various tribes. Akando provided them with safe tanglefoot. Stuff the friends could drink themselves, as well as sell to other members of the tribe. Akando did all this for a price, of course.”

            “The Macklin brothers were his source,” Carson was reviewing facts.

            “Right.”

            “But where does Tully Jones come in?” Gowdy sounded more than skeptical.

            “Indians paying regular visits to a moonshiner would draw attention. They needed a middle man. Tully was perfect for the job.”

            Bret Carson seemed to be accepting Dehner’s theory.  “But something went wrong between Tully and the renegades.”

            “Renegades are like any other band of outlaws,” Dehner stopped pacing. “There are usually some in the gang who want to take over as leader. Akando had made enough money to arm about half of his outlaws with rifles. He was probably stuffing away cash to buy guns for the rest. He needs to keep his thugs happy and remain the top man.”

            Gowdy appeared exasperated. “I still don’t see where Tully fits in.”

            Dehner pushed his hat back and scratched the front of his head. “I think Tully stole the money Akando had collected to buy guns.”

            “Akando would have been humiliated to be outfoxed by a petty thief like Tully,” there wasn’t a trace of doubt in Nate’s voice. “He needed to act quickly and decisively not to lose the respect of his braves.”

            Gowdy remained doubtful. “Why did one of the Macklins ride up the hill to see Akando last night?”

            “Part of the deal with the Macklins probably involved Akando eliminating any competition the Macklins might have,” Rance speculated.  “My guess is that some Indians became unhappy with the tanglefoot the Macklins were providing and threatened to switch their patronage to the Barstows. That angered the Macklin brothers and they demanded immediate action.”

            “That makes sense,” Carson said, and then fell silent for a few moments. When he spoke again, he changed the subject. “Tully will never tell us where he hid that money.”

            “No, but he can still help us.”

            “What do you mean, Rance?” The marshall asked.

            “I have a plan, but it is dangerous.”

            Marshall Bret Carson walked to the front door of his office and opened it. Sunshine hit his entire body and streamed into the room. “There are eleven of them left. In less than four hours they will attack this town and try to burn it down. They will kill everyone they can. I’m ready to try something dangerous.”

Episode Fifteen

***

            Rance Dehner and Reverend Nate rode fresh horses from the livery to the Marshall’s office. They were also leading three horses. The marshall and his deputy would both need a fresh horse, as would Tully Jones.

            The hostler at the livery had immediately pointed out the barfly’s horse and saddle. “Old Tully’s saddle is easy to find, it being the only one with a jug tied to it.”

            Reverend Nate was a bit surprised by Tully’s buckskin. “A fine animal. I would have thought Tully Jones would be riding crow bait. Maybe he’s already spent some of the money he stole from Akando. I know he’s already bought some fancy clothes.” 

            “We can take it up with him later,” Dehner replied. “Today, he’ll be needing a good horse.”

            When the detective and pastor arrived at the Marshall’s office, they tied the horses to the hitch rail and briskly walked inside. Bret Carson had finished readying two Winchesters.

            “Did you get the men you needed, Bret?” Dehner asked.

            “Yup. Gowdy rounded  up all six of them. Good shots who have helped me in the past. But they stopped here before riding out to the Macklins’ place. They wanted to make sure Deputy Gowdy gave them the right instructions.”

            The three men were chortling over that when Rip Gowdy entered the office. “I got everything took care of--”

            “I know, Rip,” Carson sounded a bit embarrassed. He handed his deputy a set of keys. “You get to bring in the star of the show.”

            When Rip reappeared with Tully Jones, the barfly’s eyes looked desperate. He was a man who had spent much of his life as a small time crook and occasional beggar. He viewed everyone as a potential mark. But jail and separation from the one thing he loved had drained him of what little cleverness he had left.

            “Marshall, I gotta have a drink, please--”

            “How many times have I told you, Tully—no!”

            “Please, you must keep a bottle in your desk drawer.”

            Carson pointed a finger at the barfly. “Tully, for once you’re going to do something decent with your life.”

            Doing something decent didn’t seem all that attractive to Tully. His eyes went from desperation to fear. “Whaddya mean?”

            “You are riding out with me, my deputy, Reverend Nate and Mr. Dehner to the Macklin place.”

            Tully’s body began to shake. “Why?”

            “Because Akando and his band of thugs will think you have agreed to tell us where the money you stole from Akando is hidden. They will follow us. When they realize we are heading for the Macklin place they will be totally convinced. It makes sense that you would bury the loot somewhere in an area you know so well.”

            Tully Jones’ voice was a high squeak. “When they find out different they’ll kill us.”

Episode Sixteen

          The marshal pressed on. “I have six good men hiding out around the Macklin place. We are leading the Indians into a trap. They will be given a chance to surrender. If they choose to fight, they will lose.”

            “What ‘bout the Macklins?”

            “They will be tied up by the time we arrive. Don’t worry, Tully, Mr. Dehner here has thought of everything.”

            Dehner stared at the barfly. “Of course, we could come up with another plan real quick if you were to tell us where you hid the money we know you stole from Akando.”

            Tully Jones looked at the floor. The wooden planks seemed to inspire in him a new sense of hope. He shook his head.

            The marshal’s voice was a growl. “Have it your way, Mr. Jones. Let’s ride.”

            As the group left the office, they all took a final glance at the hill east of town. “If consistency were a virtue, Akando would be a virtuous man,” Reverend Nate spoke wistfully. “He still has six braves standing on that hill, looking like statues.”

            “Those statues will be moving quick,” Dehner added. “The moment they see us leaving town with Tully, they’ll be on our trail.” 

            The men mounted up and a barrier was formed around the prisoner. Bret Carson led the group with Tully Jones riding behind him. Dehner and Reverend Nate positioned themselves on each side of Tully and Rip Gowdy rode directly behind him.

            As the strange group began to ride out of town, Dehner kept an eye on Tully. The barfly looked terrified. He caressed the jug that was tied to his saddle but didn’t try to uncork it.

            Rance began to feel uneasy within a half hour after the group had left Hardin. He shouted past the prisoner. “Take a look back, Nate.”

            Reverend Nate glanced backwards and smiled. “You’re plan is working, Rance. We’re being followed.”

            “We’re being followed. I’m not so sure the plan is working.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “There are eleven Indians. The dust cloud behind us is much too small for eleven braves.”

            This time, the two lawmen joined Reverend Nate in glancing backwards. “You’re right,” Bret Carson said. “And I don’t see any other dust clouds. Where do you suppose Akando’s other men are, Rance?”

            “I don’t know,” Rance Dehner said. “I don’t know.”

Episode Seventeen

          The group rode up the back of the horseshoe shaped hill that surrounded the Macklin place and then rode single file down a narrow trail toward the cabin. “As soon as we get to the bottom, Tully will go into the cabin. One of our men is posted there.”

            Dehner wasn’t surprised by his friend’s statement. Bret Carson was a fine lawman who saw it as part of his duty to keep a prisoner safe.

            Thick lines of trees stood behind the cabin. A rustling sound came from those trees, as if a breeze were knifing through them. But there wasn’t even a hint of a breeze in the air.

            As the riders neared the flat ground, Dehner spotted a figure staggering from out of the pines. The man stopped and pressed both hands against his head as if he were holding it together. He then began to move toward the riders, fighting each step to maintain balance and stay on his feet. As the figure passed the cabin, Dehner could see that he was seriously wounded. He was also waving his arms back and forth in a frantic gesture.

            “That’s Paul Edwards,” the marshal said. “He’s one of the men I have stationed out here.”

            Edwards dropped his arms. He seemed to be dizzy and confused. He stumbled sideways and collapsed, several yards in front of the cabin.

            Bret Carson, Deputy Gowdy, and Rance dismounted immediately and ran toward the wounded man. Reverend Nate slid off his horse and waited for Tully Jones to do the same. He walked beside Jones as they joined their companions, who were huddled around the wounded man.  

            “Paul, Paul,” the marshal was crouched over his friend who was bleeding in several places. Carson’s first instinct had been to lift Paul Edwards into a sitting position but the man appeared far too seriously wounded for that.

            “Can you hear me, Paul? It’s Bret.”

            Paul Edwards’ eyes had been open, but he suddenly appeared to be seeing the people around him for the first time, as if returning to consciousness. “Bret. It’s a trap. We were ambushed. The rest…dead. They thought I was…I held on, wanted to warn…” Paul Edwards closed his eyes. He wouldn’t open them again. 

            Running footsteps sounded before Paul Edwards died. Dehner turned around in time to see Rip Gowdy running into the cabin. A shot fired from the cabin window, missing Dehner by inches. The detective returned fire. A loud screech of pain followed.

            War cries came from the surrounding hills, followed by gunshots and a fast stream of flying  arrows. Dehner and his three companions hit the ground. Bret drew his six gun and fired at the attackers on the hill. “Paul was right,” he shouted. “We’ve got the Macklins behind us and the renegades on the hill. We’ve ridden into an ambush.”

Episode Eighteen

“Rip Gowdy betrayed us!” The marshal spoke as he also fired at the attackers on the hill. “He murdered six fine men. Men who trusted him, like we did.”

            The horses had taken off, but not gone far. They were grazing behind the cabin. From the corner of his eye, Dehner saw the look of panic in the eyes of Tully Jones as he watched his buckskin hurry away, the jug almost coming loose from the horse’s saddle. A look of relief came over Tully’s face as his horse and jug halted safely near the other horses.

            Dehner suddenly understood. He spoke hastily to Reverend Nate and Brett Carson. “Give me the best cover you can. I’m going back to the horses.”

            “We’ll need our rifles!” Nate shouted as he fired his .44 toward the hill while glancing backward at the cabin.

            “Maybe I can do better than that!” Dehner jumped to his feet, stooped into a jackknife position, and ran for the back of the cabin. He grabbed Tully’s jug from the saddle of the buckskin and rifles from the remaining three horses. He could hear the gunfire stop and Akando’s voice thunder. “You will hand over to us the man you call Tully Jones!” 

            “Of course,” Dehner whispered to himself. “That’s why their shots were so wide. They didn’t want to kill Tully.”

            Dehner walked from the back of the cabin toward his three companions who were still lying on the ground. Tully was between Reverend Nate and the marshal. The detective held up the jug and yelled toward the hill. “I have something here that might interest you, Akando!”

            “You will hand over to us the man you call Tully Jones!” Akando repeated.

            “Why bother with Tully?” Rance yelled back good naturedly. He dropped the three rifles and kept walking until he was even with the other three men who were watching him curiously from the ground. “Look what I have for you here!”

            Dehner smashed the jug on a stone. Paper money scattered about with the broken shards from the jug. Akando signaled his braves who began to advance down the hill. Rance quickly took a match stick from his pocket, lit it with one hand, and picked up the money with another. “Stop Akando, or I’ll burn the money!”

Episode Nineteen

Akando stopped and held up his hands for his men to do likewise. Several moments of uneasy silence followed, during which Nate and Bret Carson got to their feet and took out match sticks. Akando finally lowered the Winchester he was holding and shouted, “We will talk!”

            Rance’s smile was almost benign. “I thought you might be in the mood for a bit of conversation.”

            Akando called out the name , “Enyeto.” Enyeto also lowered his rifle. The two Indians walked cautiously down the hill. As they did, Rance handed the money to Bret Carson. “Keep them talking as long as you can.”

            Both the marshal and Reverend Nate nodded their heads. Dehner spoke in a loud voice as the two Indians arrived. “You can talk with Brett and Reverend Nate. I’m checking Tully’s saddle bags. There might be more money there.”

            Rance headed toward the back of the cabin. At the side, he paused and drew his .45. He again assumed a jackknife position as he cautiously stepped onto the cabin’s porch. Luck was with him. The cabin had only one side window and it was located at the other side of the door.

            The detective glanced at the powwow going on several yards in front of him. Reverend Nate and Bret Carson were talking intently with Akando. Nate had picked up one of the rifles and held it in one arm pointed toward the ground. His other hand still contained a matchstick, which, at the moment, was the weapon his opponents feared the most. The Indian who had accompanied Akando was standing behind him and far to his left side. Enyeto was a guard, not really a participant. Tully wasn’t participating either. He was still lying on the ground with his hands covering his head.

            Of course, all the Indians could see Dehner. That fact didn’t bother the detective. The Indians now cared nothing about the people in the cabin. Their only concern was the money which Bret Carson held in his hands along with another threatening match stick.

            Rance advanced slowly toward the front door. He didn’t want a loose board to betray him. He paused briefly at the door, then barged inside.

Episode Twenty:

       A double barreled shotgun pointed at him. Dehner hit the floor and fired. One of the Macklin brothers went down. Dehner turned toward the sound of advancing footsteps. Rip Gowdy was almost standing over him, gun in hand. Dehner kicked the crooked lawman’s ankle. Gowdy yelled, stumbled and fell to the floor, firing a bullet into the ceiling. Dehner buoyed to his feet grabbed the Deputy’s six gun and stuck it in his belt.

            The detective quickly surveyed the area. Both Macklin brothers were lying on the floor. One of them had obviously been felled by Dehner’s earlier shot when he returned fire. The Macklin that Dehner had just shot was moaning loudly. The other lay quiet. The detective didn’t know if he was alive or not and didn’t have time to find out. He grabbed the shotgun, the rifle, and a Remington pistol that were on the floor and tossed them out the door along with Gowdy’s six gun.

            “Okay, deputy,” Dehner poured sarcasm on the word “deputy.” “You and I are stepping outside. One false move and I’ll kill you just like you butchered Paul Edwards and those other five men.

            “The Injuns did that!”

            “Yeah. I bet when the bullets get dug out of the bodies, we’ll find that they all came from  a .44, like the one you carry and maybe a few from the Remington you probably borrowed from the moonshiners. I’ll bet all of those men were shot in the back, except maybe the few who had time to turn around before you ambushed them.”

            Gowdy said nothing.

            “Outside, now!” Dehner ordered.

            As the two men stepped out of the cabin, Dehner saw that the remaining nine of the Indians had advanced half way down the hill. The conversation with Akando, Reverend Nate and Bret Carson seemed to be getting increasingly hostile.

            Dehner yelled in a loud, mocking voice. “Hey Akando, I’ve got your boss. He may have some new instructions for you!”

             Akando’s guard, Enyeto, looked both curious and interested. From what Dehner could tell, so did the rest of the Indians a little further up the hill.

            The detective pushed his reluctant prisoner forward and continued to talk. “Yeah, this man, Rip Gowdy, has been the boss all along. Gowdy knew when Marshal Carson was busy with his duties and gave orders to Akando about moving the moonshine, using Tully as a go-between. That’s why only some of Akando’s braves have rifles. This crooked lawman took most of the money, while the Indians did all his dirty work.”

            Enyeto angrily yelled something at Akando in a language Dehner didn’t understand. Akando replied in kind. Rance saw Reverend Nate’s body react as if a shock had passed through it. The pastor knew something bad was about to happen.

            Enyeto raised his rifle and sent a red flame into Akando, knocking him onto the ground where his body began to convulse. As Enyeto turned toward Gowdy, Reverend Nate fired. Enyeto threw his rifle into the air as he collapsed. The gun twirled upward, then came down, landing on Enyeto’s corpse.

            Reverend Nate turned to the Indians on the hill and shouted something to them in their own language. For a few moments the Indians did nothing, then they quietly returned to their horses and rode off.

            The clergyman remained silent until the Indians had gone. By that time, Carson had handcuffed Rip Gowdy and Tully Jones was on his feet. “There are only nine of them now,” Nate said. “And we have two of their rifles. They have become a pretty sad bunch.”

            “What do you think they’ll do next?” Dehner asked.

            “Many will try to return to their tribes,” Nate replied. “For most of them, that will work out all right. Others will become outlaws. You’ll probably meet up with them again, Rance.”

Episode Twenty-One

Marshal Bret Carson surveyed the gruesome landscape. He had a deputy who had turned out to be a crook and a killer. Rip Gowdy was now sitting on the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back. Tully Jones was standing around, seemingly staring at something inside his mind. There were two bodies to bury and another six to take into town, where the marshal would have to inform their families that they had died while serving as his volunteer deputies. He hadn’t looked inside the cabin yet.

            Still, Carson’s lawman instincts remained strong. There were questions he had to ask. “Rance, how did you figure Tully had hid the money in his jug?”

            Dehner gave his friend a crooked smile. “Tully was begging for a drink back at the office before he left. But he never even uncorked the jug. Those facts came to me when I saw the panicked expression on Tully’s face, when he thought his horse had galloped off with the jug.”

            Carson nodded his head then looked with scorn at the man sitting on the ground. “How did you figure out Gowdy was such a snake?”

            “The six men had experience as volunteer deputies. They would be on their guard with the Indians and the moonshiners, but wouldn’t think anything of turning their backs on a deputy. And Edwards’ wounds were from a six gun, not rifles.”

            The marshal nodded his head solemnly. “I guess Tully had the deputy in a trap. Gowdy couldn’t demand that he tell him where the money was hid. Tully could spill the beans, but good.”

            The three men were quiet for a moment. There was a lot of unpleasant work ahead for them and they needed a pause before they began.

            “Oh, by the way, Rance, there is something I forgot to mention,” Carson sounded embarrassed.

            “Yes.”

            “Before you got to the office this afternoon, Stu Parks stopped by. He runs the telegraph office.”

            “Uh,oh.”

            “I’m afraid there’s a message for you. Looks like your vacation is over.”

            “Some vacation!” Reverend Nate said.

            Marshal Bret Carson took off his hat and wiped his forehead. Yeah. But I gotta admit, I’m mighty glad Rance Dehner came to town to do some fishing.”

Episode One of One Arm Lightning

Nobody paid much attention when Blake Oliver barged through the bat wing doors of the Shooting Star Saloon. After all, Blake stopped by on most nights after closing down his general store. The perspiration that dampened Blake’s receding hairline was not immediately apparent to the other patrons.

Blake headed directly to the bar. Stanley Wiggins, the barkeep, gave him a smile. “The usual?”

“There’s nothin’ usual about this night, Stanley. Wes Torveen is in town.”

The smile vanished from the barkeep’s face. “Who told you that?”

“Francine Cummings. She’s good friends with Wes’ sister.”

The usual noise and activities continued at the Shooting Star. Men were gambling, buying drinks for the saloon girls, enjoying the artificial joy induced by alcohol. But at the bar, the situation was rapidly becoming grim as a group of men who knew Wes Torveen gathered. Their questions and remarks bounced about crazily like a child’s rubber ball:

“How long’s he gonna be in town?”

“Last year, Torveen said he was just here to visit his sister for her birthday. Ended up killin’ two men!”

“Does his brother know he’s here?”

“What if he does? Buck Torveen can’t control Wes no better than the rest of us!”

“Wes Torveen a gunfighter. Still seems hard to believe!”

“What’s that the newspapers call him?”

“One Arm Lightning.”

The chatter at the bar abruptly halted. Wes Torveen stepped through the bat wings. The mood inside the saloon became more subdued as most patrons shifted their attention to the newcomer.

Torveen stood well over six feet. He was dressed in a black frock coat and a decorative gold colored vest. His entire wardrobe reeked of money, including the pearl handled six gun which was holstered against his left hip. His face registered a hard life, contrasting dramatically with the fine clothes. A thick black beard couldn’t camouflage the scars and doughy cheeks: vestiges of assaults absorbed as a kid. His eyes were green, hard, and all- encompassing, like those of a mountain lion.

Those eyes were now glaring at the men standing by the bar. “Well, well, ain’t this a treat. All my old friends from school days.”

He walked slowly toward the bar. A drink was waiting for him when he arrived there. He picked it up with his left hand and glared at the men around him.

“You fellas still enjoy lookin’ at my right arm?” He sipped the drink and glanced at the bartender. “Stanley, remember what you use ta say about my right arm, back when we was kids?”

“No Wes, sure don’t.”

“You were quite the joker, Stan.  Almost ever day you’d say that my arm swung back and forth like a pendulum on a clock. You’d ask me if I used the arm to keep time. Pretty funny, huh?”

Stanley shrugged his shoulders and looked toward the floor. “Yeah, it’s funny.”

Wes Torveen banged the empty glass down on the bar and roared a loud, angry shout. “Then why ain’t you laughin’?”

The entire saloon became quiet. Wes smiled broadly, revealing teeth heavily stained by tobacco. “Yeah, I made lots of folks laugh when I was a boy. I was born with a right arm that was no good. But I was naturally right handed. Couldn’t use my left very well, so I was always droppin’ things.” He looked straight ahead at a tall man with stooped shoulders and a pot belly. “You use ta get a lot of laughs from me, Ed.”

Ed Horton spoke quickly, fumbling his words together. “We was jus’ kids, Wes. You know how kids are.”

Torveen walked slowly toward the part owner of the livery, as other patrons cleared away from the bar.  “Yeah, I know all about how kids are, Ed. They gang up on the weakest boy they can find. That was me. You sure had yourself a good time knockin’ me to the ground and spittin’ on me.”

The gunfighter was now standing inches from the hostler. Ed Horton could smell the tobacco on Torveen’s breath. “This right arm of mine is as useless as ever, Ed. Go ahead, have yourself some more fun.”

Episode Two

“Wes, I’m sorry, I’m really--”

Torveen’s left arm whirled in a barely perceptible blur. His fist shattered Ed Horton’s nose. Horton slammed against the barroom floor and cupped his hands over his face.

Torveen’s voice once again boomed. “I’m not spittin’ on you, Ed. No man should ever spit on another man, treat him like he’s not even a human bein’.”

The gunfighter’s eyes seemed to envelope every person in the saloon like an uncontrolled wildfire. “Pete Franklin, fancy seein’ you again.”

Franklin was even taller than Torveen. He had a well- tended red mustache. The owner of a large ranch he had inherited from his father, Franklin had bragged since childhood about his prowess with a gun.

“I recall the day my brother and I visited your ranch. You recollect it, Pete?

Franklin was terrified but knew everyone in the saloon was watching him. Years of bragging had caught up with him.  If he didn’t stand his ground now, he’d be laughed out of town.

“No Wes, I don’t recollect. Ya see I own that ranch now. Ain’t got much time for thinkin’ about school days.”

Torveen experienced a surge of excitement. He was being challenged. The gunfighter had heard the quiver in the voice of Pete Franklin and saw the fear that ran through him like poison from a rattlesnake bite. This was going to be fun.

“Well, Pete, allow me to refresh your memory. My brother Buck and I were real excited about being asked by Pete Franklin to come visit him on the Franklin spread. We thought you were being right kind to two boys from a hardscrabble ranch.”

The rancher tried to back down without losing face. He attempted a casual laugh before speaking, “My Momma made me go to Sunday school every week. Guess some of the golden rule took hold.”

“Let me tell you about how you handled the golden rule, Pete! You got us to ride up a hill near the ranch. Buck and I had never ridden such fine horses. We dismounted and started playin’ some game. The three of us got separated. Suddenly I saw you ridin’ toward me with a pistol you must have hidden in a saddle bag. You started shootin’ at me, chasin’ me all over the hill. One of those shots only missed by inches. You probably would have killed me, but Buck rode off and got your pa.”

 Franklin shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, guess I was a pretty mean kid. My Pa took me to the shed good that night. Reckon I had it comin’.”

“I think you got a bit more comin’ to you.” A deep, ominous growl crept into Torveen’s voice. “What was that name you use ta call me, Pete?”

“Can’t remember.”

“I do. You called me “crip”. Guess that’s short for “cripple”, right Pete?”

Pete Franklin wanted to blurt out something about all that happening a long time ago. He was sorry. Time to let bygones be bygones. But such talk would make him sound like the rest of the men in the bar: men who were afraid of Wes Torveen. He couldn’t do that. “Yeah, Wes, guess so.”

“Well, Pete, I was born a cripple. You became one on your own.  Never earned nothin’ in your whole life. As a kid, you lorded over ever one because your daddy was rich. You had the ranch handed to you when he died. You think you’re a big man, but that’s cause you’re crippled in the head.”

A rush of anger overwhelmed Franklin’s good sense. He went for his gun. The rancher had barely touched iron when a bullet speared through his forehead.

A few of the saloon girls screamed and then a tense silence fell over the Shooting Star Saloon. One Arm Lightning had just shot down the richest, most powerful man in town. If he’d kill Pete Franklin, he’d kill anyone. No man who had bullied Wes Torveen was safe.

Episode Three

Sheriff Rob Laverty ran through the bat wings into the saloon. “What’s going on here?”

Wes Torveen smiled benignly at the lawman. “A class reunion. Welcome Sheriff, good to see you again.”

Laverty’s face went pale and a tremor ran through his body as he looked upon the horror that lay on the floor of the saloon. The corpse’s face was masked in red, but that had to be Pete Franklin.

A finger poked at Rob’s chest. “A fine man use ta wear that badge. Last time I was in town, Allen Hodge was still sheriff and you were his deputy. Understand Allen retired and moved away. He was a good man.”

Rob Laverty was now staring directly into the eyes of the gunfighter called One Arm Lightning. The anger he had displayed when he barged into the saloon was replaced by fear. He spoke through a dry mouth. “Allen was a fine man. Fine man.”

Torveen continued to smile as he nodded his head in agreement. That didn’t make the sheriff feel any better. “Yeah, Robbie, I can remember a few occasions when Sheriff Hodge stopped you and a bunch of other fellas from gangin’ up on me. One time, he gave you guys quite a lecture. But you didn’t listen none.” Torveen’s smile broadened, “Are you sorry you didn’t pay more attention, Rob?”

A jumble of words came out of the sheriff’s mouth.

The gunfighter cut him off. “I’m glad you’re the law in these parts now. You see, when I was here about a year ago, I started a job. But Sheriff Hodge didn’t cotton much to what I was doin’. Said he was gonna stop me. I couldn’t kill Allen Hodge, the only decent man in town. But I could kill you, Rob. Hey, what’s a gunfight between two old school chums, huh?”

Episode Four:         

Wes Torveen laughed as he began to saunter toward the saloon’s doors. He suddenly stopped and looked at the owner of the general store, who was leaning against the bar. “Got a favor to ask, Blake.”

Blake gripped the bar as if for support. “Go right ahead.”

“That pretty gingham dress in your front window. The one with the checkered pattern. Save it for me. Tomorrow’s my sister’s birthday. I think that would make a fine present.”

“Of course, Rebecca would look lovely in that dress.”

“Yeah, that baby sister of mine has grown up into a beautiful lady. She turns twenty tomorrow. I’ll be by at mid-morning, Blake, and not just to buy the dress. I may clean you out. Gonna make Rebecca’s twentieth birthday somethin’ real special.”

Blake Oliver wanted to encourage Torveen’s sudden switch in mood. “Lookin’ forward to seein’ you tomorrow.”

The gunfighter laughed scornfully. “I bet you are!” He looked around the saloon. “Tomorrow is for pleasure. The day after, I’ll be getting’ back to business.”

Torveen’s gaze rested upon the bartender. He pointed to the corpse, which was still oozing blood. “I’d get that thing outta here if I was you, Stanley. You never know when you might need the space for another body. Yeah. That floor could get right crowded pretty soon. Good-evening, gentlemen. I’m sure enjoyin’ the class reunion.”

***

Wes Torveen was sleeping soundly. His gun belt was slung over a bed post, only a few feet away from his left arm.

Buck Torveen closed the bedroom door. His younger brother was down for the night, as was his sister. He could keep that appointment now.

Buck was only a scant inch shorter than his brother and had a similar build. Like his brother, he had black hair, but unlike Wes, he did not sport a beard. He headed for the stable and quickly saddled a roan. He was tense as he rode toward town.

Episode Five

Buck Torveen had spent most of the evening playing poker at the Rome Saloon, which was at the opposite end of the street from the Shooting Star. Sure, he had heard a shot coming from the Shooting Star, but gunfire from a booze hole was hardly unusual. He hadn’t given it a thought until Sheriff Laverty accosted him on the boardwalk as he stepped out of the Rome.

“Your brother just murdered Pete Franklin.”

“What?!”

“Wes goaded Pete into a gunfight. Technically, it was self defense. I can’t arrest him.”

Buck had to hold back a scornful laugh. Rob Laverty was a bucket of jittery nerves. The town’s new sheriff was often bossy and more than a bit of a bully. Now, he stood as a bully whose bluff had been called. Laverty was terrified of Wes and had no intention of arresting him.

Buck replied in a harsh voice. He had little respect for the lawman. “Whadd’ya expect me to do?”

The sheriff pointed an index finger in Buck’s direction. “You be in my office at three a.m. Don’t tell nobody about this meetin’. I mean, nobody!”

Two drunks staggered out of the Rome, laughing and singing. Laverty gave Buck a hard look and then stomped off.

Buck checked his timepiece after tying up his roan in front of the sheriff’s office. It was a few minutes past 3:30 a.m. A light still shone in the office window and Buck could tell that several men were inside.

As he entered, he received an immediate rebuke from the sheriff. “Took your  time gettin’ here!”

“I had to wait until Wes was in a deep sleep,” Buck shot back. “I sorta got the impression you didn’t want him to know about this meetin’.”

Rob Laverty grimaced and looked down. The sheriff was standing behind his desk. He was surrounded by four men, all of them too nervous to sit down: Stanley Wiggins, Ed Horton, Blake Oliver and Fenton Goulding. Fenton was the owner of both the Shooting Star and Rome saloons. He had been at the Rome saloon when One Arm Lightning gunned down Pete Franklin and, like Buck, hadn’t been aware of what happened until it was long over.

Goulding was a man of medium size with a bushy, sand colored mustache. A heavy smoker, Fenton spoke as he built a cigarette. “Buck, your brother is out to kill all of us men who were in school with him.  That is, all of us ‘cept you. Wes trusts you. That’s why you gotta help us.”

“Just what are you gettin’ at, Fenton?”

Fenton put his tongue to the brown paper of the smoke and then continued. “Tomorrow your younger brother plans on buying a lot of stuff at Blake Oliver’s store. That being the case, he’ll probably be riding into town on a wagon.”

Torveen shrugged his shoulders. “Probably.”

Fenton fired up a match with his thumbnail and put it to the cigarette. “So, you come into town with him. Once the wagon stops in front of Blake’s store, make sure Wes stands up in the wagon for a spell.”

 “What for?”

The saloon owner busied himself a bit more with the smoke before answering Buck’s question. “Rob Laverty is going to be across the street from Oliver’s General Store on the roof of the Rome Saloon. Ed Horton will be inside the saloon. I will be on the roof of the General Store. Stanley will be in the alley between Blake’s store and the gunshop next door. We’re going to ambush your brother.”

Buck looked around the room with scorn. “Aren’t you gents brave!”

            The sheriff  again pointed a finger at Buck. “Look here, Torveen. You gotta live in this town. You hafta get credit from Oliver, use names as references for a loan at the bank, and get along with most ever body. Your brother is a killer. Sooner or later, he’s gonna get gunned down. Tomorrow is gonna be sooner. This whole town will rejoice. We can manage this without you if need be. Are you with us or not?”

Episode Six

***

            Sheriff Laverty lay on the roof of the Rome Saloon and quickly checked his timepiece. Buck Torveen and his brother should be driving into town on a wagon any moment now. The plan had been worked out carefully last night and everyone was in their places.

            Laverty was tense, and not only because he was about to ambush a man. A man he couldn’t face in an honest gunfight. There would be four guns firing at Wes Torveen on this morning, but Sheriff Rob Laverty had to be the man who got the credit for bringing down One Arm Lightning. The sheriff craved recognition and fame. Now was his chance.

            Of course, he couldn’t get what he wanted by telling the truth. No writer would make him look good for pulling off an ambush. He had already concocted a good story. Getting the others to go along might be difficult, but he’d think of something.

            A wagon began to move slowly but steadily toward Oliver’s General Store. There was little in the way of clattering; the wagon was new and well cared for. Buck Torveen and his sister had made a success of what had once been a hardscrabble ranch. Laverty was relieved when Buck agreed to play a role in his brother’s ambush.

            As the wagon stopped in front of Oliver’s General Store, Laverty noted something odd about Wes Torveen. The gunfighter looked relaxed and, yes, even happy. Laverty couldn’t remember ever seeing Wes Torveen look content. As a boy he had been fearful and sad, and as a man, he was…well…One Arm Lightning.

Buck Torveen stopped the wagon in front of Blake Oliver’s store and applied the brake. He and his brother were laughing about something as they quickly jumped off the wagon and entered the store. So far, matters were going as planned.

A few minutes later, Buck came out of the store carefully carrying a long but very light box. Laverty figured that had to be the dress Wes had been jawing about the previous night. Buck placed it under the seat of the wagon and then returned to the store.

When he appeared again, he propped the door open with a block of wood Blake kept at hand for such a purpose, and again exchanged laughter with his brother. Wes Torveen stepped out of the store and onto the wagon where he stood on the bed. The gunfighter gave his brother a friendly shout. He obviously expected Buck to toss him some items from the store.

The sheriff smirked as he aimed his Smith and Wesson. Wes Torveen was showing off what he could do with just one arm. Rob Laverty would remind the gunfighter that pride comes before the fall.

Laverty squeezed the trigger of his.44. Wes Torveen jerked violently and staggered, but remained on his feet. He drew his pearl handled six shooter and returned fire. The bullet hit close by Laverty, forcing him to roll as he got off a second shot which went wild.

From inside the Rome saloon, Ed Horton fired twice in Wes Torveen’s direction. Torveen jumped off the wagon as he sent a red flame into the saloon. Horton spun, stumbled out onto the street and collapsed. Wes took cover under the wagon as Stanley Wiggins fired from the alley beside the general store.

Laverty cursed from his position on the roof of the Rome saloon. Fenton Goulding was still on the roof of Oliver’s General Store clinging to his Winchester, but not firing it. He had his head low as he watched Ed Horton bleed to death in the street. Goulding looked terrified and reduced to being a bystander.

Wes Torveen was under the wagon. The gunfighter knew where two of his ambushers were located. Goulding was now useless as was Ed Horton, who was dead or dying. What had been intended as a quick ambush could now turn into a long standoff.

Episode Seven

Wiggins fired another shot from the alley. But the bartender’s courage was dwindling. He stayed too far back in the shadows and the bullet was propelled harmlessly through the air. Wiggins’ shot only further spooked the wagon’s horses, all four of which were lurching against their reins.

The sheriff fired again at One Arm Lightning, and again had to roll as the gunfighter returned fire. Laverty spotted Buck Torveen at the door of the general store. Buck fired a shot in the lawman’s direction but it was only a ruse to gain his brother’s confidence.

Buck ran to the wagon, jumped onto the bed and crouched down behind a side board. “How many of them are there, Wes?”

The gunfighter was fooled by the charade. “At least two. There’s another in the alley beside the store. Get off the wagon! You’re a sitting duck!”

Confident that he had his brother’s trust, Buck hurried to the seat of the wagon and released the brake. The jittery horses immediately lurched forward. A horrifying cry of pain cut the air as one of the back wheels of the wagon ran over Wes Torveen.

Rob Laverty watched all this from his position across the street on the saloon roof. He stared in wonderment at the crushed figure on the ground. Wes Torveen’s arm was moving up and down as if signaling for help. A shrill cry of pain came from his mouth.

Laverty took careful aim and fired twice. Torveen’s arm dropped to the ground.  His cry ceased.

The sheriff smiled as he holstered his gun. He was the lawman who had brought down One Arm Lightning.

Episode Eight

                       ***

            Stanley Wiggins escorted the last of his customers through the bat wing doors of the Shooting Star Saloon. The two men were both drunk and feisty. One of them turned back as he stepped onto the boardwalk outside. “Jus’ maybe I want to sleep inside the saloon, tonight!”

             Stanley replied firmly. “And just maybe the owners of the saloon will decide you can’t come in here again!”

            “Come on, Fred, let’s  sleep owshide, like aaaways.”

            They staggered off as Stanley closed the door behind the bat wings and locked it. The bartender gave a sigh of fatigue as he went through the Shooting Star turning off the kerosene lights that were attached to the walls.

            A killing sure does increase a man’s thirst, Wiggins thought. The previous night, men had gotten drunk to celebrate the killing of One Arm Lightning. The drinking had picked up again that afternoon following the burial of Wes Torveen.

            Two lights were still burning, both of them behind the bar. Those lights always stayed on until Stanley took the cashbox and locked it in the safe. The bartender yawned as he sauntered behind the bar. He remembered that he had to open up again in only a few hours…

            “Evenin’ Stanley.”

            The bartender gasped and looked around. He couldn’t see anyone, but then darkness shrouded most of the saloon. Wiggins decided that his imagination had become inflamed by recent events. He began to do a check of the materials under the bar as he did every night before putting away the cash box. The familiar routine brought him some comfort.

            But not for long. “Evenin’ Stanley.”  A figure stepped into the murky puddle of light cast by the lamps behind the bar.

            Stanley Wiggins brought his right hand to his face as if shielding his eyes against what stood in front of them. “Wes Torveen!” The bartender spoke in a high pitched whisper. “We buried you hours ago.”

            “That’s right, Stanley. I saw you standin’ near my graveside, you and my other buddies from school days. You fellas were sharing a chuckle or two. After all these years, I can still provide my chums with a good laugh.”

            “We wasn’t laughin’ at you, Wes--”

            “Then who were you laughin’ at? My sister who was in grief?”

            “No, Wes, no, it was that… ah…

preacher--”

            “He read from the Good Book. What was funny about that?”

            “Nothin’,” Stanley was confused and terrified. He moved his hand toward the .44 that was always kept under the bar.

            “So, I guess you fellas were havin’ one more laugh on Wes Torveen.”

            Desperation prodded Wiggins into a reckless move. “Let me explain, Wes. All I’m askin’ for is jus’ a minute or two of your time.”

            “Why, sure,” Wes Torveen lifted his left arm in a “go ahead” gesture.

            Stanley grabbed the .44 but, in his nervousness, slammed his hand against the edge of the bar as he brought the gun up. He yelled a loud curse. Those were his final words. A bullet from Torveen’s gun cut into the bartender’s chest. Stanley Wiggins fell to the floor.

Episode Nine

The bartender writhed in pain as he listened to footsteps slowly walking around the bar and then looked up to see the man who had just shot him. Wes Torveen gave a loud mocking laugh. “Now it’s my turn to have the chuckles, Stanley. I got one more little joke to play before you die.”

            Torveen reached into a side pocket of his frock coat and brought out a piece of cloth. He crouched over Stanley Wiggins and dangled the piece of gingham in his face. “Right pretty cloth, don’t you think?”

            A gurgling sound came out of the bartender’s throat as blood oozed out the side of his mouth and began to make a trail downward to his neck.

            “This cloth was torn from the dress I was gonna give my sister on her birthday. Only she don’t want the dress no more. Not since my old buddies murdered me in front of the store where I was buyin’ it. So, here, Stan, this is for you!”

            He dropped the piece of cloth onto the bartender. Stanley Wiggins gave no response. He’d never respond to anything again.

            There was a loud pounding at the door. Sheriff Rob Laverty shouted from outside, “Stanley, you in there? What’s goin’ on?”

            One Arm Lightning stood up and looked at the door with anticipation. “Well, well, looks like the party is jus’ gettin’ started.”

Episode Ten

***

            “Try again, Laverty! What’s this town paying you for?” A few stray pieces of tobacco flew from Fenton Goulding’s mouth as he made his demand.

            The sheriff took a deep breath. Goulding had been harsh and demanding on him since the ambush of Wes Torveen. Laverty figured Goulding was trying to reassert his authority after failing miserably in helping to bring down One Arm Lightning.

            Rob Laverty again pounded on the locked door of the Shooting Star. “I don’t think there’s anyone in there, Mr. Goulding. Stanley has probably gone home for the night.”

            “I’m not so sure. Two barflys came by the Rome a few minutes ago and told me they heard a shot from inside there.”

            “Well, if you want me to break down this door on the word of two barflies--”

            “You don’t have to break down the door!” Goulding brought a key ring out of his pocket. His hands trembled as he loosened one key from the bunch. Laverty realized that the saloon owner really thought there was something wrong inside the Shooting Star and wanted no direct part in it.

            As if to confirm Laverty’s thoughts, Fenton Goulding handed the lawman a key, and harrumphed, “Report back to me when you’re finished.” He then stomped off.

            The sheriff gritted his teeth and said nothing. He only had a little more time of putting up with the likes of Fenton Goulding. Soon, stories of the man who killed One Arm Lightning would be everywhere. Rob Laverty would be a hero, and heroes don’t have to tolerate fools.

            The sheriff opened the door and was surprised by the lights that were still on behind the bar. “Stanley,--you here?”

            Laverty moved cautiously toward the bar; even so, he collided with several chairs. The back lights covered only a small patch of the saloon.

            But when he got behind the bar he had a clear view of the corpse of Stanley Wiggins. The lawman inhaled and took a step back as if death were a disease that could be transmitted.

            He slowly stepped toward the body and crouched over it, picking up a piece of fabric that lay on the corpse. “It’s gingham, looks like it was cut from that dress Torveen bought for his sister,” the sheriff whispered.  A piece of paper was pinned to the back of the fabric and there was writing on it.

            The note made Laverty’s throat go tight.  What he heard caused his entire body to tremble.

Episode Eleven

“You’re out late tonight, Sheriff. Need to get you some rest. I hear you got some busy days in front of you.”

            Laverty slowly moved out of his crouch. He was now standing behind the bar facing the open door of the Shooting Star. A figure was standing in the doorway, in front of the batwings.

            “Who are you?” The lawman tried to sound tough but his voice wobbled.

            The man in the doorway spoke in a mocking voice. “You should recognize me , Robbie. Why, I’m all you’ve been talkin’ about lately. I hear that a reporter from the Denver Post will be arrivin’ soon to get a story about the man who brought down One Arm Lightning.”

            “Wes Torveen…” Laverty spoke in a whisper.

            “Yeah, Rob, I’m here to do you a favor.”

            “What kind of favor?”

            “Why, I’m gonna give you a chance to kill me again! Jus’ think how impressed that fella from Denver will be when he finds out you killed One Arm Lightning twice.”

            Rob Laverty tried to laugh, it came out as a sob.

            “Step out from behind that bar, Rob. Let’s find out how fast you really are.”

            Laverty pounded his fist on the bar and screamed at the man in the doorway. “You go back to Hell or wherever you demons come from! Leave me alone, Wes Torveen, leave me alone!”

            Rob Laverty began to cry uncontrollably. He rested his head on the bar and put both arms over it. He refused to look up, like a child hiding under a blanket, hoping the boogieman would disappear.

            But he could hear the voice that continued to taunt him. “I see you don’t feel up to a gunfight this evening, Robbie. Don’t worry. I’ll be coming back to see you soon.”

            Laverty continued to keep his head down for several minutes after the voice ceased. When he finally raised his head, all he could see was a vacant doorway made blurry by the tears that cluttered his eyes.

Episode Twelve

                             ***

            “This was found on Stanley Wiggins’ corpse, Mr. Lowrie. It was ripped from the dress that Wes was going to buy for Rebecca.” Buck Torveen handed Bertram Lowrie a checkered cloth with a note attached to it.

            An angry female voice snapped at Buck. “My brother did buy that dress for me. You can bet Blake Oliver got his money from Wes before he sent him out to be ambushed. Not that Rob Laverty and those other fools could bring it off. You had to lend a hand, didn’t you, Buck?”

            Buck Torveen looked downward as another male voice spoke to his sister. “This is hard on everyone, Rebecca. You saw the good side of Wes. But we all know he was a dangerous man. Buck did what he had to do.”

            The young woman sighed deeply, “I suppose so. I’m sorry, Buck.”

            As Buck replied to his sister, Rance Dehner assessed the five people sitting in the living room of the Torveen ranch. Two people sat on a sofa: Buck and Rebecca Torveen. Both were tall, dark haired and tanned by long hours spent in the sun. Buck appeared nervous and defensive. His sister was angry and seemed inclined to lash out. Her apology to Buck had been nothing more than a formality, and the tone of her voice made sure he knew it.

            Sitting on a chair beside the brother and sister was a sandy haired man with long arms and legs that made him appear gangly. He also looked a bit uncertain of himself, as if not sure he really belonged. The man had been introduced as Forrest Connors, Rebecca’s fiancé.

            Facing this threesome and sitting on two rawhide bottom chairs were Rance and his boss, Bertram Lowrie. Lowrie was tall, almost skeletal in appearance with a prominent nose and chin. The former British military man had been intrigued by the wire received from Rebecca Torveen and decided to accompany Rance, since Rebecca had asked for the services of two detectives.

            Dehner tried to get back to business. “Do any of you know exactly what became of the dress after Buck placed it in the wagon?”

            Buck spoke up immediately. “I didn’t give the dress much thought till I drove the wagon back here to the ranch a few hours after Wes was killed.”

            “Murdered,” Rebecca said in a low voice.

            A quick grimaced appeared on Buck’s face, then he continued. “I noticed the dress when I got back to the ranch and jumped off the wagon. Just left it there.  At the time, I was thinking about how I could break the news to Rebecca about Wes’…about…Wes.”

            Dehner shifted his gaze to Rebecca. “So, you never actually saw the dress, Miss Torveen?”

            The young woman’s voice took on a neutral quality. “No. Buck told me about it, but I didn’t want to see it.”

            Rance tilted his head back to Buck. “When did you notice that the dress was missing?”

            Buck Torveen shrugged his shoulders in a sheepish manner. “Not until the morning after Stanley was killed. Sheriff Laverty rode out here and showed me the piece of gingham cloth. I immediately recognized it as coming from the dress. I’m sure I left it in the wagon, but when Laverty and I went to check, the dress was gone.”

            Bertram Lowrie joined the questioning. His voice was staccato. “You say the dress was missing. Was the box still there?”

            “No, the box was gone.”

            “At the store, did you see Mr. Oliver place the dress in the box?”

            Buck appeared surprised by the question. He squinted and went quiet for a moment before answering. “No, come to think of it, Wes and I were busy looking around. Blake just handed me the box and said the dress was inside.”

            Lowrie held up the piece of cloth with a paper pinned to it. “This note on the cloth consists only of the number three. Can you explain that?”

            Buck Torveen sighed and nodded his head. “The last time Wes was here, about a year ago, he goaded two of his former school mates into a gunfight. He killed both of them. He wanted to go after the rest but the sheriff at the time, Allen Hodge, stood in his way. Sheriff Hodge had been kind to Wes when he was a boy and my brother didn’t want to go up against him.”

            Bertram Lowrie’s face crunched up before he spoke. “So, this number three was Wes’ way of telling the men who had bullied him as a child that he had come back from the dead in order to finish his gruesome task.”

Episode Thirteen

Rance Dehner had to stifle a laugh. Lowrie’s voice remained cold and precise and yet he still managed to convey absolute contempt for the notion of a ghost.

            Rebecca shared Lowrie’s distrust of the ghost theory. “That fool, Rob Laverty, is the only person who claims to have seen Wes’ ghost. I don’t believe a word--”

            Forrest Connors interrupted his fiancée. “I’ve talked to Sheriff Laverty and I believe he thinks he is telling the truth.”

            Rebecca Torveen gave a loud, contemptuous laugh. “You really believe my brother’s ghost killed Stanley Wiggins and then fled out the door when our valiant Sheriff arrived on the scene?”

            Connors hesitated. “Well…”

            Buck gave the two detectives a whimsical smile. “Sheriff Laverty claims he saw Wes’ ghost. He says the ghost told him he would shoot Laverty in the back. He couldn’t face him in a gunfight.”

            This time, Rebecca’s voice was a shout. “And this from the so-called lawman that ambushed Wes,--with the help of my good brother, Buck!”

            A silence fell over the room borne more of exhaustion than animosity. Rance allowed everyone to get their emotions back in check before he spoke. “I realize this is very hard on both of you. That story about Pete Franklin inviting Buck and Wes over to his ranch, then chasing Wes with a gun…he was a boy, of course, but…”

            “If Buck hadn’t ridden off to get Pete’s father who knows what would have happened.” Rebecca smiled wanly at her brother. “Buck did a good job of standing up for Wes when they were boys. I’ve never given him enough credit for that.”

            “I know we’ve been talking for over an hour, but Mr. Lowrie and I need to get every shred of information we can if we are to prevent any more deaths.”

            “Indeed!” Lowrie stood up abruptly and, responding to his cue, so did everyone else. “We thank you for your co-operation. Now, we need to move on. Mr. Connors, will you be returning to your ranch soon?”

            Connors shot his fiancée a questioning look. “Well…”

            “Fine!” Lowrie replied in a jovial manner. “Mr. Dehner will accompany you. Neither of us is familiar with the lay of the land around here and you can show Mr. Dehner the scenery, so to speak.”

            “Ah, sure.”

            “Meantime, Mr. Torveen, could you draw me a map of how to get to the Franklin Ranch?”

            “Yes, but--”

            “I understand that Pete Franklin’s mother is still alive--”

            “Yes, but--”

            “I hate to impose on her grief. Of course, I know that her son, Pete, was killed by Wes in a gunfight. But an interview is necessary. If you could please draw that map.”

            Forrest Connors and Buck Torveen both appeared confused by Lowrie’s orders. But Dehner noticed the slight smile on Rebecca’s face. Rance figured Rebecca hadn’t smiled much since her brother’s death. The detective hoped that he and Bertram Lowrie could help the young woman in her grief and bring her some sense of justice being done.

Episode Fourteen

***

Bertram Lowrie was enjoying the ride alone to the Franklin ranch. The surrounding land prompted him to recall the dream that had brought him to America. He would be a cattleman with a huge ranch, and, of course, he would be rich.

            Bertram Lowrie had gotten his ranch, but the riches never came. In fact, the ranch lost money. So he had abandoned the cattle business and started a detective agency. Would the Lowrie Detective agency make him rich?

            Lowrie sighed and decided to forget the dreams. There was work to be done. He reached into his pocket and checked the map Buck Torveen had drawn for him. The Franklin spread should be right over the large hill that was immediately ahead.

            A flash of light winked at him from a large rock near the top of the hill, causing the detective to drop from his horse. Lowrie hit the ground as a bullet passed inches above his saddle. The horse neighed and ran, taking with it the Henry in the saddle boot. Lowrie would have to make do with his .44.

            He scrambled toward a pile of small boulders near the bottom of the hill. Another rifle shot punctuated his run. Dropping behind the boulders, the former military man planned an offensive attack.

            The enemy would be expecting him to remain at the foot of the hill or make a run for a small boulder that was up the hill to his right. He would run for the thick grove of trees on his left side. The spruces provided less safety but from there he could make a run for a large boulder near where the enemy was perched. The closer location would make his .44 a more deadly weapon.

            Lowrie dashed up the hill. The enemy took another shot, this one flying over his head. As he took shelter behind one of the larger trees, Lowrie noted that his attacker appeared to have a bandanna pulled up over the lower half of his face.

            The enemy expected him to pause and rest for a few minutes, so he took off immediately, this time firing at his attacker. One of his bullets ricocheted off the large rock which provided the enemy’s cover.

            As he approached the end of the dash, Lowrie tripped and fell behind the boulder that had been his goal. He quickly rodded out the empty cartridges in his .44 and reloaded. He was ready to bring down the enemy.

            The sound of stones tumbling down the hillside was followed by fast hoofbeats. Lowrie peered cautiously around his cover to see a rider vanishing over the hillside. Bertram ran to the top of the hill and looked down. “The rotter is either lucky or a good horseman,” Lowrie said to himself. “He’s made it to the bottom without crippling his horse.” 

            Bertram Lowrie turned and looked back. He could spot his horse nibbling at a patch of grass. As he walked downwards, he thought about the attack he had just survived.

            Only a very small number of people knew he was riding out to the Franklin place. Someone didn’t want a detective talking to the mother of Pete Franklin. And  Lowrie  couldn’t be sure that the someone was a man.

            Bertram Lowrie laughed softly to himself. “Apprehending a ghost can get bloody complicated.”

Episode Fifteen:

***

            Forrest Connors didn’t seem to resent having Dehner ride beside him as he returned to his ranch. In fact, Dehner thought the young rancher appeared more relaxed once they left the Torveen spread. While sitting near his fiancée and her brother, Connors had looked like a guest at a formal dinner, afraid of using the wrong fork.

            The first part of the ride consisted of Connors filling the detective in on the location of the ranches, streams, etc. He had taken Lowrie’s claim at face value. That seemed to be the kind of man Forrest Connors was.

            Dehner knew what Lowrie really wanted. The detectives had not really had a chance to question Forrest Connors. Dehner needed to correct that situation.

            Rance kept his voice casual. “It must have been really rough on Buck, having to take part in an ambush on his brother.”

            “Harder than you know,” Connors replied. “Rebecca told me that Buck was a lot more than just an older brother to her and Wes.”

            “That right?”

            “Yeah. Their momma died young and their daddy drank heavy. Ignored the kids most of the time. Buck looked after Rebecca and Wes as best he could. He tried to stand up for Wes when the other boys ganged up on him because of his arm. Sometimes that worked, but Buck was only one boy and much of his time had to be spent at the ranch doing the chores his pa was too drunk to do.”

            They arrived at the Connors Ranch. The place was well cared for, but only a couple notches above hardscrabble. Forrest seemed to read his companion’s thoughts. “Won this place about a year and a half ago in a poker game. You should have seen it when I took over. Believe it or not, this is an improvement. A big improvement.”

            Rance smiled, “Looks better than anything I ever won in a poker game. Thanks for allowing me to tag along. I’m going to ride around a bit and check out some more of the land.” The detective gave a two finger salute.

            As he stood on the porch of his small ranch house and watched Dehner ride off, Connors noticed that the sun was beginning to set. In another hour or so, he would have to ride into town to keep an appointment: an appointment with a man who was threatening him. 

***

            Forrest tied up his horse in front of Oliver’s General Store and gazed through the window as he approached the front door. A tattered CLOSED sign took up a quarter of the glassed area but lights were on inside and Blake Oliver could be seen bustling about.

            The door wasn’t locked. Connors stepped through it.

            Blake Oliver’s voice sounded genuinely friendly. “Good to see you, Forrest, beautiful evening, ain’t it?”

            Forrest’s voice was toneless. “Hello, Blake. Yeah, nice evening.”

            Blake scooted behind the counter of his store and began to remove cans of beans from an open case. He grinned malevolently at his one customer as he placed the beans on the shelves behind him.  “I guess you’re here to pay up all the money you owe me. That’s quite a bill you’ve run up, Forrest.”

Episode Sixteen

“Blake, I already explained to you. I won the ranch in a poker game. I didn’t have the money to get it going. The bank wouldn’t give me a loan. I had to buy everything on credit from you. Look, the ranch is on its feet now, jus’ give me another three months…”

            Oliver laughed as he took a can of beans from the case. “You know, Forrest, you’d be surprised at all the hard luck stories a store owner hears. After a while, they all start soundin’ the same.”

            Blake tossed the can in the air and caught it. “Now, occasionally something special comes along. You know…Sally…the little redhead at the Shooting Star? Well, two week ago she came in here sayin’ she needed a new dress. One of her customers tore the one she had. But the poor girlie didn’t have a penny to her name.”

            Oliver made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Let’s just say, Sally got her dress.”

            The storekeeper turned and placed the can on the shelf as he continued to talk. “Now, as to your situation Forrest, you’ve got solid collateral.”

            “What do you mean?”

            Blake Oliver paused in his chore and looked directly at Connors. “I mean, Rebecca Torveen. You’re gonna getcha two hundred dollars from your girlie and give it to me.”

            “Two hundred! That’s almost twice what I owe you!”

            “A banker is entitled to interest. I am too.”

            “I won’t do it!”

            “Well then, the next time Miss Torveen comes by the store, I’ll just tell her about your unpaid debts. I’ll bet you haven’t gotten around to mentioning that to your dear fiancée, have you Forrest?”

            “Listen, Blake--”

            “Yeah, I bet Miss Torveen would be very interested in knowing the man of her dreams is a penniless drifter who got lucky one night in a poker game and--”

            A crashing sound came from the back of the store. Blake Oliver made a face of disgust as he looked to his left at the door that led to the storage room. “Guess somethin’ has fallen off the shelf.”

            “That doesn’t make much sense,” Connors looked toward the back of the store in a quizzical manner. “How could something just fall off a shelf all by its lonesome?”

            Oliver’s expression went from disgust to concern. “Guess I better have a look.”

Episode Seventeen

    “I have to talk to you some more, Blake. Please, we gotta--”

            “Hold your horses, I’ll be right back.”  The store owner reached under the counter for a lantern. He put a match to the wick and stomped off. Oliver’s General Store was so packed with stuff that Forrest had trouble keeping track of the lantern’s light as Blake made a convoluted walk through his large store’s inventory.

            But Forrest did see the door to the storage room open and the light move inside. He wondered if he should go back there and lend a hand. Maybe that would make Blake Oliver a bit more agreeable. Probably not. But it wouldn’t hurt to try.

            Connors made his way cautiously toward the faint yellow glow that came from the back of the store. Early in his journey, he could hear a moan coming from the store owner. Oliver must be trying to lift something heavy.

            Forrest collided with a pile of cooking pots, creating an explosive clatter. “Sorry, Blake!” Forrest called out as he viewed the chaos on the floor. “Nothing is broke.”

            There was no response.

            “I’m coming to help you,” Forrest yelled. “Don’t try lifting anything too heavy by yourself.”

            To his relief, Forrest Connors made it to the storage room without knocking anything else over. As he stepped into the skewered yellow light, he could see a large tub lying on the floor. Blake Oliver was lying beside it.

            Connors moved quickly to pick up the lantern from the floor. He set it upright so it would no longer spill kerosene. He then checked Oliver, who he thought had been knocked unconscious by something falling off the shelf.

            He was wrong. There was a knife protruding from Oliver’s back. Lying beside the corpse was a pretty piece of gingham cloth with a paper pinned to it.

            Connors’ voice trembled as he read aloud, “Four.”

            A red explosion filled his head. Forrest Connors dropped the piece of cloth before his entire body slumped to the floor.

Episode Eighteen

***

            Rob Laverty was jittery as he went about his evening patrol. The lawman admitted to himself that he was scared of a ghost. He wondered if quitting his job and leaving town would make him safe.

            But where do you go to escape a ghost?

            The sheriff remembered some things his mother had said to him long ago about the powers of a guilty conscience. He wondered if his conscience had created a vision of Wes Torveen. But he didn’t wonder for long. No, what he had seen was real.

            The lawman nodded his head to the owner of the town’s only hotel and continued down the boardwalk. He had been a fool to tell people about seeing the ghost of Wes Torveen. Nobody believed him and his actions could have angered the ghost.

            Laverty was approaching the Rome Saloon. He didn’t want to go in. Fenton Goulding would probably be inside and Laverty didn’t want to be seen palling around with one of Wes Torveen’s other targets. In his desperation, Rob Laverty was trying to concoct some scheme that would put him in favor with the strange spirit he believed was stalking him.

            A shot fired from across the street. The sheriff turned his head toward the noise. It came from behind Oliver’s General Store. Damn! He would have to look into it. Laverty hoped the ghost wouldn’t take offense at his helping Blake Oliver.

            The lawman drew his gun and moved, not too quickly, across the street. Entering the alley beside the general store, his pace became even slower and more cautious. A dark alley provides a great location for a ghost. But Laverty found nothing unusual. Maybe it was just a drunk making noise.

            Returning to the boardwalk, the lawman saw a glimmer of light coming from the front window of Oliver’s General Store. He looked inside. The light was coming from the storage room. Maybe Blake was in the back getting some work done.

 Maybe not. Laverty entered the store and moved cautiously toward the storage room. As he drew near, he could hear odd, scraping footsteps: a spirit from beyond the grave!

            The sheriff’s gun hand was shaking as he stepped inside the room. He spotted Forrest Connors, face pale and uncertain on his feet. One hand was carefully feeling the back of his head.

            “What are you doin’ here, Connors?”

            “Blake Oliver is dead.” The young rancher wheezed out his words as he pointed downward.

            Rob Laverty stared at the corpse. His face began to contort when he shifted his eyes to the cloth and piece of paper that Connors handed him. “Now, there are only two of us left: me and Fenton Goulding.” 

            “I’ll go get the undertaker…”

            “You’re not going anywhere, Connors, ‘ceptin’ to jail.”

            “What?!”

            The sheriff held up the gun which shook in his hand. “I’m arrestin’ you for the murder of Blake Oliver.” He motioned with the gun toward the front door of the store. “Move!” 

            Forrest Connors did what he was told. The sheriff’s eyes were filled with desperation, and his entire body was beginning to tremble. He seemed possessed by a demon. Forrest wanted to get into a jail cell before the weapon in Laverty’s hand went off.

            The sheriff was terrified, but in an odd way, he was feeling happy. He had a scheme in mind: a plan which might pacify the ghost of One Arm Lightning.

Episode Nineteen

***

            Rance Dehner felt uncomfortable and it wasn’t just the chemical smells of the doctor’s office. There had been some very important developments in the case, but Bertram Lowrie had not ridden into town with him. Lowrie had said that he needed to talk once again with the mother of Pete Franklin, the wealthy rancher who Wes Torveen had gunned down.

            What could Franklin’s mother know that would help with the case?

            Dehner redirected his attention to the situation in the doctor’s office. Dr. Rufus Brooks had the look of a man who was always tired. His skin sagged and his suit was rumpled. He would probably never get rid of the dark half moons under his eyes.

            Dr. Brooks was sitting at his desk, facing five people. Besides Dehner, there was Fenton Goulding, Rebecca and Buck Torveen, and Spur Sanders, a man who had been introduced to Dehner only moments before. Sanders had served as a deputy sheriff in a nearby town. He now worked as a ranch hand.

            The only woman in the room was dominating the meeting. Her words to the doctor were respectful but shrill. “Dr. Brooks, you know Forrest did not kill Blake Oliver.”

            Dr. Brooks waved a hand in front of him as if urging the woman to be calm. “Yes, yes, Rebecca. And more important, I am willing to testify that Forrest’s account of what happened jibes with the evidence. Forrest Connors was hit on the head from behind with a hard object. He did not get that injury from a fight with Blake Oliver, as Sheriff Laverty has contended.”

            Fenton Goulding spoke with a cigarette dangling at the side of his mouth. “Besides, Connors is much younger and much stronger that Blake Oliver is…was. The whole notion of a brutal fight between the two of them which ended with Connors stabbing Oliver is nonsense.”

            “What’s really crazy is Laverty’s assertion that Forrest also killed Stanley Wiggins,” Rebecca’s voice remained shrill. “Only a day ago, he was saying Stan was murdered by my brother’s ghost!”

            “And, Forrest has no reason to kill either Stanley or Blake,” the doctor tossed in.

            “Well…” Buck spoke reluctantly. “Forrest did admit to owing Blake a lot of money.”

            The doctor’s response was something between a laugh and a sigh. “Half of this town owed Blake money.”

            Dehner remained silent. A couple of hours earlier, the detective, Rebecca, and Buck had visited Forrest inside his cell, and Forrest had recounted Oliver’s attempt at blackmail. Rance had told him to keep quiet about it, at least for the moment.

            Rebecca now gave Fenton a look that was almost accusatory. “Mr. Goulding, the sheriff of this town is insane. He’s a dangerous man. You head the town council. What do you plan to do about it?”

            Goulding crushed the stub of his cigarette in an ashtray on Dr. Brooks’ desk. “I met with the council early this morning. Didn’t take long; with Blake gone there are only three of us. We decided to take immediate action.”

            Rebecca’s look turned curious. “Meaning?”

            “I have already introduced all of you to Spur Sanders. Within the hour, Mr. Sanders will become our new sheriff. I brought him here because I believe he needed the background on this whole matter.”

            A sense of urgency came into the doctor’s voice. “Be careful, Fenton! Rebecca is right. Rob Laverty is unhinged. There is no telling how he will react to losing his badge.”

            “He’s got no choice in the matter!” Goulding proclaimed as he placed a hand on Spur Sanders’ shoulder. “Are you ready, Spur?”

            “Ah, yes sir.”

            “Then let’s get to it. I need to take away Rob Laverty’s badge and swear in our new sheriff.” Fenton Goulding began to exit the office in a very ceremonious manner. Everyone except the doctor followed him.

            Rance was the last one out the door. He turned to the physician, who was still sitting at this desk. “Nice meeting you, Doctor.”

            “Yes, yes. The same here.” Dr. Brooks looked very worried. Rance understood why. Firing Rob Laverty was going to be a dangerous undertaking.

Episode Twenty

***

            The five people walked to the sheriff’s office in silence. Not until they were a few feet from the office did Spur Sanders break the silence. “Miss Torveen, Mr. Torveen, I got no authority yet to tell you to do this. But I’d appreciate it if you’d wait here. Mr. Connors will be released shortly.”

            Both Torveens looked surprised by the request. Buck was the first to speak. “Of course, Spur. We’re both happy that you are taking over as sheriff.”

            Fenton Goulding, Spur Sanders, and Rance Dehner entered the office. Rob Laverty was standing behind his desk.

            “Good morning, Sheriff,” Fenton spoke officiously.

            “Mornin’,” Laverty knew immediately that something was up, but he wasn’t too worried. He knew Wes Torveen’s ghost was now pleased with him. He had framed Forrest Connors for the murders of Blake Oliver and Stanley Wiggins. No one would suspect Torveen’s ghost.

            Despite his earlier bluster, Fenton found it hard to get to the point. “Ah, are you having a busy morning, Sheriff?”

            “Yeah, sorta, got to go over to the restaurant and let them know I have a prisoner. They’ll need to bring his meals.”

            That statement didn’t allow Fenton Goulding any more time to fiddle about. “That won’t be necessary, Sheriff Laverty. Mr. Connors is to be released from prison immediately.”

            Rob Laverty’s face went red. “Not as long as I’m the Sheriff!”

            “Mr. Laverty, you are no longer Sheriff,” Goulding blurted out. “I am here to take your badge.”

            Laverty’s head moved backwards as if absorbing a punch. Wildness took over his eyes. He jabbed a finger in Goulding’s direction. “You think gettin’ rid of me will make you safe?”

            Goulding looked confused. “Safe?”

            Rob Laverty’s voice became a yell. “You think because you didn’t fire a shot from the roof during the ambush, that Torveen’s ghost won’t kill you like he did the others?”

            Goulding returned to his officious manner. “Sheriff, I must demand your immediate--”

            “You can have my badge!” He ripped the star off his vest and threw it at the saloon owner. Walking around the desk he began to unbuckle his gunbelt. “The town bought this gun for me when I became sheriff. You can have it back too.”

            The disgraced lawman began to hand Fenton Goulding his gun but as he did, he slipped the six gun from the holster and fired into Goulding’s face. As blood splattered over him, Dehner drew iron and triggered a bullet directly into Laverty’s chest. The lawman stumbled backwards and fell.

            Spur Sanders and Dehner quickly checked the bodies of Fenton Goulding and Rob Laverty. It was a matter of routine. They knew both men were dead. Rance noticed a shiny object, spotted by blood, lying on the floor between the corpses. He picked up the badge and handed it to Spur Sanders.

Episode Twenty-One

***

            Buck Torveen stepped out of the barn and watched his sister with increasing curiosity as he approached the ranch house. She was tying several old blankets over the bed of their wagon.

            “What’s up, sis?” His tone conveyed amusement.

            Rebecca was not in a joking mood. “I’m covering up all of my things. The trail to Forrest’s ranch can get pretty dusty.”

            “Why do you need to take all of your things? You said you were goin’ over there for dinner.”

            Rebecca did a final check of her handiwork. “The blankets should stay in place for the ride.”

            “Rebecca, I asked you a question.”

            “Reverend Buchanan and his wife are also going to be there. Forrest had a long conversation with the pastor after he got out of jail this morning.”

            Buck shrugged his shoulders. “So? Why are you takin’ all of your things?”

            “Forrest and I are getting married at his ranch this evening.”

            “What? We planned a big wedding with all our friends. You aren’t even inviting me!”

            Rebecca turned to face her brother; the anger that had been in her eyes earlier in the day was still there, only now it was aimed entirely at him. “I don’t want a big wedding, Buck. I want to feel safe. You allowed your brother to be ambushed. When there was real trouble, I had to hire two detectives. Forrest is a man who not only loves me, he can protect me. I have one more bag to pack, then I’m gone.”

            She began a brisk walk toward the house, then suddenly turned around and yelled in a voice heavy with sarcasm, “Drop by and see us, any time!”

***

            The red glare of sunset was easing off, creating a pattern of odd shadows as Rebecca guided the wagon down the road. A long grove of trees lay ahead. As she got closer to the cottonwoods, a rider came out of the grove and onto the road. Someone had been waiting for her.

            She halted the horses and gazed in amazement at the figure in front of her.

            “Hello, Becca, surprised to see me?”

            The woman replied in a near cry. “You’re the only person who ever called me Becca. I’ve missed you, Wes.”

            “I never went away, Becca, not really.”

            “Wes, I don’t understand.”

            “Let me explain it to you.” The rider drew nearer to the wagon. Rance Dehner pulled back one of the blankets, sprang up from the bed of the wagon and jumped onto the rider. Both men hit the ground and scrambled to their feet. Dehner delivered a roundhouse punch to the side of his opponent’s head. The man went down and Rance grabbed his beard, which came off.

            The man lying on the ground was Buck Torveen.

Episode Twenty-Two

***

            Rebecca Torveen stood in her living room beside Forrest Connors, who had an arm around her. She looked shaken. “Mr. Lowrie, I know you tried to explain to me about Buck yesterday, but I was very upset and in no mood to listen. Why did Buck try to convince people that he was Wes?”

            Bertram Lowrie smiled graciously. He and Rance Dehner had just returned to the house after readying their horses for the ride into town. “Buck was not impersonating Wes, Miss Torveen; he actually thought he was Wes.”

            Everyone in the room, including Dehner, looked confused. Lowrie continued. “When your mother died, Buck was placed in a difficult position. He had to be an excellent big brother to both you and Wes. That task was made more difficult by Wes’ affliction. But Buck’s responsibilities went even beyond that. He had to take on some of his father’s responsibilities because…”

            “Father was a drunkard.” Rebecca’s voice was emotionless.

            Lowrie continued. “Remember, Buck was still a boy, with a boy’s need for acceptance and friendship. He found a friend in Pete Franklin, or thought he had.”

            The young woman’s eyebrows moved downward. “What do you mean, ‘thought’?”

            “Pete Franklin had a streak of cruelty in him, larger than that of most boys. He concocted a scheme to get Wes alone and chase after him with a gun. Whether he planned to actually shoot Wes or not we will never know.”

            Rebecca Torveen’s face contorted. She pressed her lips together for a moment before speaking. “I remember that time well.”

            “What you did not know, Miss Torveen, is that Buck cooperated with Pete Franklin in this terrible act of cruelty.”

            “That can’t be true!”

            “I am afraid it is quite true, Miss Torveen. Please remember, according to Buck’s account, he went to get Pete Franklin’s father when he saw the trick being played.”

            Rebecca nodded her head in agreement.

            “But according to Pete Franklin’s mother, that is not what happened. Mrs. Franklin is positive that her husband came upon the scene by sheer good fortune, or as she puts it, “the mercy of God.”

            “She could be wrong.” Rebecca’s voice sounded weak.

            “I’m convinced she is right,” Lowrie spoke firmly. “The incident caused both Mrs. Franklin and her husband a great deal of anguish.  Her memory of it remains quite vivid.”

            “After that, Buck’s so-called friendship with Pete Franklin ended.” Dehner spoke slowly. He was thinking out loud. “Buck went back to being the good big brother. But he must have felt very guilty about setting Wes up like that.”

            “The guilt remained suppressed,” Lowrie explained, “but it came to the surface when Buck took part in his brother’s ambush. He actually killed Wes by releasing the brake on the wagon, allowing the horses to pull the wagon over Wes Torveen.”

            Bertram Lowrie paused and then continued. “Miss Torveen, I’m afraid that killing Wes pushed your brother into becoming a dual personality. The study of this phenomenon is just beginning. There is a great deal of important work being done in England.”

            Dehner suppressed a smile. His boss could never pass up an opportunity to extol the land of his birth.

            Lowrie continued his explanation. “Buck dealt with his guilt by, in a sense, becoming Wes Torveen and trying to complete Wes’ goal of killing the boys from his school who had once tormented him. As Wes, Buck apparently goaded Stanley Wiggins, the bartender, into a gunfight. He also pushed Rob Laverty into insanity.”

            Forrest Connors shook his head in bewilderment. “And he also murdered Blake Oliver.”

            “Not exactly,” Lowrie replied.

            “What do you mean?” Connors was again confused, as was everyone else except Lowrie.

            “The arrival on the scene of two detectives pushed Buck in a different direction,” Lowrie said. “He again became the protector. First, as himself, Buck tried to stop me from seeing Mrs. Franklin. He knew that Mrs. Franklin might recall what happened on that fateful day years ago. He probably hoped that by now, she was too frail to remember, but of course, he couldn’t be sure.”

            Dehner spoke softly, “If Buck’s cruelty were exposed, that could have led us to identify him as a suspect. If Buck were arrested, Wes Torveen would lose his protector.”

            “Exactly. And then, still acting as himself, Buck killed Blake Oliver and set out to frame you, Mr. Connors, for that murder.”

            Connors sighed and glanced upwards. “I did tell Buck I was goin’ to see Oliver on business that night. Guess he had no trouble figurin’ out what the business was all about.” 

            Lowrie nodded his head and continued. “Buck was convinced that Rob Laverty would do the rest,--frame you for the killing of Stanley Wiggins. Wes Torveen would be protected.”

            Dehner continued to think out loud. “Forrest owed Oliver money. Laverty claimed that Forrest killed the bar tender to make the murder of Blake Oliver appear to have been done by a ghost. Wes Torveen was dead but still on a murderous rampage.”

            “Precisely,” Lowrie replied in a clipped manner.

            “The personality of Wes may have become permanently latent,” Rance said. “No one would ever have known who was responsible for all of the killings.”  

            Rebecca Torveen gave Lowrie an admiring look. “That’s why you had me play out that little drama. You told me to keep accusing Buck of not being a good protector. You forced the Wes personality out into the open.”

            “Indeed, Wes was going to urge you to return home. He would have told you Buck is a fine protector.”

            Several minutes of silence followed, as everyone in the room pondered the complexity of the terrible crimes that had been committed. Rebecca broke the silence. “Mr. Lowrie, I want Buck to have the finest lawyer possible.”

            “I knew you would say that, Miss Torveen,” Bertram Lowrie handed her a card. “This is the name of a barrister who has an office in Dallas. He has had experience with cases like that of your brother.”

            There were courteous good-byes as Lowrie and Dehner left the house, mounted their horses and headed for town and the stage that would return them to Dallas. They had just ridden off the Torveen ranch when Dehner spoke to his boss.

            “There is one interesting fact you didn’t mention back there.”

            “And what is that?”

            Dehner gave a quick look to the country around him, then looked back to his boss. “All of the men who bullied Wes Torveen are now dead. One Arm Lightning accomplished his goal.”

            “Indeed. I have thought of that.”

            They made the rest of the trip in silence.

Night Riders

Episode One of Night Riders

Jared Ashley stepped out of the barn and felt a surge of anger. That Lila Tantrall hadn’t left yet! She was on the porch of the cabin talking with his wife. Stella’s voice sounded pleasant, though she couldn’t completely cover her embarrassment. “Thank you again for the clothes, Lila. Our little girl is growing so fast right now and, well, it takes a while to get a farm to produce--”

Lila hastily jumped in as Stella began to fumble with her words. “This is just our way of welcoming you to the West!  I know how hard life out here can be. Why, when I was Becky’s age, I don’t think Dad had more than a dozen or so head of cattle.”

Lila Tantrall was nineteen, with long brown hair surrounding a small, pretty face highlighted by prominent cheekbones. Her short stature, a little over five feet, gave her a pixyish look. Her gracious demeanor spoke of education at a school in the East.

Jared’s anger became more intense as he walked past the beautiful palomino Lila had tethered to a post at the front of the house. His wife looked at him with pleading eyes when he stepped onto the porch. She was silently begging him not to say anything ugly.

“Jared, you remember Lila Tantrall, you met her--”

“Yeah, I met her the last time she came on one of her missions of charity.”

“Jared, please--”

“If you really want to help us, Miss Tantrall, tell your father to stay away from my fences.”

Lila tried to maintain a friendly tone. “I’ll tell him, Mr. Ashley. I know that sometimes cattle can knock over fences.”

“It ain’t the cattle that’s doin’ it!”

Lila looked down briefly, then smiled at Stella. “I need to be going. It was so nice seeing you again.”

“Thank you, Lila, thank you for everything.”

The young woman nodded politely at Jared as she stepped off the porch. The homesteader didn’t acknowledge the courtesy. He stormed inside the cabin.

Episode Two

“I’ve got the table set, Daddy.” Seven year old Becky pointed at the dishes on the table.

 “Fine,” Jared’s voice was toneless.

Becky didn’t pick up on her father’s dark mood. “How do you like my pretty new dress? Miss Lila gave it to me today. She also gave me--”

Stella entered the cabin. She had remained outside for a few moments to calm her emotions over her husband’s behavior. “Leave your daddy alone, child. He is tired from his morning’s work. Come help me in the kitchen.”

“Yes, Momma.”

Stella Ashley’s voice slashed at her husband. “Becky and I will have lunch on the table soon. Go ahead and sit down.”

Jared sat down without speaking. He noticed that Becky had done a fine job of setting the table. Looking around the cabin, he once again realized how well Stella had handled her responsibilities.

It seemed that everyone was doing their job well except him.

Lunch passed with Stella giving her complete attention to their daughter. The only time her eyes went to Jared was immediately after Becky lisped through a prayer giving thanks for the food. Her glance was accusatory. Jared hadn’t accompanied his wife and daughter to church for several weeks.

After the meal, Stella and Becky cleared the table. While Becky stacked the dishes and got them ready for washing, Stella took a bucket outside to the pump. Jared followed his wife and tried to speak to her as she filled the bucket with gushing water.

“I’m sorry I treated the Tantrall girl the way I did.”

Stella pushed the pump handle with more force. “This was all your idea, Jared. We had a good life in Ohio. You had a decent job and we didn’t have to accept charity from anyone.”

“But I wasn’t going anyplace at the factory. We weren’t getting ahead!”

The woman let go of the pump and turned toward her husband.  “Where exactly are we going now? We’re one step from losing this place to the bank. You call that getting ahead!?” She picked up the bucket and began to return to the house.

Jared walked back to his plowing. He wanted to tell Stella how much he loved her and Becky. He had brought them West for a better life. The homesteader laughed bitterly at his own thoughts. “Better life!” he said aloud. “We’re barely surviving.”

Plant and hope for a good harvest, that’s all Jared knew to do. Well, maybe he should go to church with Stella and Becky and join all those folks asking the Lord for plenty of rain and no more droughts like the one last year. Couldn’t hurt.

He walked around the barn to where his plow awaited him and stopped. Five men on horseback were tying ropes to his fence posts. They were going to pull down the fence with Tantrall’s herd grazing less than two miles away.

“Damn Elijah Tantrall!” he whispered to himself. “The man thinks he’s king, doesn’t even bother to do his dirty work at night anymore.”

Jared ran back to the front of the barn and grabbed the Winchester he kept inside by the entrance. This time the king has made a serious mistake, Ashley thought.  Tantrall would pay in blood.

Episode Three

Ashley ran back to his field. He was barely in range of the five intruders when he fired his first shot at them. They laughed!  The invaders didn’t even bother to shoot back at him. All five of them now had ropes tied to one of his fence posts. They all spurred their horses at the same time and the fence came down. They laughed again, mocking how easily the fence had collapsed. They were dealing with some poor sodbuster who couldn’t even put up a fence right.

Rage coursed through Jared Ashley. He ran closer to the four riders and fired again and again missed. This time one of the riders returned fire. Dust spurted near the homesteader. For the first time, he noticed that all five men had hoods over their heads.

They began to ride directly at him. Jared’s rage was replaced by fear. He realized how little he had ever used a gun. There was never any need for one in Cleveland. His body trembled as he began to lever another shell into the Winchester.

Jared Ashley never got off a third shot. A bullet burrowed into his chest and he went down. All five riders stopped near the fallen homesteader. One of them dismounted, grabbed the rifle and held onto it. 

“He ain’t dead yet. Soon will be,” the rider who had dismounted spoke. Jared heard the voice through a buzzing in his ears.

“Come on!” We ain’t got much time!” The second voice sounded more distant.

The thugs rode off in the direction of his cabin. Jared silently cursed himself for his stupidity. When he had spotted the outlaws, his first move should have been to protect Stella and Becky. The homesteader struggled to his feet. He staggered toward the cabin. Maybe he could still warn them.

Jared struggled to maintain consciousness. He could hear loud yelps coming from the direction of his home. Smoke could suddenly be seen rising over the barn. “Stella…Becky…” Jared’s voice was a raspy whisper.

The homesteader managed a few more steps. He could now hear gunshots roaring over the sounds of the fire. Screams came from both Becky and Stella. They were being brutally slaughtered.

Jared Ashley collapsed. His wife and child had been murdered. He had failed horribly: failed to protect his own family. “I’m not fit to be called a man.” He whispered to the ground. Those were his last words.

Episode Four

***

A group of well-dressed men sauntered into the Clear Springs Community Church. The faces on all eight men were grim. They had just returned from the cemetery and the funeral service for the Ashley family.

Seven men sat in the first pew of the church; only one remained standing. Glenn Kagan was the head of the local Homesteaders Association. Kagan was a tall man with stooped shoulders. Sunburns had left red blotches on his otherwise pale skin.  Kagan stood at the front of the church and immediately got to the point. 

“Gentlemen, yesterday an entire family was murdered in broad daylight and their home burned by a gang of vicious killers. In the past, Elijah Tantrall has been content to knock over fences and burn down barns. Now, he has shown what kind of man he really is: a man who will kill women and children!”

There were several murmurs of agreement. Kagan continued, “I’m demandin’ that--”

The door to the church banged open and three men entered. The man leading the procession was of medium height, fiftyish with hair that was still thick and still more pepper than salt. He was slim, with ropey muscles, and his body seemed to be always lurching forward as if he was looking for an opening where he could attack.

“What are you doin’ here, Tantrall?” Kagan shouted.

Tantrall laughed contemptuously. “I built this here church and it couldn’t run without my money. Reckon I can walk in whenever I get the notion. Reckon I can tell men who spread lies about me to shuck off.”

Kagan pointed a finger at his adversary. “I ain’t lyin’!” He nodded to a young man of twenty in the first pew. “My boy Rory and I saw you--”

Tantrall’s voice became a bellow. “You saw me knock down one of your fences, six months ago. You were fencin’ off part of my best grazin’ land.” The cattle rancher pointed a thumb backward at one of the two men standing behind him. “Sheriff Thompson here told me I was breakin’ the law. I paid you for a new fence. Stop brayin’ like a donkey.”

A silence dropped over the church. Sheriff Max Thompson took advantage of it. “Men, if any of you have somethin’ that comes within shoutin’ distance of proof ‘bout who killed the Ashley family, or who’s been pullin’ down fences and burnin’ barns, show it to me!”

The homesteaders looked sheepish. Several of them took a sudden interest in their hands. The lawman continued, “If you got nothin’ to say, then stop talkin’. I intend to get to the bottom of this and get there quick. Meantime, stop jawin’ ‘bout Mr. Tantrall and Lem.”

Lem Donnigan was Tantrall’s foreman. He had entered the church with his boss and the sheriff. He stood over six feet. The foreman was in his mid-twenties with large muscles, calloused hands and a nose which had long ago been broken in a fight. Donnigan didn’t talk much, at least not when Elijah Tantrall was around.

Tantrall stared silently at the homesteaders. When he spoke, his voice was steady and without emotion. The rancher wasn’t making a threat, he was stating a fact. “The next man who spreads lies about me will answer to me.”

Elijah Tantrall turned and left. His ramrod and the sheriff followed behind him. A few minutes later, the homesteaders left the church. They had nothing more to say.

Episode Five

            ***

Max Thompson was grateful for the full moon, one of the few breaks he had received lately. The sheriff continued to ride the range in the vicinity of Tantrall’s Circle T Ranch and the homesteaders in the dark hours. Thompson believed the daylight attack on Jared Ashley and his family had been a surprise move, something out of the ordinary. For their next strike the night riders would likely strike, once again, at night. The sheriff knew he had to stop these raids if he wanted to prevent a land war. There had almost been an outbreak of violence that afternoon in the church,--of all places!

The lawman didn’t have a dog in this fight and he could see both sides. The homesteaders were just doing what the government encouraged them to do, moving West and working the land. But men like Elijah Tantrall were a special breed. They had been here first and had built ranches that had almost become empires.

Thompson stopped his horse near a section of hills and looked upwards. What he saw reminded him of the beautiful paintings he had viewed on his last trip to Dallas. Against the backdrop of the full moon, a young woman was riding a horse toward the top of one of the hills. The horse moved swiftly and gracefully and the woman’s hair swayed upward in the breeze, then playfully bounced against her shoulders.

“That could only be Lila Tantrall,” Thompson whispered to himself. “What’s she doin’ out at this hour of the night?”

The lawman realized it was his job to get the answer to that question. He spurred his horse and moved toward the hill.

***

Tracking at night can be difficult, even with a full moon, but Lila did not realize she was being followed. The young woman’s focus was speed. Max Thompson figured Lila needed to get something done and then return to the Circle T before her father realized she had left the ranch.

As Thompson rode a safe distance from his prey, he remained unable to even speculate on the lady’s motives for being out so late. Lila had always been mischievous, but still a sweet kid…

Max Thompson gave a whimsical laugh. A lot of time had passed since he really knew Lila Tantrall. Why, she had been little more than a child when her father sent her off to that school in the East. Elijah had hated to do it. He missed his daughter very much. But Elijah’s wife had died when the girl was eleven and the rancher had no idea how to raise a daughter.

Thompson halted his horse. Up ahead he could hear feet hitting the ground as Lila dismounted from her palomino. They were on a slope, but not a steep one. The hill was large and trees were plentiful. The sheriff tied up his black gelding and proceeded up the hill on foot. He reached a clearing and spotted a cave with a large entrance. A flickering light shone from within the strange meeting place, but the fire was not too bright. Someone had probably lit one torch and kept it a good distance from the cave’s opening. Lila and whoever was with her didn’t want light or smoke to signal their whereabouts. 

Max slowly approached the cave entrance. He could hear Lila’s voice. She sounded upset, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. He moved closer to the entrance.

Cold iron pressed against the back of his neck, followed by a low whisper, “Say anything and you’re dead.” A gag was tied around Thompson’s mouth. Another whisper followed. “Move. No tricks, or you die.”

Max couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to die, no matter what.

Episode Six

The lawman proceeded down the hill, silently cursing himself. He had been captured by members of the gang he was supposed to be stalking. Max listened carefully. From the footsteps, he thought there were five men walking behind him. One of them was now pressing the barrel of a gun into his back.

Thompson breathed heavily and kept his fear under wraps. He had always known that a lawman’s slightest error could cost him his life. He hadn’t given a thought to checking the area around the cave before moving in. It looked like that misstep was going to be deadly.

His lawman’s instincts remained strong. The jasper who whispered the orders to him seemed to be trying to disguise his voice.

Thompson was forced into a grove of trees. The gag was removed from his mouth and this time the captor who gave the orders made no attempt to change his voice. He spoke in an almost jocular manner as he yanked off his hood. “I’ll give you a moment to make peace with your creator, Sheriff. I always liked you. Sorry it’s come to this.”

“I’m already at peace with my creator.” Max Thompson turned around. He had been right. There were five outlaws: four were still wearing hoods. The talkative one was wearing a sneer. Max shook his head at the man who had a hood in his left hand and a six shooter in his right. “I never woulda guessed. You had me fooled. I must be  gettin’ old.”

The unmasked outlaw laughed. “Gettin’ old is a problem you’re not gonna have, Max.”

Episode Seven

***

Rory Kagan kissed his mother on her cheek. “Ma, you’re always the first up every morning. How do you do it?”

Irene Kagan smiled at her son and at the oven which was in front of her as if both were beloved family members. “Fixin’ breakfast is one of my jobs ‘round here. That means pullin’ myself outta bed early.”

“Pa and me could do more. I think Pa is still in bed.”

“Now Rory, you know Glenn Kagan works harder than any man in this territory, what with headin’ up the Homesteaders Association and all the responsibilities of the farm. He deserves a few extra minutes of shut-eye now and again. Just let him be.” She looked at her son affectionately. “If you’re so fired up ‘bout bein’ helpful, go fetch some water.”

Rory laughed, picked up a bucket and headed outside. The pump was located near the barn and as he put down the bucket he could hear a horse neighing inside. The neighing sounded far too close to the door. Did one of the horses break out of its stall?

The young man lifted the bar and opened the barn door. Immediately inside was a saddled horse. The animal didn’t belong to the family, but it looked familiar. “This is Midnight,” Rory spoke softly as he petted the black gelding. “Sheriff Thompson’s horse, what’s--”

Rory spotted blood on Midnight’s saddle, then he saw the body on the floor.

“Sheriff Thompson!” Rory Kagan crouched over the body of the lawman. He felt for a pulse, but knew there was none. What lay in front of him was a pale corpse.

Episode Eight

***

As he approached the Circle T, Rance Dehner could see a large herd of cattle spread over flat grazing land. From a distance they looked like a dark cloud stirring restlessly on the ground. As he rode into the ranch proper, he was received with suspicion. There were plenty of ranch hands around, all of them giving him hostile glares.

At the ranch house matters improved a bit. A large, broad shouldered man was talking with a very attractive young woman. The lady smiled at the newcomer as he approached. Her companion gave him an unfriendly glare, but at this point, Dehner was used to it.

“Good afternoon,” the detective said, “My name is Rance Dehner. I’m here to see Mr. Elijah Tantrall.”

The broad shouldered man continued to glare and the young woman continued to smile as she spoke. “I’m Lila Tantrall and this is Lem Donnigan, our foreman. You must be from the Lowrie Agency. I’ve never met a real detective before.” The woman’s voice exuded graciousness and a good upbringing. She wasn’t really all that impressed with Dehner’s occupation.

Lem Donnigan was even less impressed. “I’ve knowed a few detectives. They were all crooked men looking for a quick dollar.”

Rance replied in an easy going manner. “From what I hear about Elijah Tantrall, he can sum a man up pretty fast. If I’m the kind of detective you’re talking about, Lem, he’ll be throwing me out of his house in a few minutes.”

Lila saw Dehner’s reply as an opportunity to get down to business. “Please tether your horse and come inside, Mr. Dehner. Father ordered that you be brought to him as soon as you arrive.” The woman put an emphasis on the words “father ordered.” She seemed to be delivering a message to the foreman.

Dehner dismounted, tied up his bay, then followed Lila into the house. The young woman walked him through a large, attractive living room complete with plants and a painting done by a renowned western artist. Dehner figured that those touches came from Lila.

“I apologize for the way Lem acted. He’s usually welcoming to strangers,” Lila said.

“I understand how Lem feels, Miss Tantrall.”

“Oh?”

They passed through the living room and started down a hallway. “I’m an outsider brought in to help. Whenever that happens, there is usually somebody who takes offense. Somebody who thinks he could have handled the job just fine.”

Lila looked thoughtful and paused a few moments before speaking again.” Yes, Lem has been father’s right hand for several years now. He’s the man father goes to when a special problem comes up. But Lem needs to realize that this problem is different. A lot different.”

Episode Nine

They stopped at the last room in the hallway. Lila knocked on the door and opened it at the same time, moving her head inside. “Father, Mr. Rance Dehner of the Lowrie Agency is here to see you.”

“Show him in!”

The moment Rance stepped inside, Lila closed the door. Her retreating footsteps could be heard moving down the hall. The detective figured those steps were suspiciously loud. There was a theatrical quality about them: the steps of someone who planned on quietly returning and listening in at the door. 

Elijah Tantrall stood up from his large desk and extended a hand. “Thanks for gettin’ here so quick, Rance. Good to meet you.”

The two men shook hands as Dehner spoke. “I had just finished up a case nearby when I got the telegram from Dallas. The boss said you wired him about a problem.”

“Yeah. I got a problem all right.” Tantrall motioned for Dehner to sit in a chair that fronted the desk. As he did so, Rance gave the room a quick once over. The desk was a mess of papers and, besides the chair, the only other piece of furniture was a large sofa that sagged from plenty of use. Dehner surmised that the rancher often slept on that sofa after a long night of battling paper work.

Tantrall laughed scornfully at his desk as he once again settled in behind it. “Spent a good part of my life stayin’ away from this kind of work. My wife, Connie, use ta do this stuff for me. Nothin’ has been the same since she died.”

For a moment, Elijah stared at a blank wall. He went to a different location but quickly returned and looked directly at Dehner. “There have been several attacks on homesteaders around here recently. Started off with barn burnings, fences pulled down, that sort of thing. Then, three days ago, an entire family, the Ashleys, were murdered in broad daylight.”

“What has the local law done?”

“The law around these parts is Max Thompson…or was. Max was killed two nights ago while searching for the killers of the Ashley family. His body was dumped in the barn of Glenn Kagan, the head of the Homesteaders Association.” Tantrall paused and pressed his lips together. Dehner realized that Max Thompson had been friends with the rancher.

Elijah Tantrall only needed a moment to get his emotions back in check. “Kagan is convinced that I did it as a warning to him and the rest of the homesteaders to get out.”

“I take it you’re not on good terms with the homesteaders.”

Episode Ten

Tantrall sighed deeply. “I’ve always been on the side of law. This country needs law. I want Lila to be able to settle here and have a good life. But--”

Dehner spoke softly. “The law is on the side of the homesteaders.”

“Y-e-a-h. I’ve had a hard time accepting that. Pulled down one of Glenn Kagan’s fences a while back.”

“Did you apologize to Kagan?”

“No. But I paid for the damn fence after Max told me I had to.”

“What do you want me to do, Mr. Tantrall?”

“The new sheriff is Lucky Chandler. A nice kid. He made a fine deputy for Max and someday he’ll make a fine sheriff. Don’t get me wrong. Lucky can take care of the town, handle the hard cases, that sort of thing. But he’s in over his head with this homesteader situation.”

 “You want me to find out who is behind the raids on the homesteaders.” Dehner wasn’t really asking a question.

Elijah nodded his head. “Glenn Kagan has got a real bug in his ear about me. He’s stirrin’ up the other homesteaders. We ain’t far from a land war.”

“I’ll get started right away.” Dehner deliberately kept his voice low. “I’ll probably ride out tonight and get a feel for the territory.”

“Fine,” Tantrall’s chair loudly scraped the floor as he got up. “I want you to stay here with us. We’ve got plenty of space.” He walked with Dehner into the hallway, where he gave a friendly shout. “Lila!”

“Yes, father?” Her voice came from the living room and dripped with casualness.

“Show Mr. Dehner to a guest room.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Rance gave the rancher a quick nod, then walked swiftly into the living room. Lila was perched on the end of a chair, sitting upright in almost military stiffness with both hands in her lap and both feet tucked as far under the chair as she could get them. “I’m sure you have some things in your saddle bags, Mr. Dehner, things that you will want to carry to your room.”

“Yes, I do, Miss Tantrall. I’ll fetch them right now.”

Relief shot across the young woman’s face. “Great! When you get back, I’ll show you to your room.”

Rance stepped outside of the house before Lila could see the smile on his face. Lila Tantrall was not good at deception. She had tried to conceal her feet but hadn’t quite succeeded. Lila Tantrall was barefoot. Dehner’s earlier notion had been right. The young woman had taken off her footwear to avoid detection and then returned to her father’s office door to listen in.

But why? Dehner was purposely slow in retrieving his saddle bags. He wanted his hostess to have ample time to get her shoes back on: best to let her think the trick had worked.

Episode Eleven

***

Lila Tantrall sat alone in her dark room and looked out the window. The night was beautiful, but she couldn’t enjoy it. Time was passing slowly. She wanted to read but lighting the lamp in her room would send a bright patch across the bottom of her bedroom door. No one in the house must know she was still awake.

Feelings of guilt and anxiety caused the young woman to wring her hands. Father had always been so good to her. It seemed wrong to deceive him, but…

The hour finally arrived. The house was completely quiet. Lila climbed through the window in her room and made her way quickly to the grove of trees behind the barn. Her palomino was waiting there, saddled and ready at the spot where she had tethered him hours before: a necessary act of secrecy. Opening the barn door might have awakened her father or maybe that detective.

She rode off slowly and then increased speed as she got further from the ranch. She had missed having her own horse while attending school in the East. When she returned to the Circle T, her father had made her a gift of this fine palomino. Once again the young woman experienced a pang of guilt and once again she shook it from her mind.

She had made this late night journey several times before and her horse knew where to go. Lila experienced a sense of excitement as they galloped up the mountain. The palomino slowed as they neared their destination.

Lila dismounted, tied up her horse, and walked toward the flicker of red that came from the cave entrance. Suddenly, the young woman stopped. She thought she had heard something. She stood still and listened. Her horse nickered and small critters made scampering sounds in nearby bushes. The woman inhaled deeply. “I have to stay calm,” she whispered to herself. “There’s too much at stake.”

With a sense of determination, Lila Tantrall calmed her jitters and entered the cave. 

Episode Twelve

Rory Kagan walked briskly toward her and the two young people embraced. Their coming together seemed more an act of desperation and exhaustion than romantic attachment. Both of them seemed to sense this situation as they slowly broke away from one another.

“Our families aren’t trying to kill each other,--yet!” Rory said. “Besides that I ain’t…” Rory paused, then tried again with better grammar, “I have no news to report.”

“I do,” Lila replied. “But I don’t know if it’s good or bad.”

“Oh.”

“Father has hired a detective. Rance Dehner. He is with the Lowrie Agency in Dallas. Father wants him to find out who is behind the murder of the Ashley family and the vandalism wreaked on the homesteaders.”

“Vandalism?”

“All the destruction, barn burnings, fences being pulled down, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”  Rory’s worries extended beyond the possibility of a land war. Would this educated, refined young woman become fed up with his farm boy ways?

Lila was unaware of Rory’s anxieties over his lack of education. “Do you think your dad will be impressed? I mean, hiring a detective certainly shows that my father is not responsible for all the terrible crimes that have been taking place.”

Rory began to pace about the cave as he scratched his head. “Sounds sensible enough, but pa don’t cotton much to common sense these days. Maybe he’ll see straight on this, but I don’t think so.”

The young man gave a joyless laugh that bounced off the walls of the cave as if it were mocking him. “I hope this Rance fella is a better detective than us. Remember our big dream about findin’ the real owlhoots and turnin’ them in to the law?”

 The two young people stood apart, both feeling the disappointment of their failed idealism. Then they once again embraced, clinging to each other tightly as their lips came together.

“My, my, ain’t  that sweet!”

The couple hastily broke apart. Standing near the cave entrance were two men with hoods over their heads and guns in their hands.

Rory kept one arm around Lila as he snapped at the intruders. “What are you doin’ here?!”

The outlaw who had spoken laughed, “Why, I thought you’d be right glad to see us.”

“What do you mean?”

A note of amusement stayed in the outlaw’s voice. He was thin, with two buttons missing from his red shirt. “You two was talkin’ ‘bout findin’ out who was doin’ all the killin’ and burnin’.” He raised his gun a little higher. “Well, now ya found them.”

Episode Thirteen

“You’d better ride off!” Lila tried to sound threatening. “My father has hired a detective from Dallas--”

“Shut up!” The same outlaw continued to speak. “Outside. Both of ya.”

The two young people walked hand in hand out of the cave. Two more masked thugs were waiting for them. One of them had his gun drawn, the other was holding the reins to their horses.

“Both of ya, on your horses, now!” This time the talkative outlaw prodded Rory with the barrel of his six gun.

Lila mounted her palomino while Rory got on his buckskin. Three of the gunmen also mounted their horses and then surrounded the couple.  Red Shirt walked over to Lila’s palomino and gave the animal a pat.

“Fine horse ya got there, girlie.”

Lila said nothing.

The thug took the horse’s reins and walked it away from the rest of the group. “You ride that fine horse back to the Circle T.”

Lila was stunned. “Ah…sure…Rory and I will…”

Red Shirt laughed. “No, girlie. Ya gotta make this ride all by your lonesome.”

“I’m not leaving without Rory!”

The outlaw fired a shot directly over the palomino’s head. The horse neighed loudly and lurched about in a panic. Lila quickly brought the horse under control only to have Red Shirt fire another shot. The horse went up on two legs. Lila struggled to maintain control of the animal.

“Ride off, Lila!” Rory shouted.

“I’ll get help,” the girl shouted back as her horse began to gallop back to the Circle T. Lila, a fine horsewoman, managed to bring the palomino to a halt in time to look back and see the four outlaws riding down the mountain with Rory. The thugs didn’t seem at all worried about her bringing back help. What did they have in mind?

Lila realized she had no time for such thoughts.  She spurred her horse into a fast gallop back to the Circle T.

Episode Fourteen

***

The killers reached the bottom of the mountain and halted. “Let’s git the job done right here.” Red Shirt continued to do all the talking. Rory figured that he must be the leader of the group, but somehow the rest of the outlaws didn’t seem to treat him like a boss.

“Let’s move on a bit. We’re in open spaces. Anyone can see us.” The objection came from a heavy set man, the only one of the outlaws who was holding a gun on Rory.

Red Shirt snapped his reply. “There ain’t no one around this time of night. Besides, the boss tole us not to get anywhere close to the cattle. Don’t want to get none of the Circle T cowboys mixed up in this.” 

Those words devastated Rory Kagan. He and Lila had been wrong! Elijah Tantrall was guilty just as his father had claimed. And Lila was now riding back to the Circle T to get help. Fat chance!

Someone ordered Rory off his horse. As he dismounted he prayed silently that Elijah Tantrall would be brought to justice and that Lila would have a good life. His body began to tremble. He wanted to break down and cry.

 But Rory Kagan was not about to give his killers that satisfaction. “I guess I’m gonna die at the hands of a bunch of cowards; it takes four of you jaspers to kill one man.”

“Shut up, kid!” Red Shirt was talking again. All four men were now dismounted and standing around him.

“And you jaspers wear hoods. Of course, maybe you have faces that need coverin’ up.”

Red Shirt slammed a fist into the boy’s face. Kagan plunged to the ground where he received a hard kick in the ribs.

“I was gonna make this easy on you, boy. Jus’ a quick bullet in the head. But now, I think I might have me a little fun first.”

Episode Fifteen

“The fun is over! Throw down your guns and put your hands up. Now!”

The voice came from behind a boulder a few feet up the mountain. Red Shirt went for his six shooter but was stopped by a rifle shot that blew open his chest. Another outlaw already had his gun out but received a hard kick to his knee before he could fire.  He doubled over in pain and dropped the iron. Rory kicked it away from him. 

The remaining two outlaws sent a hail of bullets toward the boulder but didn’t bother to aim. Their shots served as a cover as they mounted their horses and galloped off. The outlaw that Rory Kagan had downed looked around for his gun and saw Kagan pick it up.

“Stop right there!” Rory shouted as the thug scrambled not too gracefully onto his roan. Kagan deliberately fired over the jasper’s head as he spurred his horse into a fast retreat.

“You’re using good judgment, Rory.” The voice came from beside the boulder. “No need to shoot those hired guns. They won’t be back. One dead man is enough.”

“Who are you?” Rory still held the gun in his hands. The man walking down the slope was probably a friend. His gun was holstered and he now carried his Winchester in one hand. Still, Rory wasn’t taking any chances. He had encountered enough surprises on this night.

“The name is Rance Dehner, I’m--”

“You’re the detective Elijah Tantrall hired!” Rory tightened his grip on the six shooter.

“That I am,” Dehner’s voice remained calm as he walked over to check on the fallen outlaw. His earlier statement had been right. The man was dead.

 “Those killers wanted to shoot me here, so they wouldn’t be too close to Tantrall’s herds.”

“Yeah, that’s what I heard. Why don’t you toss down that gun and maybe we can figure out how to stop a bloody land war.”

Rory Kagan paused for a moment, then did what Dehner had suggested. “Look, Rance, I don’t want Elijah Tantrall to be the one behind all this, but it’s the only explanation that makes sense. Those owlhoots let Lila go. Even a no good wouldn’t want harm to come to his own daughter. And there’s the order to stay clear of the cattle…”

Dehner spoke as if his mind had been far away. “We’ll have to come back and bury this jasper later. Come on, we’re riding back to the Circle T.”

Episode Sixteen

***

Lila Tantrall’s good upbringing abandoned her. She yelled at the people around her. “Hurry up! A man’s life is at stake!”

Lem Donnigan barked back. “We’re almost ready to go, Miss Tantrall. It ain’t easy to--”

“She’s got a point, Lem!” Elijah’s voice was almost a shout. “It’s taking too long to get the men ready. This ain’t no Sunday social.”

The ranch owner, his daughter, and the foreman were all on horseback, as were five ranch hands. They were waiting for another five who were still saddling their horses.

Lem appeared hurt by his boss’ remark. He was the ramrod: getting the men ready was his job. “Sorry, Mr. Tantrall, you see…”

“Someone’s coming!” Lila pointed toward a horseman approaching at a leisurely trot.  He was riding past the barn and waved as he got closer.

Rance Dehner reined up and spoke in a jovial voice, as if they were, indeed, preparing for a Sunday social. “Good morning, everyone. Looks like we’re in for a beautiful day.”

“Where have you been, Dehner?” Elijah’s anger was now aimed at his most recent hire. “I couldn’t find you nowheres, some detective you are! Look, we gotta--”

“No, Mr. Tantrall, there’s no need to worry about Rory Kagan.”

“What do you mean?” Lila snapped.

Rance shouted out a friendly “Rory!”

A figure on horseback rode from behind the barn toward the passel of people. He moved steadily through a cascade of shadows being tossed about by the breaking dawn.

“Rory!” Lila started to ride toward the young man, but stopped when Dehner held up a palm.

Rory Kagan continued to ride toward the group, but he was not heading directly for Lila. He was making tracks to the ramrod. “Surprised to see me, Lem?”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Rance interrupted your plans, Lem.” Kagan continued to ride slowly toward his prey. “Those thugs failed to kill me. Now, you’re going to die, Lem: at the end of a rope.”

Rance drew his Colt and fired as Donnigan went for his gun. The ramrod’s body jerked and fell to the ground. Dehner hastily dismounted and grabbed the six shooter Lem had dropped. He didn’t want to have to shoot him again.

Lem Donnigan twisted in the dust and brayed a string of curses. From the corner of his eye, Dehner could see that both Lila and Rory had dismounted and were in a tight embrace.

The detective gave Elijah Tantrall a fast glance. The man looked totally confused. Rance laughed softly to himself. He couldn’t tell if the rancher was more shocked by the fact that his ramrod was an outlaw or that his daughter was in love with the son of a man who hated him.

Episode Seventeen

***

“Wish you’d stay over ‘till tomorrow, Rance. We got quite a feast planned!” Elijah Tantrall spoke as Dehner was tightening his saddle bags. His horse was in front of the ranch house. Standing around Elijah were his daughter and Rory and Glenn Kagan.

            Elijah pointed a thumb at Lila and Rory “Yeah, the whole county is gonna be shocked to hear these two are getting’ hitched. I figure some good beef and a barn dance will help ease the surprise some.”

            “Reckon it will,” Dehner said. “But I need to be moving on.” He realized that the planned celebration was Elijah’s way of making peace with the homesteaders.

            The rancher’s voice turned somber. “I still can’t believe that Lem Donnigan was a Judas. He was my right hand man.”

            “Lem was provoking a war with the homesteaders in order to get to you.” Rance gave his saddle a quick once over. “Once the war started, he’d have plenty of opportunities to kill you and claim the bullet had come from a homesteader.”

            “How did Lem know I was meeting Rory at the cave?” Lila asked.

            “I can’t say for certain, but I suspect you are not very good at deception, Miss Tantrall,” the detective replied. He didn’t mention her failed attempt to hide her bare feet. “Lem’s plan was to kill Rory and dump his body in the barn at the Kagan place.” Dehner shifted his glance to Glenn. “Lem was certain Rory’s father would jump to the conclusion that Elijah had murdered his son.”

            “I’m ‘fraid  he was right,” Glenn admitted.

            “But Sheriff Thompson got in his way,” Rory added.

            Dehner nodded his head. “On the night he was going to kill you, Donnigan spotted Max Thompson outside the cave. He changed his plans a bit. He decided to kill Thompson, whom he saw as the one obstacle in his scheme, and then kill you on another night. After all, he knew that you and Lila were . . . ah, . . . eager to see each other again.”

            The detective looked at everyone around him. “That new sheriff, Lucky Chandler, is very good at interrogations. He sure got to Lem.”

            “When did you begin to suspect my foreman, Rance?” Elijah asked.

            The detective gave his horse a pat. “When I heard the men being instructed not to shoot off any guns near the cattle. Lem didn’t want any of his thugs to alert the cowboys watching the herd. He didn’t want to lose any good hands. I trusted you, Mr. Tantrall, which got me thinking in the direction of Lem.”

            Elijah made a lopsided grin. “I had some extra chores for Lem. He needed to be at the ranch before sunup. That’s why he couldn’t do the job himself, had to trust his gang.”

            A look of confusion still danced over Lila’s face. “But I don’t understand. What would Lem Donnigan gain from killing father?”

            Dehner smiled at the young woman as he mounted his horse. “You would inherit the ranch. Lem planned on marrying you, and with his gang of thugs, making this county his fiefdom.”

            Lila looked flabbergasted. “Lem Donnigan planned to marry me!”

            Dehner’s smile broadened. “Males can have a lot of vanity, Miss Tantrall. You’d be wise to keep that in mind.” He gave a two fingered salute and began to ride off.

            As he rode past the barn, Rance thought about the hired guns who had escaped. He had a feeling that eventually he would again meet up with those owlhoots. He gave a caustic laugh, “Guess that just comes with the job.”

            The detective slowed his horse and gave a quick look backwards. Lila and Rory were laughing and enjoying each other’s company as their fathers jawed together, creating a friendship where there had only been animosity.

            “Maybe this isn’t such a bad job, after all,” Dehner said to himself as he spurred his horse into a gallop. 

           

           

  Episode One of The Songbird of the West

Rance Dehner  awoke and stared into darkness. At first, he didn’t recall where he was. He was lying in a strange bed in yet another hotel room somewhere in…Texas. Yes, he was in Dry River, Texas. He had arrived in town a few hours before, checked into the room, taken off his boots and dropped into bed with his clothes still on.

Clumsy steps sounded in the hallway. “A rich man, I’m gonna be king of the world!”

Dehner sighed deeply. This always seemed to happen. On nights when he got to sleep in a hotel bed, his slumber was disturbed by some drunken fool.

For a moment, an odd sense of depression came over the detective. Was his whole life going to be spent moving from one hotel bed to the next? Of course, he spent more nights sleeping under the stars than in a hotel.

The detective laughed softly to himself, alleviating the depression. How the poets loved to rhapsodize over sleeping under the stars! Rance figured those poets didn’t spend many nights actually sleeping outside.

“Gonna have anything I want because I’m the best there is!”

Dehner tensed up. The voice was shrill with threat. Of course, it could be just drunken bravado, but…

A door somewhere down the hall opened. Heavy footsteps clomped into a room. The voice remained loutish though a bit muffled. “None better…lots of money…”

A loud shot resounded through the second floor of the hotel. In almost one movement, Dehner was off the bed and into his boots, strapping on his gunbelt which had been hanging on the bedpost.

The detective opened the door of his hotel room cautiously. Across from him and at the far end of the hall, a blade of kerosene light cut across the floor. A loud, moronic laugh came from the other side of the partially open door.

Dehner moved toward the slash of yellow. Two doors down, a head protruded from a dark room.

“What’s goin’ on?” The question came from a bony face topped by long, greasy black hair.

“Don’t know,” the detective replied. “Get back in your room.”

“I’m a farmer,” the man spoke as if that fact lent him moral superiority. “Only come into town now and again. Towns is evil places.”

“Get back in your room.” The head withdrew into darkness, like a small creature retreating into a shell.

The laughter suddenly stopped. Laughing man had heard Dehner approaching. As Rance drew closer to the lighted room, the door was pushed open wider, creating a small carpet of light which also splattered a murky tinge of yellow against the opposite wall. 

The detective could hear anxious, erratic breathing coming from inside the room. Someone was waiting for him.

Episode Two

Rance Dehner stepped into the light and faced the man who had disrupted his sleep. He was young, maybe twenty, and stood at a fraction under six feet. His hair was sandy and his arms were muscular, ending in large hands. In one of those hands he held a Colt .44. The gun was pointed at the floor.

“Howdy!” He shouted at Rance.

“Hello.”

“My name is Holt Conley. Ever heard of me?”

“No. Can’t say I have.”

“Well, you’re gonna! Say, you with the hotel?”

“No.”

“If you were, I was gonna tell you not to worry none about that bullet in the wall.” He pointed with the .44 toward a side wall. The gesture was casual. He was using the gun as if it were a school teacher’s pointer. 

“See, I was practicing my draw. Gotta kill a man tomorrow. Know how much I’m gonna get paid?”

“No.”

“Eight hundred dollars! I ain’t foolin’.” Conley holstered his gun and pulled out a billfold from a side pocket of his buckskin jacket. He yanked out a fistful of bills and waved them at his companion. “Four hundred dollars! Get the rest of it after the job’s done. Won’t have any problems payin’ to get that wall fixed.”

As he observed Holt Conley, the detective realized his earlier assumptions had been wrong. The young man’s eyes and words did not speak of alcohol, but madness.

Without returning the money to his billfold, Conley stuffed both back into his pocket. “When I checked into this hotel, I told ‘em to give me the finest room they had. The clerk said he’d give me the room with the biggest window.” He pointed behind himself with his thumb. “Bet you ain’t got a window that big in your room.”

“You’re right!” Dehner noted that the window was unusually large for a hotel. The curtains were red, thick, and clean, another unusual find.

Holt Conley was obviously delighted by Rance’s concession. His eyes took on a friendly, though condescending look. “I didn’t catch your name, friend.”

“Guess I didn’t toss it to you. The name is Rance Dehner.”

The friendliness left Conley’s face, replaced by an intense fire. “Well, now, we got ourselves an interesting situation here, Rance Dehner.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the man I’ve been paid to kill.”

Episode Three

     Conley’s right hand became a blur as it propelled downward. His .44 had cleared leather when Dehner’s first shot cut into Holt Conley’s stomach. The gunfighter crouched into a jackknife position and staggered backwards.

            “Drop the gun, Holt, now!”

            Conley raised his right arm and tried to aim at his adversary. Rance’s second shot ripped into the gunman’s shoulder. He dropped his .44 and again stumbled backwards, this time crashing into the window. The sound of breaking glass mixed with Holt’s loud scream of pain.

            The detective ran to the window. Holt Conley was hanging outside, his right arm wrapped around the curtain, which he had pulled out the window. Conley was desperately trying to lift his wounded left arm but couldn’t manage it.

            Rance tried to reach down and grab Holt but the curtain ripped and Conley fell. Another loud scream filled the air as Holt Conley hit the boardwalk.

            Dehner  ran out of the room and down the stairs. When he arrived at the boardwalk, several people were watching from across the street and a few more were gawking through a large window from inside the hotel. No one offered any help. 

            The detective crouched over the fallen gunman. Blood zig-zagged  from Conley’s mouth and then streamed down his neck. His eyes were open, but the wide eyed expression on his face was ghastly, as if he were watching death descend upon him.

            Dehner didn’t bother with comforting words about getting a doctor. “Holt, who hired you to kill me?”

            “…I only saw her in pictures…you know…the kind that come in the cigar boxes…was gonna see her in person…”

            “The name, Holt, I need the name of the man who wants me dead.”

            Conley lifted a fragment of the red curtain which was still in his hand. “Is this from the room?”

            “Yes.”

            “The best…” He giggled for a moment then all of the amusement departed from his face and there was nothing there at all.

            Dehner looked around him. Groups of people were now scattered about watching him. No one came near.

            That odd sense of depression returned. He felt very alone.  

Episode Four

***

            Rance Dehner mused that he had spent a lot of time in sheriff’s offices, but this particular visit was more than a little different. Outside, a band was playing a tune that, the detective supposed, was intended to be rousing and upbeat. The band seemed to be heavy on horns and drums and light on practicing. Their rehearsal sounded a bit like a dirge for someone that no one was very sorry to see dead.

            Sheriff Tal Streeter stood behind his desk instructing a group of four volunteer deputies on the finer points of crowd control. The lawman could brag about having the neatest, most well dressed deputies in the west. And the happiest. If smiling was a key component of law enforcement, this bunch couldn’t be topped.

            The sheriff moved to the conclusion of his talk. “Miss Carrie Whiting will be arriving on the stage in a little over an hour. Go to the depot, and if you spot anyone who is drunk and disorderly, inform Deputy Curt Weldon. He is there now. I will be along shortly.” He nodded at Rance. “I need to conduct some business with this gentleman first.”

            “What about?!” The question came from one of the volunteers, who sounded incredulous that any event could be as important as the arrival of Carrie Whiting.

            “Well, a hired gun tried to kill this man last night and ended up dead for his efforts. Call me old fashioned, but I believe that is something the local law should take an interest in. Now, get to the depot, all of you!”

            The four volunteers were far too excited about their duties to be worried about the sheriff’s anger. They laughed and patted each other on the back as they scrambled out of the office.

            Tal Streeter shook his head. “I tell ya, Rance, this whole town has gone loco. Know I wasn’t much help to you last night but all the saloons were packed. The reason the hotel seemed empty is that everyone was out celebrating. I didn’t hear about the trouble there until--”

            “Don’t worry about it, Tal. I understand.” Dehner moved away from the side wall where he had been leaning but remained on his feet. He was too restless to sit down. “You’re only one man, and you only have one full time deputy.”

            Streeter nodded his head. He was a man of medium height, in his early thirties. He had dark hair and a reddish scar which ran down the side of his face: a memento of the night a drunk had swung a broken whiskey bottle at him.

            The lawman pointed at the piles of paper on his desk. “Looked through all the circulars. Can’t find no one that matches the description of the man sent to kill you.” The sheriff scrunched up his face and continued, “How many people knew you were coming to Dry River, Rance?” 

            “Just you, I guess. I sent you that letter explaining---”

            Tal let out a loud curse. “And I left that letter lying right here on my desk! This office can get pretty crowded and hectic some times. Anybody could have given it a quick read. Sorry Rance,--”

            “Forget it.”

            “As I recall, you are here to protect Carrie Whiting.”

            Rance began to pace the office. “This is one of the strangest assignments I have ever had. Miss Whiting is based in Dallas--”

            “Like the Lowrie Detective Agency,” Tal added.

            Dehner nodded his head and continued. “Carrie Whiting’s agent, a man named George McLeod, came to the agency with a problem. Miss Whiting had accepted an invitation to perform in Dry River. McLeod usually accompanies his client wherever she goes. But Miss Whiting has insisted on coming to Dry River by herself.”

            “Why?”

            “She won’t say, but McLeod is worried. He wants me to keep an eye on his client without her knowing that he hired a detective to watch out for her.”

            The sheriff scratched his head and frowned. “Carrie Whiting, the Songbird of the West. She usually tours the big Eastern cities or maybe some place like Denver. Why is she coming to Dry River?”

            Dehner shrugged his shoulders. “According to McLeod she owes a favor to Bruce Patten, a man who owns a lot of saloons in this town. Patten is involved in some big celebration--”

            Tal sighed loudly and for a moment his eyes moved to the ceiling. “Yeah. We’re renaming the town. But that don’t explain why Carrie Whiting won’t let her agent come along.”

            “Another thing we have to keep in mind. Holt Conley trying to kill me last night may not be connected to the whole Carrie Whiting matter. I’ve made a lot of enemies. Still, I think there is a connection. Like I told you last night, Conley’s dying words were about the singer--”

            The door to the office banged open and Deputy Curt Weldon ran inside. He was in his mid-twenties, lean, muscular, and very worried.

            Tal Streeter read the concern on his deputy’s face. “What is it?”

            “Matt Roberts just rode in from his farm. Says he spotted the stagecoach, the one bringin’ Carrie Whiting.”

            “So?”

            “Outlaws stopped the coach. They have it surrounded.”

Episode Five

***

            Carrie Whiting sat alone in the passenger section of the stagecoach. The solitude was bliss. Of course, the ride would be over soon and she would once again have to be…well…Carrie Whiting, the Songbird of the West. People would expect her to be bubbly and smiling and, of course, everyone would demand just a few minutes of your time.

            She glanced at the passing landscape and admonished herself for the self-pity. Carrie Whiting was blessed and knew it. At twenty-one she was, as several newspaper reviewers described her, “a fine figure of a woman.” Carrie had long blond hair, a beautiful face and a voice equally as beautiful. Like her appearance, the voice was a gift. Carrie had never attended a music school, or any school at all.

            The young woman closed her eyes and reflected on the fact that all of her blessings had almost landed her in a living nightmare. Bruce Patten had rescued her. She owed him. But Bruce was a complicated man. Was there some ulterior motive behind his invitation to come to Dry River? Probably.

            The Songbird of the West began to doze lightly. She had a fragment of a dream where she was singing in a rundown saloon as men viciously gunned each other down. Suddenly, the men stopped killing each other and began to aim their guns at her.

            Gunshots yanked Carrie from her dream. The stagecoach lurched forward at a faster speed. From above she could hear the shotgun returning fire. The sound of hoofbeats pounding behind the stagecoach drew closer.

            The young woman had to brace herself with both arms in order not to bounce around the rocking and swaying coach. She could hear shouts of “pull over” coming from the outlaws. The shotgun replied with curses and gunfire.

            Horsemen appeared at both sides of the coach at almost the same time. The horses moved with fast, graceful strides. For a fleeting moment, the scene looked choreographed, like one of the dance numbers Carrie performed in theaters.

            That illusion was quickly shattered by more gunfire and curses. Shouts of “okay, okay” finally came from the driver.

            As the stagecoach slowed to a halt, Carrie pressed her lips together and tried to remain calm. She would give the robbers all the money she was carrying. That would be the end of it.

            Four horsemen pulled up beside the coach. One outlaw dismounted and opened the passenger door. “I’m gonna ask you to step down, Miss Whiting.” The polite words were belied by the gun in his right hand.

            Carrie felt a new tension as she followed the instructions. Was she the reason the stagecoach had been stopped?

            Her eyes quickly scanned the four outlaws, all of whom were now on one side of the coach with guns drawn. Two were still on horseback. The other man who had dismounted was pointing a gun up toward the stagecoach driver and shotgun. All of the crooks had bandannas covering the bottom half of their faces. Their eyes gleamed with a wicked amusement.

            Another horseman approached the stagecoach. Carrie hoped this might be help. Her hope was short lived as she saw that the newcomer was masked and guiding a riderless horse.

            “Get on the horse, lady!” This time the man pointing the gun at her did not sound at all polite.

            The young woman chose defiance. “And just what will happen if I decide not to get on the horse?”

            Carrie realized immediately that she had made a terrible mistake. The gunman gave a cold laugh then turned to his companion who held a six shooter pointed at the shotgun and driver. “Let’s show Miss Carrie Whiting what happens when she doesn’t act nice.”

            “Okay, boss,” The outlaw guarding the driver and shotgun opened fire. A hail of bullets penetrated both men and they plunged from the stagecoach onto the ground.

            Carrie screamed, then angrily faced her captor. “There was no reason to do that. You cowards! You shot those men down in cold blood.”

            “If you hadn’t been so disagreeable, lady, we might have let one of them live. We planned all along to kill at least one person.”

            The singer glanced briefly at the two corpses. Her voice was a whisper. “Why? Those two men had their hands in the air. They were no threat…”

            The outlaw standing beside her continued to speak in a mock friendly manner. “Well, Miss Whiting, we’re about to begin some very important business talks regarding you. It’s mighty important that the people we talk to understand we’re serious. They can’t hang a man twice. We’re already murderers. We killed a couple of ranchers, but that ain’t enough. The law has to know we’re killers and that we got us nothin’ to lose by killing you. Get on the horse, Miss Whiting. Now!”

Episode Six

***

            Rance Dehner and the two lawmen from Dry River reined up beside the stagecoach. They quickly dismounted and checked the bodies that lay on the ground. Dehner began to pace about with the feeling of helplessness and anger that always plagued him when he arrived at a scene too late.

            The detective took a deep breath and brought his emotions under control. He had been hired to protect Carrie Whiting. He was doing her no good by acting like a sullen school boy.

            Sheriff Tal Streeter examined the ground. “Looks like there were six horses in all. They obviously took Carrie Whiting, but where? The ground here abouts is hard. Won't be easy to follow the trail. We’ll just hav'ta do the best--”

            “Maybe not!” His deputy interrupted.

            “What do you mean?” Dehner asked.

            “Last Sunday afternoon, I was jawin’ with Hiram Jones, the owner of the General Store. He’s a talkative old codger--”

            “He can’t talk more than you!” The sheriff yelled, “Get to the point!”

            Deputy Curt Weldon had an oval face, brown hair and a carefully tended brown mustache.  He nervously caressed that mustache before speaking again. “Hiram tole me that Bert and Patricia Kimball didn’t come into town last Saturday to pick up supplies like they usually do. The Kimballs always look forward to Saturdays and getting’ away from that ten head ranch of--”

            “So!?” The sheriff continued to yell.

            “I see Curt’s point,” Dehner interjected. “Do the Kimballs have hired hands?”

            The deputy shook his head. “Can’t afford help. Live by themselfes on the ranch.”

            Dehner’s voice gained intensity. “We’re dealing with killers.They’d think nothing of killing a poor ranch couple to use their place as a hideout. Do you know where the Kimball place is, Curt?”

            “Sure. Not too far off. The sheriff and I have been there a few times.”

            The detective looked at the sheriff as he spoke. “I think we should check it out.”

            Tal pushed back his hat and scratched his head. “Now, hold on. Don’t you think we should try pickin’ up their trail before it gets cold?”

            With Rance on his side, the deputy had gained new confidence. Still, he spoke carefully and with respect to his boss. “You’re right that the trail will be real hard to follow, boss. Let’s give my notion a chance.”

            Tal shrugged his shoulders. “Okay. We’ll ride out to the Kimball place.”

            As they mounted, Dehner mused that he had worked with Sheriff Tal Streeter only once before and then very briefly. Streeter was short tempered and didn’t like to admit he was wrong. But the sheriff’s temper usually cooled quickly. Rance hoped that Tal would eventually apologize to this deputy for yelling at him for no reason.

            But the two men would have to work that out later. Right now, there was a life to save.

Episode Seven

***

            The sun had set as the three men approached a tall, wide knoll. “I think we should leave the horses here,” Curt said. “We can hoof it up to the top of the knoll. From there we got a good view of the Kimball ranch. What there is of it.”

            The three men quickly dismounted and tied up at a grove of trees. Rance removed field glasses from his saddle bags and the threesome moved quietly up the knoll. At the top they lay on the ground and studied the scene below. There was a small house sided by a coral. The house faced a barn which, like the rest of the ranch, appeared modest but well cared for.

            “There are a lot of little ranches like this ‘round here,” Tal whispered to Dehner. The sheriff was situated between his deputy and the detective. “They sell cattle to the larger outfits. I think the Kimballs sold their herd a few weeks ago. Ain’t started a new one yet, though I reckon there could be some calves around somewhere.”

            “I’m just hoping the Kimballs are still alive,” Dehner focused the glasses on the house below. A kerosene yellow shone from the front window; it appeared to be struggling for survival against a dark night bereft of stars or a moon.

            Two men stepped out of the house, one of them was carrying a lantern. They untied the horses from the hitch rail and began to lead them into the barn. Dehner watched them closely.

            “Curt called it right,” Dehner whispered. “Those jaspers have the look of hired guns.”

            “Should we rush them now?” Curt Weldon asked. “This might be a good time, while two of them are in the barn seein’ after the horses.”

            Tal shook his head. “I’m just a small town sheriff. Ain’t had much experience with kidnappin’ situations. But we need to learn the lay of the land here. How many outlaws we’re dealing with, and where the girl is.”

            The deputy’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t think Carrie Whiting is in the house?”

            Anger again came into Streeter’s voice but he still spoke in a whisper. “Yes, she is in the house, but where? Our first job is to get her back safe. If we rush the place, one of those owlhoots could have a gun to her head in no time.”

            Dehner nodded, “What do you have in mind, Tal?”

            “I’ve visited this ranch many times. Bert and Patricia are friends of mine.” The sheriff paused for a moment. His face went gray. “Or they were. Anyhow, I’m going to move around back. The way I see it, these thugs plan on askin’ for a ransom. If they get the money, they’ll free the girl. That means they have to take precautions.”

            “What kind of precautions?” Weldon asked.

            “The money will probably be wired from Dallas.” Tal continued to study the ranch below him as he spoke. “That means they need to hold Carrie Whiting captive for a few days. You can bet they don’t want her to see or even hear them much. They don’t want her to be able to identify them.”

            Dehner got the point. “They will keep the woman locked up in a room.”

            “Exactly,” Streeter replied. “And the Kimballs have large windows in every room of their house. I’m bettin’ that one of those windows is boarded up. That’s where the girl is bein’ held. I’m sneakin’ ‘round back and findin’ out where that room is. You men stay here. If you hear shots, you’ll know I’ve been spotted.”

            “Good luck,” Dehner said as the sheriff quietly got up and made his way down to the ranch.

            The lawman moved stealthily and quietly. He seemed to be swallowed by the darkness of the night. Dehner watched Streeter through his field glasses, but not for long.

“Lost him,” Rance whispered as he put the glasses down. “But I think he is almost at the back of the house.”

More time passed; the detective didn’t even try to guess at how much. The tense circumstances made an accurate assessment impossible.

Two shots sounded from the direction of the house. “The sheriff’s in trouble!” Curt yelled.  He sprang to his feet and began to run down the knoll before Dehner could stop him. Weldon’s brashness may have put both the sheriff and Carrie Whiting in even worse danger.

Episode Eight

As he moved cautiously down the slope, the detective thought he saw two shadows emerge from the barn. His uncertainty was quickly shattered. One of the outlaws who had been tending the horses fired at the deputy. Weldon stumbled and fell. Dehner squeezed off a shot at the flash of red which had cut the night.

A man’s cry of pain joined the sound of gunfire as another red explosion launched from the bottom of the knoll. Dehner hit the ground, returned fire and missed. Instinctively, his target snapped two shots at the detective. The shots telegraphed his location. Rance’s third shot took the outlaw down.

Dehner heard approaching footsteps, but this time the deputy was being more cautious. “You all right?” Weldon’s whisper was laced with anxiety. He had made a major blunder and knew it.

This was not a time for lectures. “I’m fine. You?”

“Okay. The shot surprised me and I fell, sorry--”

“Never mind.” Dehner spoke as he reloaded .“We have to check on those two outlaws. Make sure they are really out of action.”

The two men proceeded quietly down the knoll, guns in hand. They found two bodies lying on the ground. One was dead, the other seriously wounded. Dehner removed the bandanna from the wounded man and used it to gag him. The bandanna from the dead outlaw was used to tie the wounded man’s hands behind his back.

“That should hold him. He’s very weak.” Dehner whispered as he tossed the outlaws’ guns up the knoll. “Now, we have to get to the sheriff.”

An exchange of shots came from within the house as the two men circled around to the back. The back of the house had one window. As Streeter had indicated, the window was large. The curtains were open and the glass shattered. Dehner peered inside while Curt Weldon checked the other side of the house.

Episode Nine

After a few moments, the deputy returned, crouching near the window. “What do you see?”

The detective took another quick look, then flattened himself against the house before answering. “The only light comes from a lamp on a table by the front window. There are two bodies on the floor. Neither of them is Streeter. There’s a bureau pulled out from the wall near the front door, with a gunman behind it. Streeter is in the kitchen. He wants to cross the floor to get to what is probably the bedroom. In all likelihood, that is where Carrie Whiting is being held. The jasper behind the bureau is preventing that. Neither man has been able to take down the other. They are both trapped where they are.”

Weldon nodded his head. “The window on the other side of the house is boarded up. That’s where they have the girl, all right.”

Dehner stepped away from the back window. “I’m going around and enter the house by the front door. Pay a surprise visit on our friend behind the bureau.”

“Why? One of us could smoke him from here.”

Another volley of shots sounded from inside the house. Dehner wondered how much ammo each man had left. “I want to take at least one man alive. That owlhoot I tied up is hanging by a thread. He could be dead now.”

“What’s the big deal about takin’ a prisoner? These jaspers are real snakes.”

“Yeah,” Dehner agreed. “But they’re hired guns. Carrie Whiting won’t be safe until we find out who hired them.”

The two men exchanged nods as Curt Weldon took a position by the window and Dehner scooted around to the front of the house. As he carefully stepped onto the front porch the detective realized he had to keep low. When Tal Streeter saw a man coming through the door, he would naturally assume it was one of the outlaws.

Gun in hand, the detective crouched down on the porch and opened the front door. He was now only a few feet from a bald headed outlaw whose entire body pivoted quickly to greet the newcomer.

“Drop the gun.” Dehner ordered.

“I was about to say the same thing to you, stranger.” The gunman pointed his six shooter directly at Dehner. “I guess we got us what they call a stand off.”

Episode Ten

“All your pals are dead or seriously wounded, mister,” Dehner said. “Even if you kill me, there are lawmen all around this place.”

The gunman laughed derisively. “Well, there is one less lawman. I just shot your friend in the kitchen.”

As he pretended to look toward the kitchen, Dehner fired, a quick second before his adversary could pull the trigger of his six shooter. The bullet entered the outlaw’s shoulder. He slammed against the bureau, his arm flailing out and tossing his gun a few feet away. Instinctively, the outlaw began to scramble for the weapon. He was stopped by two bullets from Streeter’s .44.

The sheriff quickly ran toward Dehner, motioning with his gun at the two men he had killed earlier and the one he had just shot. “There are two more of them. They left to take the horses--”

“Curt and I took care of them. One is dead, the other wounded badly.”

The sheriff looked confused, as if he needed to take some immediate action but couldn’t think of what is was. “I stumbled over a rock or something out back. Those thugs opened fire on me but missed. I took out two of them; the third hid behind that thing.” He pointed at the bureau. “I was getting low on ammo. Good thing you and Curt came along.”

Streeter’s hands were shaking. The lawman seemed to be experiencing the jitters as well as the exhaustion-excitement that follows a life threatening encounter. Dehner understood the reaction.

“Hey guys,” Weldon shouted from behind them. He had come in through the window. “Don’t we have one more job to do here?” He pointed at the door to the room where Carrie was being held prisoner.

Tal Streeter laughed and ran a hand over his head. “Knew we had come here to do somethin’.”

***

Rance Dehner felt nervous and apprehensive. He stood erect and held his breath. There was an explosion of smoke followed by loud cheering.

Dehner was standing on a small stage in the Silver Crown saloon. The stage was located a few feet from the bar. With Rance were Tal Streeter, Curt Weldon and Carrie Whiting. Of the foursome, only Carrie appeared relaxed. That didn’t surprise Dehner. Carrie Whiting would be quite used to being on stage and having her picture taken.

A medium sized man wearing a brown suit and derby jumped onto the stage. He had been introduced earlier to Dehner as Felix Murphy, the town mayor. Murphy smiled at the large crowd in front of him. Today, the saloon was being turned into a theater for a few hours. The tables had been stacked along the side walls and the chairs set up in rows. There were a large number of women and children present.

“Thank you, Glenn,” the mayor addressed the man who had just taken the picture. Glenn Wilson was the photographer, reporter and editor of the local paper. “Glenn tells me that the picture he just took and the story of what happened to Miss Whiting yesterday will go all over the country and really put our town on the map!”

There was another round of loud cheering. Felix used the moment to whisper instructions to Carrie’s three rescuers. “You gents can vamoose off the stage now.”

Episode Eleven

The three men hurried back to the front row, where they had seats of honor sitting with Bruce Patten, the owner of the Silver Crown and several other saloons. Patten was a tall, dark haired man in his mid-thirties. Dehner had known him for less than a day, but he had noticed that during all the congratulations to the lawmen and gestures of concern for Carrie, Patten’s eyes had remained cold and serious. As a result, when Patten’s mouth formed a smile it appeared to be an artificial gesture.

After they sat down, Tal Streeter whispered to Dehner. “Sorry about yesterday. I know things didn’t go the way you hoped. I shouldn’t have fired on that outlaw you had already wounded.”

“Well…”

“Should’a knowed better. Bein’ trigger happy has already gotten me in trouble with Wells Fargo. I killed two outlaws that robbed one of their stagecoaches.”

“Why would that make Wells Fargo mad?”

“The robbers had already hid the loot. Over four thousand dollars. Now, nobody knows where it is.”

Rance cringed. He could understand why Wells Fargo was not happy with the sheriff. The detective turned his attention to the stage where Felix Murphy was beginning to speak.

 “Folks, as your mayor, it has been--”

“Felix, just one thing!” The voice came from a gray haired, ruddy faced man in the second row. He was obviously influential enough in the town to speak up at such a major event.

“Yes, Wilbur?” Felix couldn’t quite keep the irritation from his voice.

“What’s the story on that skunk who lived?”

Mayor Murphy noticed that others in the audience were interested in the question. The irritation vanished from his voice and was replaced by an officious tone.

“After rescuing Miss Whiting last night, the three lawmen brought the wounded man back to town. He had nothing on him. Nobody in Dry River knows who he is. Right now, he is at Doc Erickson’s house. Doc thinks he’s gonna live, though it ain’t certain.”

Wilbur nodded his head as he spoke again. “I’ve been thinkin’ maybe Glenn should take another picture when we hang the no good. That would get us more publicity in the big newspapers.”

A murmur of agreement spread through the Silver Crown. “Excellent idea, Wilber!” His Honor proclaimed. “We’ll make sure Glenn is there to take a picture when we hang the kidnapper,--or what is left of him.”

That joke received enough laughter to give Felix Murphy a chance to change course. “As all of you know, Miss Carrie Whiting will be giving a performance here at the Silver Crown tomorrow night and liquor will be served. Today, she is giving a matinee for all the families of Dry River.” He turned to face Carrie who was standing beside him. “Miss Whiting, speaking on behalf--”

A shout came from the crowd. “Enough, Felix! Nobody came here to listen to you!”

“Ah, yes.” The mayor hastily pulled a card from his side pocket and began to read from it. “Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, Mr. Bruce Patten is pleased to bring to our fine town, the musical artistry of Miss Carrie Whiting!” 

Loud applause and several whistles came from the audience. Carrie bowed gracefully, nodded at the pianist positioned at the side of the stage and began to sing.

Dehner was totally captivated by Carrie’s performance. This was a much different Carrie Whiting that he was seeing. The previous day, Carrie had been relieved and very grateful when rescued from the kidnappers. But she had also been withdrawn and quiet. During the picture taking, Carrie had been poised and gracious but still distant. Now, she seemed totally alive, connecting with her audience and reveling in the moment.

Rance wondered if this wasn’t an unusual performance for the Songbird of the West. He knew little of her career, but was aware that she had begun singing in saloons at a very early age,--around thirteen. The detective reckoned Miss Whiting had sung in some pretty grungy establishments. Now, for the most part, she was singing in fine theaters before well dressed audiences.

But this day at the Silver Crown found her performing for families. The singer seemed to be sending out her magnificent smiles to the children in the audience. Carrie seemed especially joyful, at the end of the concert when she led the audience in a rousing sing along of Oh! Susanna.

As the singer took her bows, Dehner began to chuckle at his own pretentions. Why fool himself with pompous thoughts? He was as dazzled by Carrie Whiting as everyone else,--especially the males in the audience.

Felix Murphy rushed back onto the stage. “Before we finish, folks, there is a special favor that Miss Whiting has agreed to do for our town.”

A quizzical look suddenly came across the singer’s face. She was not prepared for what was going to happen next.

Episode Twelve

Felix continued, “As you all know, we are going to rename our town. For the last few weeks, I have urged all of our citizens to write suggestions for the new name and give them to me. Well, many of you made the same suggestion and now I would like for our lovely guest, Miss Carrie Whiting, to read the new name of our fine town.” He handed Carrie a piece of paper.

            There was reluctance in Carrie’s smile but she read aloud from the paper. “Beginning tonight at midnight, the name of this town will be Patten, Texas.”

            Bruce Patten jumped onto the stage and immediately placed an arm around Carrie Whiting. The applause he received was subdued. “I am very grateful for the honor that you all have bestowed upon me and I will do my best to be worthy of that honor.”

            Felix Murphy worked his hands as he again addressed the crowd. “Before we all go to dinner, let’s hear a round of applause for Bruce Patten, the man who brought Carrie Whiting to our town!”

            Carrie’s named ginned up the applause. While the clapping continued, Bruce Patten kept his arm around the singer, escorting her off the stage and through a back doorway. Dehner moved toward that doorway and saw that it led to a small corridor with a room at the end, presumably an office. Patton seemed to swish Carrie Whiting into that room.

            People were beginning to leave the Silver Crown and head for one of the town’s two restaurants. Inside the saloon, men were milling about as the bartender and swamper began to put down the tables and get ready for business. They moved quickly. A lot of customers left over from the show were ready to part with their money. This would be a busy night.

            Dehner eased into the corridor, partially closing the door to conceal himself. He moved close to the office door, which was shut. Carrie Whiting had not been kidnapped again but Dehner still felt that she was in danger.

***

            “I can’t believe the cheap trick you just played on me…” Carrie broke loose from Patten’s arm the moment they entered his large office.

            “My, my, when did you suddenly get such high standards?”

            “Are you going to throw that in my face? I was twelve, Bruce!”

Episode Thirteen

“Yes, and you were almost as beautiful as you are now. I heard you singing to two cowboys who were buying you drinks. They both wanted to…well…we both know what they wanted. I took you away from that pair of barflys, and gave you a chance to sing publicly. You became the star attraction at the Wild Horse Saloon.” 

            “The place was a dump.”

            Bruce laughed as he pulled a cigar from a humidor on his desk. “The whole town was a dump. Always will be. That’s why I left.”

Carrie relaxed a bit, but only a bit. “Now you’ve got a town named after you. Congratulations.”

            Patten bit off the end of the cigar. “Why not? This place was named Dry River because it was incorporated during a drought.  Not a name that would encourage people to move here.”

            Carrie shrugged her shoulders. “The town does seem to be prospering.” 

            Patten flamed a match with his thumbnail and put the fire to his cigar. He shook the match and dropped the black ember into an ashtray on his desk. “That’s the reason I brought you to my town. You see, selling booze isn’t a bad way to make a living, but--”

            Carrie smiled sadly. “Running a saloon is a dirty business, whether it’s a hole in the wall like the Wild Horse, or an uptown operation like the Silver Crown.”

            “Correct.” Patten leaned against his desk and pointed to a chair. “That’s why I’m expanding into other areas. That, and the opportunity to get filthy rich. You’re going to get filthy rich with me, Carrie.”

            The young woman realized that Bruce Patten hadn’t changed much since he had made her the star of the Wild Horse Saloon. His attitude was one of a commanding officer addressing an underling.

            Still, Carrie couldn’t shake the notion that she was in debt to Patten. What would her life have been like without him?

Against her better judgment, Carrie sat down in front of her former boss. “I’m listening.”

Episode Fourteen:

“Along with my front man, His Honor Felix Murphy, I have struck up a deal with a large outfit in Denver. The short of it is, they’re going to establish an irrigation system in this area. Property will more than double in value. I’ve already bought up a lot of land from the ten-head ranches.”

            “And you want to buy up more before word gets out.”

            “There are only three other people besides me and you who know about this: Felix, Tal Streeter, and Curt Weldon. Felix is no problem. He manages most of my saloons and hopes to manage this one when I go on to better things. I had to tell the two lawmen. I had guests from Denver who required VIP treatment. Tal is okay. I see to it that he is well paid. Curt is a little too idealistic for his own good…”

            “He might tip some of the ranchers to hold on to their property.”

            “Maybe. I’ve told him it is morally wrong to let the cat out of the bag about this sort of thing. So far, that’s working. But Curt is only a small concern.”

            Carrie smiled cautiously. “I have a feeling you are, at last, getting to the point.”

            Patten’s smile slashed a crooked streak across his face. “There are two big ranches in this area. I want to buy them, but my capital is a bit low. The Songbird of the West must make a lot of money off those Eastern tours. How about a partnership?”

            Carrie shook her head.

            Bruce Patten inhaled on his cigar, then gradually released a large puff of smoke. Carrie had been in show business long enough to recognize an effort to set up a dramatic moment, but Patten’s next move still shocked her. “Carrie, we would make a great team,” Patten spoke in a robust voice. “Let’s you and I get hitched. We’ll have a big wedding in Dallas, with--”

            Despite herself, Carrie Whiting broke out laughing. She stood up immediately and began to walk toward the door. She had her laughter under control when she turned and faced the saloon owner. “You don’t want a wife, Bruce. You want a bauble, someone you can show off to prove you’re a big man.”

            The Songbird of the West pressed her lips together and briefly looked down. She regretted her laughter. The young woman returned her gaze to Bruce Patten, who was still leaning against his desk. “I’m grateful for what you did for me, Bruce. But the road ran both ways. I helped you make enough money to get out of the Wild Horse saloon. Just now, I helped you name this town after yourself. Tomorrow’s concert will bring in more money. After tomorrow, it will be time for us to go our separate ways.”

            Carrie had taken another step toward the door when Patten grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward him. Hatred steamed from his eyes like heat from a branding iron.

Episode Fifteen

      “Bruce, please, let me go.”

            “You tramp! You think you’re too good for me. You’ve outgrown the low life who owned the dirty little saloon where you got a start. Well, let me tell you--”

             Rance Dehner flung the door open and stepped inside, “You’ve talked enough, Mr. Patten. Let Miss Whiting go.”

            “I don’t take orders from some two bit detective. Get out of my office!”

            “I will. But first you’re going to let go of Miss Whiting.”

             Patten yanked the young woman behind him and lunged at Dehner. The saloon owner was too angry to fight well. He telegraphed his first punch, which Rance easily ducked. Dehner’s first punch sent Bruce Patten to the floor.

            “I’ve been listening outside,” Dehner spoke in a monotone to his opponent, who was slowly getting up. “I’m sure Miss Whiting is willing to forget this encounter. I suggest you do the same.”

            On his feet, Bruce Patten leaned against his desk, this time for support, “I’ll never forget this, Dehner. Never!”

            Dehner gently took Carrie Whiting by the arm and guided her out of the office. Matters did not get any easier when they got to the boardwalk.  A crowd of people began to gather around the singer. Carrie quickly whispered into Dehner’s ear, “Could you get me to the restaurant? I have a room reserved for supper there.”

            Carrie then began to chat it up with her fans, thanking them for their compliments. Dehner quickly understood the role he had been assigned. He was the bad guy. He had to say things like, “Excuse us please, Miss Whiting needs to eat supper, just like the rest of us,” as he guided Carrie toward the restaurant.

            At the restaurant, the owner greeted them. He was a short, overweight man named Ellery who beamed at Carrie but appeared uncertain about her companion. Dehner figured Bruce Patten had made the arrangements and Ellery naturally expected Patten to be escorting the star.

            The owner maintained his courteous demeanor as he escorted Carrie and Rance across the restaurant. They passed the kitchen to arrive at a back door which Ellery opened in a ceremonious manner. “This room is not up to the standards of Dallas, Miss Whiting, but I hope you will enjoy your meal here.”

            “Oh, this is wonderful!” Carrie exclaimed. “Thank you for going to so much trouble.”

            Ellery’s face turned a happy red. “My pleasure, Miss Whiting.”

            Dehner was able to hide his amusement. Ellery had done a fine job of transforming a storage room into a private dining area. He had run a long thin piece of wood across the ceiling of the room. The wood served as a curtain rod. The curtain itself was black and blocked the view of most of the room. The dining table was round with a white tablecloth. In the middle of the table was a small green vase containing a red rose. The table was sitting on a hastily cut piece of red carpet.

            “I will be bringing your food shortly, Miss Whiting!” Ellery hurried off.

            Carrie looked about in an appreciative manner. “I feel guilty putting Ellery to all of this trouble. But I really do need a private room to eat in. Otherwise…well…you saw how people can be.”

            Dehner remained standing in the doorway while Carrie stood by the table. “I sure did. But it was a pleasure escorting you here. Enjoy your evening meal, Miss Whiting.”

            “Wait a minute, Mr. Dehner, you can’t expect a girl to dine alone. You must join me.”

            “Ah…I hadn’t…”

            A playful look appeared on the singer’s face. “After all, you are supposed to watch over me. So, come in and watch.”

            Dehner stepped in and closed the door behind him.

Episode Sixteen

“How did you know I’m supposed to keep an eye on you, Miss Whiting?” Dehner’s mood wasn’t nearly as playful as that of his companion.

            Carrie’s smile broadened as if she were mocking Dehner’s seriousness. “I know George McLeod very well. He is not only my manager. He is the older brother I never had. The moment I learned you were from the Lowrie Detective Agency, I knew George had hired you.”

            There was a light knock on the door. Ellery and a young man he introduced as his eleven year old son, Clayton, marched in carrying dishes and a tray of food. Carrie once again beamed with delight over the service and paid special attention to the boy. Clayton could only smile and nod, his face reflecting shyness and adoration. Dehner realized that the boy would remember this night for a very long time to come.

            Once the couple began eating, the detective wanted to exude charm and wit but found himself unable to do so. He settled for discussing business. “I heard your conversation with Bruce Patten.”

            Carrie responded with a mirthless grin.

            Dehner continued, “Do you think Patten pulled off the kidnapping in order to raise money for his scheme? That talent agency in Dallas would have paid plenty--”

            The singer shook her head. “I don’t think so…but I can’t be sure…”

            Carrie paused, trying to collect her thoughts. “The West is a tough, brutal land. It takes tough, and sometimes brutal, men to tame it. I’m not sure Bruce has the stamina for the job. He can’t always keep his emotions in check. His pride gets the best of him. To use a theatrical term, that is Bruce Patten’s fatal flaw.”

            “You should have been a detective, Miss Whiting.”

            The singer laughed and the playful expression returned to her face. “I couldn’t have been nearly as good a detective as you, Mr. Dehner. I know more about you than you think.”

            The detective raised his eyebrows and looked curious.

            “I spend a lot of time alone,” the singer continued. “Private compartments on trains, hotel rooms, what have you. So, I do a lot of reading. Your name appears occasionally in the newspapers, Rance Dehner.”

            “I try to avoid that.”

            “I know,” Carrie’s voice maintained its playful quality. “The name “Rance Dehner” always appears far down in the article. If there is a local lawman involved, he always gets the credit. I’m afraid your shyness disqualifies you for a career in the theater, Mr.Dehner.”

            The conversation continued to be light and the rest of the evening passed far too quickly. Dehner realized that young Clayton was not the only one who would long remember this very special dinner.

            As they were walking to the hotel, Dehner filled Carrie in on his assignment. “You are stuck with me as a neighbor tonight. George McLeod told me he had booked us in adjoining rooms. I arrived last night. We’re on--”

            “I believe in being a good neighbor,” Carrie said as they approached the hotel.

            Dehner wondered exactly what she meant by that or if she meant anything at all. His musings were quickly cut short. Once inside the hotel lobby, Carrie Whiting again became the Songbird of the West, granting everyone a few minutes of her complete attention. 

            Twenty minutes later, the couple arrived at Carrie Whiting’s room. The singer leaned against the door and gave her escort a whimsical smile. “I very much enjoyed this evening.”

            “I’ll bet you say that to all your body guards.”

            “Tonight I really mean it. I suspect you and I have a lot in common, Rance Dehner.”

            “And how is that, Carrie Whiting?”

            “We are both trapped by our jobs. A singing career makes for a very lonely, isolated existence. But I wouldn’t want to change. There are such special rewards in what I do. I suspect that being a detective is much the same way.”

            Dehner experienced a tornado of emotions, all of which he kept in check. But his will power was eroding. His voice wavered a bit, “Good night, Miss Whiting.”

            “Good night, Mr. Dehner.”

            The detective tried not to look behind him as he scooted next door to his room. He stepped inside, his mind full of vivid pictures of his evening with the Songbird of the West.

            He didn’t see the weapon coming at his head.

Episode Seventeen

     But Dehner did hear a thump as the giant leaning on the wall beside the door came at him from behind. The detective hit the floor, did a quick roll and buoyed back onto his feet. That trick saved him from a concussion, but it also made him lose his Colt .45 which dropped from its holster onto the floor. 

            A huge dark shape moved uncertainly toward Dehner. The intruder stood slightly under seven feet and appeared wider than the doorway. Rance speculated that the man must have entered sideways.

            The giant’s breathing was heavy and he seemed confused. He had intended to whack Rance as he entered the room. Now circumstances forced Goliath into a plan B.

            The detective didn’t want to give his adversary time to focus on B. He feigned a move to his left as if he were going for his Colt. The giant also went after the gun and Dehner delivered a hard kick to the man’s knee. The mountainous shadow bellowed and went down on both knees which caused him to bellow again. Dehner grabbed the club from the giant’s hand and slammed it against the top of his head. The giant’s entire body flattened onto the floor. 

            Dehner picked up his gun and pointed it at the moaning figure. “On your feet, Goliath!”

            The big man rose slowly, complaining in a child-like voice about his injuries. “Ya didn’t hav’ta hit so hard.”

            As the detective, gun in hand, prodded Goliath down the stairs, he mused that the big man had probably fought very little. His size would be enough to back off most adversaries. So maybe he could be forgiven for his low tolerance of pain.

            But Dehner kept all sympathy out of his voice when he got the intruder out of the hotel and onto the boardwalk. “You tell Bruce Patten to leave Miss Whiting alone and to leave me alone. There will be no more warnings. Understand?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Get going!”

            Goliath limped off. Dehner watched him for a few minutes and was not surprised that the giant was heading for the Silver Crown. Dehner headed back to the second floor of the hotel.

            As he walked down the hallway, Carrie stepped out of her room. “What happened?”

            “Patten sent a man to beat me up. He wanted revenge for what I did to him earlier this evening. I think you may have a point about the fatal flaw. Bruce Patten isn’t fit for the West.”

            “I’m very glad that you are fit for the West, Mr. Dehner.” Carrie slowly retreated back into her room.

            Dehner found himself back in his hotel room listening to Carrie Whiting, who was singing as she got ready for bed. The young woman was singing a love song and for a few moments Rance Dehner wondered if the song wasn’t for him.

            The detective laughed at himself. A beautiful woman can give a man some crazy notions.

            Rance Dehner didn’t sleep much that night, but when sleep did come, it brought some very interesting dreams.

Episode eighteen 

***

            The killer stood across from the Silver Crown saloon and watched carefully. All through the day, people had talked of nothing except Carrie Whiting’s upcoming performance that night. The performance was now about thirty minutes away and every man in town was crowding into the saloon. Several extra tables had been set up in the saloon to accommodate the large crowd. The killer tensed up as Doc Erickson entered the Silver Crown. 

            The killer didn’t run. A man running might create some attention. But he moved quickly to the house where the doctor both lived and conducted his practice. That was where he would hit next: the house where a wounded outlaw lay on a cot, fighting for his life. The outlaw had been wounded when Carrie Whiting was rescued from her kidnappers; he was the one who was still unable to talk, and must never be allowed to talk.

The killer needed to move fast. People would expect him to be at the Silver Crown tonight. Questions might be asked if he wasn’t there. He stood in the darkness looking about carefully. This was one of the most dangerous parts of his mission. If anyone was around they would see him step onto the large porch that fronted doc’s house.

 A large grey cat slowly crept along the bannister that ran across the porch of Doc Erickson’s house. The cat’s eyes cast yellow lights in the darkness: lights that focused directly on the intruder.

            Four steps led to the porch. The first one creaked when a boot pressed on it. The cat hissed and crouched as if ready for an attack. The intruder moved cautiously upward.

            Doc Erickson’s front door was unlocked. It always was. The killer entered and headed directly for the room the doctor provided for patients who couldn’t be moved. As he opened the door, he could see by the moonlight streaming in from the window that only one of the four cots was occupied. Good. He would only have to kill one man tonight.

            As he stepped inside and drew the knife from his belt, the figure mused that he wouldn’t really have minded if there had been others to murder. Killing gets easier the more you do it.

            He would first wake up the injured owlhoot, whose name he couldn’t remember. The killer wanted to enjoy the expression on his victim’s face before he sent him to perdition.

Episode Nineteen

He pulled back the sheet and looked down on a collection of blankets and pillows.

            “The jasper you’re looking for has been moved to a safer spot, Sheriff.” Rance Dehner stepped into the room.

            Sheriff Tal Streeter stammered as he spoke. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

            “I think you do.” Dehner lit the lamp that sat on a small table near the door.  “I examined the bodies of those two men you gunned down yesterday. They were shot in the back. That gang didn’t spot you behind the ranch house like you claimed. You ambushed them from the back window.”

            The lawman shrugged his shoulders. “So what? They had the girl captive--”

            Dehner cut in. “They kidnapped the girl because you paid them to do it. But they botched the job. A bystander spotted them robbing the stage. You couldn’t take a chance on what they’d say if captured.”

            Streeter gave a sarcastic laugh. “You’re loco! I’m just a small town sheriff. Where’d I get enough loot to pay for an operation like that?”

            “You told me yourself, yesterday.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Those stagecoach bandits you killed, the ones who pulled the Wells Fargo hold up. They still had the money with them, didn’t they? You took it.” 

            The sheriff returned the knife to his belt. “Well then, Mr. Detective, why didn’t I just high tail it out of Dry River instead of hangin’ on to a lousy sheriff’s job?”

            Dehner watched Streeter carefully as he spoke. “Bruce Patten confided in you about his plan to buy up property. You were going to beat him at his own game and get those two large ranches for yourself. But you still needed more money. That’s why you had Carrie Whiting kidnapped.”

            Tal Streeter gave the detective a long stare. He realized lying was useless; instead he laughed scornfully. “Yeah, but there was somethin’ about it that was even more sweet. Havin’ that gal grabbed away in his town would’a made Bruce Patten look bad. Real bad.”

            “You hate Patten don’t you?”

            The sheriff went quiet for a moment and then continued. “You’d hate him too if you knew him like I do. Always expectin’ me to lick his boots, just cause I get paid a few more coins than most other sheriffs.” Streeter caressed the scar on his face. “When I got this, Patten laughed. Thought it was a big joke. Tole me it came with the job.”

            “Save the sad story for a jury, Tal.”

            The sheriff smirked and his voice became almost friendly. “I knew you’d be trouble Rance, the moment I got that letter sayin’ you were on the way.”

            “Is that why you hired Holt Conley to kill me?”

            “Yeah. The guy was crazy but fast. Not fast enough, I guess.”

            “You’re under arrest, Tal.”

            “No. You got no proof except maybe the words of a worthless owlhoot. Bruce Patten will back me. After all, I’ve been a faithful errand boy.”

            “That ain’t quite the way it stands, Sheriff.” Curt Weldon stepped into the room. His voice sounded calm but his face reflected an array of emotions from sadness to a festering anger.

            “Well, well, Deputy,” Streeter smiled at the newcomer who had been directly outside the room. “Remember what I taught you about makin’ an arrest.”

            Weldon’s voice almost broke as he said, “Take off your gunbelt slowly and then hand it to me, Sheriff. No tricks.”

            The sheriff unbuckled his gunbelt and held it out. The deputy cautiously approached his boss, who handed him the gunbelt and then quickly jerked the .44 from Weldon’s holster and pointed it at his chest.

Episode Twenty

“You still have some learnin’ to do, Deputy.” The sheriff turned to Rance. “Put your hands up Dehner, or this boy dies right now.”

            Rance spoke as he lifted his hands. “Don’t be a fool, Streeter. You’ll never escape.”

            The laugh that came from Tal Streeter reminded Rance of Holt Conley. “Who said anything about escapin’? I just got me a chore to do before I meet the devil.”

            Streeter guided his captive to the doorway. “This may be my last night on earth, but I’m goin’ out in a blaze of glory. Don’t try to stop me, Deputy. That goes for you too, Dehner.”

            The sheriff pushed Weldon to the floor and then, almost as an afterthought, shot him. Streeter ran as a bullet from Dehner’s gun flew inches over his head.  Gun in hand, the detective hurried over to Curt. “I’m okay,” the deputy’s face was creased with pain. “You gotta stop the sheriff!”

            Curt Weldon was right. Dehner ran through the hall and out through the open door of the doctor’s house. Once outside, he picked up speed as he headed for the Silver Crown. He was certain that was Streeter’s destination.

            As he got in view of the saloon, he could see the sheriff hopping onto the boardwalk in front of the Silver Crown.  A rotund man was about to enter the saloon. He spotted the gun in Streeter’s hand and started to say something. The sheriff pushed him aside and ran through the bat wings.

            That incident gained Dehner another step or two on his adversary. The detective barged into the saloon as Bruce Patten was speaking from the stage. “Tonight, the Songbird of the West, is appearing here in response to an invitation, I…”

            The extra tables set up in the Silver Crown were obstacles for the sheriff. He needed to get a good shot at the man he hated. When Dehner spotted him, the lawman was pushing tables aside as he plowed his way toward the stage. A number of men were cursing him as a few tables went over and drinks were spilled onto the floor.

            “Drop the gun, Streeter!” Dehner yelled as he lifted his .45.

            The sheriff turned and aimed at Dehner. Dehner’s shot entered Streeter’s forehead. Tal Streeter went down without firing his weapon.

“What’s going on?” Patten shouted from the stage.

Dehner made his way to the fallen sheriff and hastily examined the body.  He then shouted back to the stage. “This man plotted the kidnapping of Miss Whiting. I had to kill him, he--”

“Are we here for a show or some fool lecture!” The loud words came from somewhere in the crowd. A large number of voices were raised in agreement.

“I hear you, gentlemen!” Patten declared from the stage as he turned to Felix Murphy, who was sitting at a front row table. “Mr. Mayor, help Dehner lug that body out of here. We’ve got a big night ahead of us!”

Dehner stifled a laugh. Carrie Whiting was right: “The West is a tough, brutal land.”

Episode Twenty-One

***

“Okay, Miss Whiting,” Glenn Wilson shouted. “I want you to give our new sheriff a big kiss on his cheek!”

Carrie Whiting and Curt Weldon stood behind a round table in the Silver Crown Saloon. On top of the table was the money which had been found the previous night in the home of Tal Streeter. Wells Fargo was getting most of its stolen money returned.

Carrie held her lips against the cheek of Sheriff Curt Weldon whose right arm was in a sling from the bullet he had taken the previous night. Nobody witnessing this event realized it but this picture was to make Curt Weldon an almost legendary figure. The town may now be called Patten, Texas but Bruce Patten would not own the sheriff.

After the newspaper man had finished his task, Carrie smiled at the sheriff and wished him well. She then began to leave the saloon and head for the stage depot.

An entourage of people accompanied her including Rance Dehner. George McLeod walked beside the singer carrying her suitcase. McLeod had headed for Dry Creek or rather Patten, Texas when news of the kidnapping attempt reached Dallas. He had arrived on the morning stage.

Dehner admitted to himself that he was not happy to see McLeod. The detective had planned on volunteering his services to ensure that Miss Whiting arrived safely back in Dallas. McLeod made his altruism unnecessary.

Damn George McLeod, Dehner thought with both frustration and amusement.

 It appeared that Rance wouldn’t even be able to say good-bye to Carrie. At the stage depot a circle of men formed around her. The detective could hear Carrie giving each one an exuberant thank you. It seemed foolish to barge into the circle and, like the others, demand the woman’s time.

As she stepped onto the coach, Carrie Whiting looked over the heads of her flock of followers and glanced directly at Rance as if she had known he was standing there. She gave the detective a playful smile and a wink, then she bent over and entered the coach. George McLeod got in beside her blocking any further significant view Dehner might have of the singer.

Later that night, sitting by a campfire and drinking his second cup of coffee, Dehner thought back on that brief farewell he received from Carrie Whiting. He tried to put it out of his mind or, at least, put it in perspective. The singer tried to be attentive and gracious to everyone. The recognition she gave him was a nice gesture which she had, no doubt, forgotten by now.

But the detective knew that he would never forget Carrie Whiting. That playful smile and the accompanying wink would come back to him during the many lonely hours spent trying to sleep under a vast, dark sky.

Episode One of Hellfire

Hosea Rimstead bowed his head in prayer before he stepped into the Quick Dollar Saloon. He would need the Lord’s protection. Beau Rawlins, the owner of the saloon, had him pegged as a trouble maker. After finishing his prayer, Hosea felt more confident than ever that God was directing his steps and Beau Rawlins be damned.

So to speak.

Hosea stepped into the saloon and saw the woman he had come for. Gail was standing up from a round table and wishing two cowboys luck as they ambled toward a roulette wheel.

All of the men inside the Quick Dollar were called cowboys, even though there hadn’t been a ranch in the area for at least three years. The clientele at the Quick Dollar, along with most of the population of the border town, consisted of outlaws on the run from the law.

“I need to talk with you,” Hosea spoke to Gail as she was walking back to the bar.

The expression on the woman’s face could have been anger, hope, or sadness, maybe a combination of all three. “I told you never to bother me again, Hosea.”

“Yeah, you told me a lot of things.”

“Hosea…please.”

Hosea looked about anxiously. So far, no one was paying them any mind. He had to keep it that way. “Look, I got me some money. I want for us to go upstairs. Just to talk. But I’ll pay you just as if…”

Gail pressed her lips together and looked down. “Okay.”

As they moved toward the stairway, Hosea noted that the Quick Dollar looked like a typical western saloon. The second floor was horseshoe shaped with plenty of rooms where commerce was conducted. The stairway on one side of the saloon was wide, allowing for a lot of traffic. The bannister which ran up the stairway and across the second floor was strong and ornate.

“After we talk, I’m gonna do some preachin’,” Hosea said in a loud whisper. “Warn these people about the comin’ judgment.”

“These people don’t want to hear nothin’ you say! These jaspers have themselves enough troubles with the law here on earth. They don’t need to hear about some law ridin’ down on ‘em from the sky.”

The couple reached the second floor and entered one of the rooms. The room was blue, dirty and didn’t have a window. The only furniture in the place was a bed and a small side table which contained a vase and a lantern that was already lit.

“There ain’t enough space here to turn around in,” Hosea groused,

“People don’t come here to turn around.”

“Guess not.”

“Say what’s on your mind, you’re payin’ for it.” Gail tried to sound harsh but couldn’t quite manage it.

“Gail, you need to come back to me and be my wife!”

Episode Two

“No!”

“Can’t you see, woman, you’re disobeyin’ the Almighty. God sent me to Hellfire to--”

“The Almighty didn’t send you here, you got lost! You were headin’ for Collins but confused north and south. Are you sayin’ the Almighty can’t tell north from south?”

“I’m sayin’ the Lord works in mysterious ways.”

“Sounds more stupid than mysterious to me.”

“Well, if that don’t--” Hosea began to pace about the room and collided with the bed. The jolt seemed to calm him down. His voice became low. “The first time I saw you, I knew you were special. I could tell you felt somethin’ like that about me.”

Gail smiled wistfully and Hosea noticed she was wearing the same red dress as the first night he had seen her. Long black hair flowed over her bare shoulders. The girl stood barely over five feet, with a pretty face highlighted by blue eyes, a small nose, and a small mouth.

Hosea’s voice became pleading. “Can’t you see, it’s just like the Hosea in the Bible! He married a…well…a saloon girl, and then she left him and went back to bein’…well… a saloon girl, but she returned to him and the second time around it went fine.”

“I’ve read the story. Felt sorry for the girl.”

“Why?”

“She was named Gomer. That’s awful.”

“Well, back in those days, they did get some fool notions about names. Look, what’s happenin’ to us is what happened to those folks in the Bible, only you won’t go along…”

“I can’t go along, Hosea. I thought I could. I wanted to. But, I realized my husband was a man who preached in the streets and got laughed at! I can’t live like that. Go away, Hosea. Let me be what I am.”

“No! The Lord wants you to--”

“Stop tellin’ me about what God wants! You’ve got no right--”

The door sprang open. A large boned, blond haired man stalked in. “What’s goin’ on? Well, it’s the preacher man. You’ve been told to stay out, Hosea.”

“You don’t order me, Lars Olsen. The Lord is on my side!”  Hosea took a step toward the intruder. Olsen laughed contemptuously, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Gail took a few fast steps that placed her between the two men. The young woman put a hand on Hosea’s chest. “Please Hosea, leave now. Lars Olsen will kill you and enjoy doing it!”

Hosea gently moved Gail away. “David defeated Goliath with a sling shot. Reckon I can whup this owlhoot with my bare hands.”

“Is that right, preacher man? Well, I’m gonna count to ten and then I’m gonna beat you up, real good. Yeah, maybe I’ll do like the girlie says and kill you. So, that Lord of yours better get busy and strike me down now!”

Episode Three

Olsen began to count. Hosea felt trapped. He knew the Lord wasn’t going to strike Lars Olsen down. The Divine just didn’t work that way. But all that would take some complicated explaining and Olsen wasn’t much for complicated explanations.

Hosea Rimstead realized, too late, that his challenge to Lars Olsen had been an attempt to impress Gail with his manliness. In other words, pride…

“Ten!” Rimstead ducked but it didn’t work. A fist slammed into Hosea Rimstead’s face. He heard Gail’s screams as he plunged to the floor.

“Please Mr. Olsen, don’t hurt him bad!”

“Okay, Honey. But you just remember. When Lars Olsen does someone a favor, he expects a favor in return. Understand!?” 

 “Yes.” Even with the sharp knife of pain slashing across his head, Hosea could see the look of resignation that made the young woman’s face appear haggard as she responded to Lars Olsen.

Olsen bent down and grabbed Hosea by the collar of his black frock coat. He dragged him out of the room and shouted from the second floor, “The preacher man is all tuckered out after spendin’ time with one of our girlies. I gotta help him downstairs.”

The entire saloon exploded in laughter as Lars Olsen dragged Hosea down the stairway. When they arrived at the bottom, Lars picked Hosea up while still holding him by the collar. “He was prayin’ for a miracle all the way down. Kept askin’ the Almighty for a body made of rubber!”

More laughter followed as Olsen walked a stumbling Hosea to the bat wing doors and tossed him out. “That girlie wants nothing to do with you! Stay away or I’ll kill you!”

Episode Four

***

Rance Dehner rode slowly into the dark town of Hellfire. This was not his kind of town. There was no law in Hellfire. Killers gathered here like worms crawling into a coffin. Dehner was in town to bring one of those killers, Lars Olsen, to justice. The detective had no illusions about peacefully arresting the outlaw.

The circumstances that brought Dehner here were also strange. He had received a telegram from a friend, Stacey Hooper, informing him as to Olsen’s location. Stacey was a professional gambler: not the type who was usually concerned about law and order.

Dehner figured the time to be approaching midnight. Down the street, two men were firing guns into the sky and finding it hilariously funny. Other men were staggering from one saloon to the next. There were plenty of drinking holes to choose from.

Dehner halted his bay. His attention went to the Quick Dollar saloon, where a blond haired man had just tossed another man into the street. “That girlie wants nothing to do with you! Stay away or I’ll kill you!”

The man who had been tossed got up slowly. He was a thin man of medium height, with a surprisingly deep voice. “Your days of killing people are numbered, Olsen. Judgment is coming on you. Coming on this whole sinful town!”

Dehner tied his horse at the hitch rail outside the saloon. He went unnoticed by Olsen, who laughed as he stepped back into the Quick Dollar. The detective approached the deep voiced man who was brushing dirt off of his trousers.

“Are you okay, friend?” Dehner asked.

“I’m blessed, if that’s what you mean.” He extended a hand. “The name is Hosea Rimstead. I was named after the Old Testament prophet.”

Rance observed that the man looked like a prophet, with a thick black beard that, to some degree, masked his youth. A close look at his face revealed that Hosea was in his early twenties. “My name is Rance Dehner. I was named after a rich uncle my father was trying to borrow money from.”

To Rance’s surprise, Hosea laughed good naturedly. “Did it work?”

“No. I disappointed my daddy the day I was born.”

Hosea smiled broadly. “Guess we all got our burdens to carry.”

“Reckon so. You look like a man who has acquired some recent burdens.”

“Yeah.” Hosea touched his face lightly and quickly retracted his hand. “I got what was comin’ to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I challenged a man much bigger than me to a fight. In other words, I put the Lord to the test. You ain’t supposed to do that. It never turns out good. Enough about my troubles, what brings you to this cesspool of sin, Rance?”

 “I’m here to arrest Lars Olsen. That was him who tossed you out wasn’t it?”

“Yep.”

“Last time I saw him, he had a beard. That was three months ago. He gave me the slip back then.” Rance looked toward the batwing doors of the Quick Dollar. Tendrils of smoke oozed out like pus from an infected wound. “Good meeting you, Hosea.”

“Wait! You could be going to your death! Olsen’s got plenty of friends in the Quick Dollar.”

“I’m sure he has plenty of friends in this town. I want to take him now, before he has a chance to arrange an ambush.”

“I’ll go with you!”

Dehner was surprised by Hosea’s offer, which sounded genuine. The man was wearing a black frock coat, black trousers, white shirt and no gun.

“You’re not armed, Hosea. Going back into a place like the Quick Dollar without a gun…after being thrown out…well…you could be setting up another test for the Lord.” 

“Good point. But listen, you won’t be alone, brother. I’ll stay right outside here and pray for you.”

“Ah…thanks.”

Dehner stepped onto the boardwalk and glanced backward. Hosea’s head was bowed and his hands clasped together. His whispered words sounded intense. Rance couldn’t decide if the man was loco or genuinely devout.  He reckoned that was a question for later. He pushed open the batwings and entered the Quick Dollar saloon.

Episode Five:

Inside, the detective moved to the side of the entrance and looked around. Olsen would spot him soon enough, but first he wanted to get the lay of the land. The saloon was crowded. Somewhere in the chaos a piano player with little talent pounded a contraption that had probably never been tuned. Near the right stairway, several saloon girls were busy encouraging a passel of male fools who were losing money at the roulette table. Rance moved toward the left side of the bar, where he would be under one side of the second floor horseshoe. He passed several tables where men were playing poker. At one table, he spotted Stacey Hooper. He thought the gambler had also seen him, but couldn’t be sure.

Rance figured Lars Olsen had some sort of status at the Quick Dollar and with Beau Rawlins, the man who owned the saloon and the town. After all, it had been Olsen who tossed out Hosea. For a moment, Rance’s mind went back to the words Olsen had shouted at Hosea. Something about a woman…

“Well, look at the piece of loco weed that just blew in!” Lars Olsen stood a few yards from Dehner.

Rance smiled. “The last time I tried to arrest you, Lars, you got right ornery. Make it easy on yourself this time.” Dehner cringed inside. On the second floor, a man and a woman stepped out of one of the rooms, laughing. The laughter stopped as the man looked down. He pushed the woman back into the room and followed her. A speck of light winked from the room as the man drew his gun.

The crowd parted, but not in the usual manner. There was snickering and an almost gleeful sense of anticipation. Lars Olsen was a fast gun who had killed many men. Now, Lars was about to kill one more. Something to talk about tomorrow.

“You know why I hate you so much, Dehner?”

Lars’ question surprised the detective, but he was grateful for the conversation. The detective skimmed the crowd for someone else who might decide to assist Lars Olsen, but he didn’t dare turn his head toward the men behind him. Olsen was too fast a gun. “Well…golly…no, . .Lars.” Dehner continued to smile as he faced the killer. His voice was friendly. “Must be because I’m a Baptist and you’re a Methodist.”

“Not hardly. It’s because you got some kind of demon in you. You jus’ gotta go after men like me. That demon ain’t never gonna let you go. But don’t worry none, Dehner, I’m gonna put an end to your misery tonight.”

That would have been an obvious moment for Lars to go for his six shooter, but the gunfighter was too smart for that. The saloon was now completely quiet except for the still spinning roulette wheel which made a sound like an angry swarm of insects. Olsen’s body appeared loose but his eyes were fixed on Dehner. “How’d you know I was here?”

“Hellfire is just a natural place for you to be.”

Olsen’s face remained placid but Dehner saw the man’s chest rise as he did a slight inhale. The outlaw’s gun had just cleared leather when a bullet from Rance’s Colt cut into his shoulder and pushed him backward.

As he pulled the trigger, Rance jumped sideways. He hit the floor as the man from the second story room ran to the railing and fired a shot that ricocheted off one of the gambling tables. Rance snapped off two shots toward the second floor. Both bullets hit the target. The gunman dropped his weapon. His body went into spasms and he plunged over the railing.

Instinctively, the detective began to jump to his feet when he heard a familiar voice yell, “Stay down!” Dehner flattened himself against the floor as a red spear cut the air over him and burrowed into a gunman who spun and fell without firing the weapon in his right hand.

Stacey Hooper was on his feet, smoke curling from his gun. “Welcome to Hellfire, good friend!”

Episode Six

“You’re slipping into a rut, Stacey.” Rance spoke as he got to his feet. “The last place we ran into each other was also a saloon .”

“Well, as Ecclesiastes instructs us, ‘There is nothing new under the sun.’ However, that does not mean life is always predictable. Don’t holster your gun yet, my friend.”

The roulette wheel had stopped spinning. Everyone remained where they were, except for a small group of people huddled around Lars Olsen. Most eyes were centered on a large, well-dressed man in his late thirties who strode through the Quick Dollar in an almost regal manner, glancing at two corpses and a wounded man.

Beau Rawlins had a moon face and the beginning of a double chin. He looked at Dehner, then at Stacey Hooper. “You and this jasper you call a friend just killed two of my men and wounded another.”

“Our deepest condolences,” Stacey smiled benignly.

“I’m beginning to see what kind of hand you’re playing, Stacey. Times change, and a man has to change with them. Old friendships don’t mean much anymore.” He pointed at Dehner. “If you and this Jasper aren’t gone by noon tomorrow, I’ll have you both killed. Now, get out!”

“As you wish,” Stacey replied quickly. “But remember, Beau, competition is what fuels the engine of progress.” Both Stacey and Rance kept their guns in hand as they backed out of the saloon.

The moment the two men were on the boardwalk, activity inside the Quick Dollar resumed. The saloon became noisy and no one inside heard the voice that shouted, “Praise the Lord!” at Stacey and Rance.

“I forgot you were out here, Hosea!” Rance holstered his gun as he spoke to the bearded young man.

“Good thing the Lord never forgets where no one is!” Hosea’s voice remained a shout. “I’ve been out here praying. The Lord heard my prayers and protected you and Stacey.”

Rance’s face reflected surprise. Stacey Hooper laughed good naturedly. “Yes, Rance, I am friends with this present day prophet. We met the day I arrived. He was preaching in the street and I became an audience of one. Together we are working toward identical goals. Well, sort of…”
       Stacey glanced at the sky and continued to speak. “Hosea is right. The Almighty is with us tonight. He has provided a bright moon. May I suggest a ride out of town?”

“You think some of Rawlins’ men will forget about the noon deadline and try to kill us tonight?”

“Yes. Beau Rawlins has always encouraged his employees to show initiative.”

Episode Seven

“Where do you have in mind for us to go?”

“As you may have already surmised, Hosea has me pondering the wisdom of the Good Book: ‘Vanity of vanities; all is vanity.’ Indeed. Some unfortunate fool thought he could start a large ranch in this God forsaken… excuse me, Hosea… part of Texas. He had a rather daft plan for bringing in water. It didn’t work out. Now all that is left is a dilapidated ranch house and some line shacks. However, it will suit our present needs. Come gentlemen, we must not dally much longer!”

The three men mounted up and began to ride. The threesome had ridden in silence for about fifteen minutes when Dehner quickly glanced backwards. “I see a dust cloud moving toward us. Can’t tell how many riders there are. Six at the most. Probably less.”

“I anticipated this,” Hooper’s voice was thick with amusement. “Beau wants me dead. That noon deadline he presented back at the Quick Dollar was a ruse, and a very poor one.”

“How’s that?” Hosea asked.

“Hellfire is a town dedicated to sloth. Everyone is asleep at noon. Almost no one would know whether we had left town or not.”

Rance Dehner felt uneasy. He couldn’t figure out Stacey Hooper’s motive for being in Hellfire and forming an alliance with Hosea Rimstead. “Why does Rawlins want you dead? From what Rawlins said, the two of you used to be friends.”

The question put a smirk on Hooper’s face. “We were friends to the extent that two gamblers can be friends. But now Beau has become a businessman, and he believes I am plotting to move in on his territory. Thank goodness, he doesn’t know the real reason I am in Hellfire.”

The men once again became quiet. Dehner and Hosea waited for Stacey to tell them the real reason he was in Hellfire, but the gambler didn’t oblige.

Dehner changed the subject. “I hear laughter from our pursuers.”

Stacey nodded his head. “At this time of night, the entire population of Hellfire is inebriated.”  

“The devil’s brew has been the ruin of many a soul,” Hosea lamented.

 “Yes. But tonight Beelzebub’s bottles may be our friends.” Stacey looked back. “They aren’t making very good time. Let’s ride a bit faster. There are a few things we need to get done before we confront those villains.”

They spurred their horses into a gallop over the flat, dismal land. The few bushes and trees they rode past were withered and bent, as if this portion of the territory was a monument to death.

Episode Eight

Stacey pointed to a dark patch which lay in front of them. “Up ahead!”

They reined in at a gathering of five crooked trees huddled together as if trying to comfort each other. An abandoned shack stood several yards away. Stacey spoke as the three men dismounted. “This is one of the few spots that offers shade in the daytime. An obvious location for a line shack.”

“What do you have in mind, Stacey?” Rance asked.

Stacey hastily opened a saddle bag, pulled a wax object out and held it up for his two companions to see. “I plan to light one candle rather than curse the darkness. You gents tie up the horses.”

The gambler ran to the dilapidated structure. True to his word, candlelight could soon be seen through the shack’s one small window. Stacey ran back to his companions and hastily explained his plan. The three men waited in the darkness of the trees. Rance and Stacey held Colts. Hosea Rimstead was now armed with a Winchester he had pulled from the boot of his saddle.

The sound of approaching hoofbeats mingled with the laughter Rance had heard earlier. Both sounds came to a stop. Whispering could be heard, followed by a couple of guffaws. A moment of total silence followed, then gunshots were fired at the cabin as four men rode toward it. Two of the men were firing pistols and two carried Henrys. Splinters of wood exploded from the shack as a storm of bullets pierced it. One of the Henrys blew a hole under the window of the shack.

The four men pulled back and admired their destruction, as if they had just pulled off a dangerous military maneuver. The flame that still flickered inside seemed to hypnotize them for a few moments.

“Think anyone is still alive in there?” One of the outlaws asked, his voice slurred a bit by alcohol.

“Na. They’re all dead, or close to it. But let’s move in slow.”

Later, it would occur to Rance Dehner that what happened next may have looked funny if there had been a bystander around to watch. The four outlaws dismounted and began to move slowly toward the shack. As they did so, Stacey,Rance and Hosea moved from the shadow of the trees into the moonlight and advanced quietly toward the backs of the owlhoots.

“Freeze and drop your guns, gentlemen!” Stacey shouted. “Failure to comply will result in immediate death.”

The outlaws did what they were told. Although they couldn’t see him, there was no mistaking the voice of Stacey Hooper. One of the jaspers spoke, his voice trembling, “You gonna shoot us down like dogs?”

Stacey Hooper’s laugh conveyed a genuine sense of fun. “I believe we can avoid such vulgarity. No gentlemen, I believe this occasion calls for a touch of whimsy.” 

Episode Nine  

***

Hosea Rimstead and Stacey Hooper entered the dirty ranch house with easy familiarity. Rance Dehner scanned the well- built house that was empty of everything except dust, bugs and rodents.

Stacey picked up on his friend’s somber mood. “The West is a place where dreams often come to die.”

“A lot of people die with the dreams,” Dehner added.

Dehner’s statement seemed to spook Hosea. “You don’t think those three jaspers we left tied up back at the line shack will die, do you?”

“No.” Rance replied quickly. “They’ll get out of their ropes sooner or later. We turned their horses loose, but left them one canteen. If they use it wisely, it will provide enough water for the walk back into Hellfire.”

Hosea turned to Stacey. “Hope you don’t mind my objectin’ to your idea about takin’ away their boots. That just didn’t strike me as bein’ Christian.”

“Not at all, Hosea!” Stacey responded cheerfully. “I appreciated the theological insight.”

Rance looked about the deserted house, noticing patches of disturbed dust. “Have you fellows been using this place as a sort of hide out?”

“Indeed,” Stacey said. “Beau Rawlins owns both of the town’s hotels and his tolerance for Hosea and myself is becoming increasingly thin.”

“Why did you come to Hellfire, Stacey?”

The gambler side stepped the question. “What do you know about that charming small town, Rance?”

Dehner looked at a portion of moonlit floor where a spider was attacking a small insect. “Hellfire was started about two years ago, the product of Beau Rawlins’ warped mind. Criminals on the run pay Rawlins in order to stay in Hellfire. Rawlins provides them with amenities that they couldn’t find a mile or so south in Mexico.”

“Yeah,” Hosea added, “but if the law does show, some folks take a ride south before they can be arrested.”

Dehner heard a scampering sound on the floor and caught sight of a rat running along a baseboard. He wondered, casually, if rats attacked spiders. The detective turned his attention back to his companions and repeated his question. “Why are you in Hellfire, Stacey?”

Hooper held his chin high, “I am here on an assignment for the Texas Rangers!”

Episode Ten

Dehner’s chin dropped. “What?!”

“The Rangers want to close down Hellfire. They’ve tried, but Rawlins has men all over town who can spot the law. Word gets out and the big fish quickly swim south, leaving only the riff-raff. Would either of you gentlemen care for a cigar?”

Both of his companions responded with a quick, “No, thank you.”

Stacey bit off the end of the cigar and spit it onto the floor. The rat Dehner had spotted earlier heard the noise and disappeared into his hole in the floorboard.

“The Rangers want me to keep an eye on the big fish: men like Lars Olsen,” the gambler continued as he set a flame to his stogie. “I need to know their location and be able to identify them when Captain Britt Hatfield and his men ride into town.”

Dehner remained incredulous. “Just when might that be?”

Stacey looked dreamily at the cloud he blew from his mouth. “There is a special beauty to cigar smoke in the moonlight, don’t you think?”

“No!” Dehner didn’t give Hosea a chance to respond. “When are the Rangers riding into Hellfire?”

“Reasonably soon, I hope.” Stacey nodded at Hosea. “Our prophet was kind enough to ride out to Collins last week and send a telegram to Hatfield about Lars Olsen. He received a reply saying the Rangers would head for Hellfire as soon as they completed their current assignment.”

“How many men will there be in all?” Dehner asked.

Stacey shrugged his shoulders. “Captain Hatfield was skimpy on details.”

The odor from Hooper’s cigar began to compete with other odors in the house. Dehner admitted to himself that the stogie’s smell was an improvement. “Stacey, you’re not giving us the whole story. Why are you doing all this for the Rangers?” 

The gambler faked a surprised look.“Why, it’s my civic responsibility!” He turned to Hosea. “You’ll have to forgive Rance. A hard life of sin in a fallen world has left him calloused and cynical.”

Dehner stared at the gambler. “Stacey, —the truth—or something reasonably close to it.”

Hooper waved his cigar about. Dehner mused that, in the darkness, the stogie’s red tip gave it the appearance of a magic wand. “Well...” the gambler’s tone turned light, as if he was reviewing facts of little importance. “I was a very minor partner in a business venture that went awry.”

“What happened to the major partners?” Dehner persisted.

“They’re all in jail,” Stacey replied.

“But Captain Britt Hatfield of the Texas Rangers has an extensive knowledge of your… ah… activities.” Dehner felt relieved to be getting at the truth. “Hatfield knew that you and Beau Rawlins were chums, so he offered a deal: you help the Rangers close down Hellfire, or you go to prison.”

            Hooper flicked an ash from his cigar. “Crudely stated, but you have the gist of it.”

            “From what Rawlins threatened tonight, I gather that he is suspicious of your presence in Hellfire,” Dehner said.

            “He’s suspicious all right,” Hosea spoke up. “But for the wrong reasons. Beau thinks Stacey is trying to take over Hellfire and run the town hisself. I’ll bet he’s got you spotted as a gunman Stacey brought in to help with the dirty work.”

            “Hosea is right,” Stacey declared, his voice once again buoyant. “And we must make sure that Beau keeps that misperception. He knows about my legal entanglements and his suspicious nature could lead him to the truth. That must not happen!”

            “Why?” Dehner asked.

            “If Beau figures out the real reason I’m in Hellfire, he’ll warn his…shall we say, customers…and they will flee.”

            Hosea Rimstead scratched his head. “But wouldn’t that be self-defeatin’? I mean, with everone leavin’, Hellfire would go out of business anyhow.”

            “Only temporarily,” Hooper replied. “And Beau realizes that his clientele would eventually kill him if he allowed the law to make arrests in Hellfire. That’s why he has a gang to keep an eye on things. Lars Olsen was brought in to head up that gang.”

            “How many of them are there?” Dehner asked.

            The gambler fiddled with his cigar before answering. “The actual number seems to vary,--about a dozen. Still, I think we should be able to carry out a plan I have concocted. I’m sure there will be no serious problems, though we may have to send a few very hardened souls to a well-deserved perdition.”

Episode Eleven

***

            The sun was high in the sky as the three men rode toward Hellfire. “This is downright strange,” Dehner spoke as he eyed the town slowly coming into view. “I have snuck into many towns before, but never at noontime.”

            Hosea Rimstead was riding between the detective and the gambler. “It’s like Stacey said, Rance. Hellfire is a den of sin. These jaspers are like the ones the Good Book talks about. They want nothin’ to do with light. Darkness is what they’re after. Most of the town is sleeping now.”

            “Making this the ideal time for our little charade!” Stacey announced in a stage whisper. “I have observed how the town operates in the daytime. There are six men who patrol the town. Two stand duty on the north end of Hellfire, where we will be entering. Those gents are our immediate concern.”

            Stacey held a hand up, indicating that the procession needed to halt. “Can’t take any chances. Soon we will be within range of field glasses. As they say in the theater, ‘places, everyone.’”

            Hosea pulled back and yanked a Winchester from the boot of his saddle. Rance and Stacey wrapped ropes around their wrists and kept their hands on the horns of their saddles to make it appear that the hands were bound.

            Hosea spoke to his companions as the threesome continued to ride toward Hellfire. “Mighty grateful to you gents for helpin’ me get Gail outta that den of iniquity.  She might need some persuadin’. She wants to come back to me, but that woman can be thick headed at times.”

            “Ah, Hosea!” Stacey began to lift an arm as he spoke but quickly checked himself. “That is where you have gone wrong. You should be appealing to the lady’s heart, not her mind.”

            As the gambler continued to pontificate on the mysterious depths of a woman’s heart, Dehner’s thoughts remained on the next few hours. Yes, taking Gail away from Beau Rawlins’ operation would come across to most of the town as an insult to the big man. Beau would think Stacey had humiliated him. He’d see it as the first step in Hooper’s attempt to take over Hellfire.

            “Rawlins will hit back hard,” Dehner mumbled under his breath. The proprietor of Hellfire would do everything he could to kill all four people involved in Stacey’s crazy scheme.

            An odd undercurrent ran through Dehner’s thoughts. There was another motive for Stacey’s actions. The gambler seemed to genuinely like Hosea and Gail, and wanted to see them reunited. Perhaps Stacey saw something in the couple: something special that he had lost long ago.

            Dehner sighed. Stacey Hooper had certainly picked the worst time to be a nursemaid to the lovelorn.

            The threesome became quiet as they drew near Hellfire. Waves of heat zig-zagged crazily in front of them like ghosts guarding a portal to the netherworld. Two of Beau’s henchmen, both holding rifles, stepped off the boardwalk that fronted a small saloon. One of them set down a bottle that they had been sharing. They stared at the strange horsemen that approached.

            “It’s that crazy preacherman, Lou.”

            “Yeah, and he’s got that gambler fella with him, don’t know who the other jasper is.” Both gunmen were tall, with large foreheads and deep set eyes. Not surprising. Lou and Sherm Proctor were brothers who spent half of their lives stealing and the other half in Hellfire.

            Sherm carefully eyed the horsemen. “The third jasper is the man who outdrew Lars Olsen last night. Watch him real careful. I’ll stand on their right side, you take the left.”

            Lou nodded as he raised his rifle and yelled, “Stop right there!”

Episode Twelve

     “Howdy gents!” Hosea sounded upbeat and confident. “I got me two prisoners that Mr. Rawlins will wanna see.”

            Sherm didn’t raise his rifle, but there was suspicion in his voice. “Whadda you talkin’ ‘bout, preacher man?”

            Hosea pointed his rifle at the two riders in front of him. “I useta think these two were fine Christian gentlemen. Then last night I caught ‘em stealin’ from the cash box at the Quick Dollar. Guess I’ve been hangin’ out in bad company. I owe Mr. Rawlins an apology.”

            Sherm’s suspicion diminished but it was still there. “Nobody told me ‘bout money bein’ taken from the Quick Dollar.”

            Hosea shrugged his shoulders. “Well, that’s what happened. Got the loot in my saddle bags. Come see.”

            Both brothers lowered their rifles and stepped toward Hosea’s saddle. Rance jumped Sherm while Stacey pounced on Lou. Both outlaws were knocked unconscious. Their bodies were dragged behind the saloon where they were bound and gagged. 

            Hosea looked down at the two outlaws, both regaining consciousness but too weak to try to break out of the ropes. “Let this be a lesson to both you gents. Lust for filthy lucre always leads to a downfall.”

            “We’ll have to end the sermon there.” Dehner looked about and listened carefully. “We’ll move down the back way to the Quick Dollar.”

            As they made their way down the row of wooden structures, Dehner tried to recall the exact set up of the town. There were ten buildings. Four of them were saloons. There was a gun shop which doubled as a general store and two Hotels which housed most of the town’s population. One house stood at the end of the street: the private residence of Beau Rawlins. There was a livery, and Hellfire boasted one restaurant, which obviously did not do much of a lunch trade.

            They stopped at the back door of the Quick Dollar. Rance tried the door, which was locked. The detective pointed to a nearby window. “Breaking the glass will probably make less noise than busting down the door.”

            Rance pulled his Colt as he moved over to the target. “The latch is broken!” he said as he opened the window and holstered his gun.

            “Hallelujah!” Hosea declared in a loud whisper. “That’s an answer to prayer!”

            Stacey’s face crunched. “When did you pray for a broken latch?”

            “Well…what I meant was…” 

            “Never mind that!” Dehner anxiously whispered. He was looking out at his companions after having crawled through the window. “Get inside!”

Episode Thirteen

     Hosea and Stacey complied. The three men were now standing in a large storage area. Stacey’s voice was uncharacteristically nervous. “Ah…Hosea. Do you know if Gail might be, um,..with  a client?”

            Hosea hastily shook his head. “If an owlhoot wants to spend more than an hour with one of the girls, he has to take her to a hotel. Beau Rawlins’ orders. But listen here. Gail don’t--”

            Dehner cut him off. “We have to get moving. We don’t have much time. One of the other jaspers guarding the town might find the two we tied up.”

            Dehner carefully opened the door that led into the saloon proper. The detective immediately remembered Hosea’s statement about the occupants of Hellfire preferring darkness to light. The Quick Dollar seemed dedicated to an eternal night. Two thick doors that fronted the bat wings stood closed. The saloon’s four small windows were covered by thick curtains. Smoke from the previous night circled about the room like a snake stalking its prey. No one had bothered to stack the chairs on the tables. Many of the chairs were scattered about the saloon like confused drunks. The air was rancid with the odor of tobacco, booze and urine. Broken bottles lay scattered on the floor.

            The kerosene lights were glowing on the large wagon wheel chandelier that hung over the Quick Dollar, but the chandelier didn’t seem to provide illumination. Rather, it cast a shimmering yellow stain over everything it touched.

            “If Satan has an office, this must be what it looks like,” Hosea said. The other two men nodded in agreement.

            “Come on,” Dehner said as he led his companions up the stairway.

            When they reached the top, Hosea took the lead, moving quickly toward the room where he had talked with his wife the previous night. As he opened the door, the three men glanced toward the bed where Gail lay. The girl looked pale and was breathing rapidly, like someone in pain. Her hands clung to the white sheet that covered her as if it were a flag of surrender.

            “Wake her up, Hosea. But we haven’t got much time.” Dehner and Hooper stepped away as Rance closed the door. Hosea Rimstead was alone with his wife.

Episode Fourteen:

            He walked over to the bed and gently touched her on the shoulder. “Gail, wake up.”

            “Whaa—Hosea—what are you doin’ here?” 

            “I’m here with Stacey Hooper and Rance Dehner. We’re here to take you away from this here--”

            “Go away, Hosea, please, go away.”

            “Look, Gail, Beau Rawlins’ days are numbered. You don’t--”

            “Please, Hosea, leave.”

            “Look here woman, how many times have I got to explain to you, the Lord wants--”

            Gail’s voice took on a bitterness that stunned her husband. “You’re mighty good at tellin’ me what the Lord wants. Did it ever occur to you, Hosea, that what the Lord wants always happens to be exactly what you want?!”

            Hosea Rimstead took a step back from the bed, a shocked expression on his face. “You’re right…I never thought of it that way, but…you’re right.”

            Gail looked away. Her eyes fell on two roaches scampering about on the wall to her left. The young woman thought the insects looked like the happiest ones in the room. She turned back to her husband but couldn’t think of anything to say.

            Hosea crouched down beside the bed. “Gail, I’ve made some bad mistakes. But I have a need to preach. This part of Texas is called God forsaken. It’s not true. God forsakes no place and no one. I hav‘ta tell folks that. It’s somethin’ I just gotta do. I really think the Lord sent me here when I was headin’ for Collins because of you. I can’t do nothin’ without you. I love you so much, Gail. Please come back…”

***

            Stacey Hooper lifted his ear off the bedroom door. “It’s very quiet in there. At least our prophet is not prophesying. That can get very tedious and is certainly no way to win back a lady’s heart.” 

“He’s been in there too long…we better get them—”

            Dehner stopped speaking as Hosea and Gail stepped out of the room, hand in hand. Their faces reflected both happiness and determination. Gail was wearing her red saloon girl dress, the only clothing she had handy.

            “We’re ready,” Hosea said. Gail smiled firmly as if echoing her husband’s remark.

            “Well!” Stacey declared robustly. “You two certainly look ready for whatever the future brings.”

            Rance hoped they had a future. “Let’s go!”

            They ran down the stairway. When they reached the bottom, the gambler pointed toward the back door. “This way.”

            “Stop right there, Stacey!”

            Stacey Hooper froze and then slowly turned around, as did his three companions. “Why, Beau, it’s only a little past noon. What are you doing up at such an ungodly hour?”

            Beau Rawlins was standing behind the bar with a shotgun pointed at the intruders. A cigar bobbed playfully at one side of his mouth. The smile on his face was chilling: the look of a man who was about to, literally, blow his problems away. “Insomnia, Stacey. I can’t sleep some days, so I come here and get some work done. Heard you folks upstairs when I arrived, and just naturally thought about this scatter gun the barkeep always has handy.”

            Beau stepped carefully from behind the bar and approached the threesome. He noticed them trying to spread out. “I want everyone to stay close together. After all, nobody wants to die alone.”

Episode Fifteen:

 Stacey remained cordial, as if he had just lost a friendly game of cards. “Very well. Do what he says, friends. I’ve played Beau many times over the years and beat him more often than not. But it appears that Beau has won the main event.” As he eyed his companions, the gambler gave Dehner a short but significant glance.

 The detective looked carefully at their captor. Beau Rawlins had a pearl handled revolver in a fancy holster strapped to his waist. The gun appeared more for show than use. Rawlins was a man who hired others to do his killing. He was now standing in unfamiliar territory.

 “I have a little confession to make, Beau,” Stacey Hooper spoke wistfully. A man resigned to his fate. “Last night, I stole some money from the Quick Dollar. Allow me to make restitution.” He started to reach inside his coat pocket.

 “Freeze, Stacey!” This time, Beau’s shout was filled with panic. His eyes grew large and were fixed entirely on the gambler. He took another step toward his prisoners. He wanted one shot to do the trick.

      Dehner dropped to the ground and rolled toward Beau Rawlins. He plowed into the man’s legs. Rawlins stumbled and fired the shotgun. The shot went toward the ceiling and hit the chain holding the chandelier. The chandelier dropped, colliding with two of the round tables. An explosion of flames erupted and spread quickly. 

      Beau regained his balance and reached for his sidearm. Dehner buoyed to his feet and landed a hard punch under Beau’s left ear. As his head swiveled, Rawlins spit the cigar from his mouth into the flames. A new gust of red surged as the fire gained more strength. Rawlins staggered backwards and fell into the red blaze. Terrifying cries of pain now came from inside the inferno. Stacey Hooper fired two shots into the fire. There was one more horrifying screech, then the voice of Beau Rawlins was heard no more 

      “An act of mercy,” Stacey declared.  

      Dehner coughed from the smoke. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

      Hosea and Gail were already standing by the door to the storage room. Rance and Stacey quickly joined them but Rance shook his head when Hosea started to open the door. “By now, at least some of the guards are outside. The front door is locked. They know we will be coming out the back. We’ll walk into a hail of bullets.”

      Gail put a hand to her throat. “So, we burn to death or get gunned down by outlaws!”

Chapter Sixteen

     The Quick Dollar was engulfed in smoke as the fire continued on its voracious path of destruction. Ashes tinged with red began to rain all around them.

            “What are we gonna do?” Hosea yelled.

            Dehner gave the young man an intense stare. “Listen carefully, prophet.”

            Less than a minute later, Hosea rushed into the storage room. Rance crawled behind him, hoping he couldn’t be seen through the window. Hosea leaned against the wall beside the door and began to shout. “Oh Lord, take thy servant away to be with you. You have taken my beloved. You have taken the gambler and his friend. Now, I beseech you to take me. Like your servant Jonah, I beg for the comfort of death!”

            Dehner was now at the opposite side of the storage room, crouched down, gun drawn. He heard the laughter outside and watched as the door barged open and three men stepped inside carrying their weapons.

            One of them continued to laugh as he raised his Smith and Wesson, “I’ll gladly oblige ya--”

            “Drop the guns!” The three gunmen turned to fire and were met with three bullets from Rance’s Colt. Stacey and Gail entered the storage room. Dehner picked up the two of the weapons dropped by the gunmen and handed them to Hosea and his wife.

            “You may need these. Help me drag these owlhoots outside.” They dragged the three outlaws a safe distance from the burning saloon. Sounds of panic almost overwhelmed the crackling and collapse of buildings as the fire moved in all directions, engulfing the town.

            Another sound joined the chaotic cacophony: pounding hoofbeats. “The Rangers are here!” Stacey shouted as he ran along the alleyway behind the buildings, his three companions following. Reaching a clear passage, they crossed to the front of the street. Dehner eyed the chaos that was all around. Every outlaw was scrambling to save himself. The rangers halted and gawked at the destruction and panic in front of them

            “Captain Hatfield, so good of you to come to our aid!”

            Hatfield was a large man with a scarred face and a salt and pepper mustache. He headed a detachment of eight men. “What’s going on, Hooper?!”

            Stacey quickly explained the situation. Dehner noticed looks of amusement on the faces of Gail and Hosea as the gambler made himself the hero of his own narrative.

            After finishing, Stacey hastily introduced his three companions. Hatfield gave Dehner a curious stare. “Is this the gent you told me about?” He asked Stacey. “The man who could outdraw Lars Olsen?”

            Dehner’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s why you wired me to come here! You didn’t want to have to face Olsen yourself!”

            Stacey shrugged his shoulders. “There was a great deal on my schedule at the time. I had to delegate certain tasks. I’m sure you understand.”

            “I understand all right--”

            “That’s enough, gents!” Hatfield shouted. “There’s no way we can stop this fire. We hav‘ta find Olsen before this town becomes a pile of ashes.”

      Episode Seventeen

***

            Lars Olsen was arrested as he staggered out of Beau Rawlins’ house, where he had been recuperating. Two hours after their arrival, the Rangers had Olsen and several lesser known crooks in custody.

            “Quite a few jaspers got away,” Britt Hatfield spoke as he looked at the burning buildings that had been Hellfire. “But we got what we came for and then some. You kept your part of the deal, Hooper. You’re a free man.”

            “Thank you, Captain. I have always believed that citizen involvement is vital to a democracy…”

            As Stacey prattled on, Dehner examined the curious assemblage that surrounded him. Everyone was on horseback, about a half mile from the flames. Besides Olsen, the rangers had sixteen prisoners. They also had an additional seven horses which had been rescued from the livery. They would be taken back to headquarters and used by the Texas Rangers. Their owners had either escaped on foot or perished in the fire.

            Rance left Stacey’s side and rode over to the young couple, who looked both exhausted and excited. “How are you two holding up?” He asked Gail and Hosea.

            “We’ve just been talkin’,” Hosea said. “You know, when I was in Collins I noticed that there weren’t no church there. Gail and me is gonna see that they get one.”

            “You’re welcome to come visit us anytime, Mr. Dehner,” Gail added. “We are very grateful for what you’ve done.”

            Hosea’s wife looked younger than Rance had ever seen her. She carried the natural assumption of youth that things would get better. She was looking forward to tomorrow.

            “I’ve been thanked plenty,” Rance said.

            When he returned to Stacey and Hatfield, the captain’s voice was becoming officious. “I’ll have to send a detail back to recover the corpses. It’ll be a few days before this fire burns out entirely.” He turned his head and raised his voice. “Prepare to move out!”

            Stacey Hooper and Rance Dehner stayed behind for a few minutes, feeling the heat from the raging fire. Rance spoke slowly, as he viewed the destruction in front of him. “’For a man also knoweth not his time: as the fishes that are taken in an evil net, and as the birds that are caught in the snare; so are the sons of men snared in an evil time, when it falleth suddenly upon them.’”

            Stacey smile approvingly. “Ecclesiastes 9:12. For a range detective you are remarkably well read, good friend.”

            Dehner glanced quickly at Gail and Hosea. “I hope our newlyweds don’t get trapped in any evil nets. There are plenty of them out there.”

            Both men turned their horses and quickly rejoined the group. There was still work to do. The rangers needed help with so many prisoners.

            For three days the ruins of Hellfire burned and smoldered. The flames and smoke gradually disappeared and the town became a grotesque pile of destroyed buildings and burnt flesh.

Episode One of The Robin Hood of the Range

The Robin Hood of the Range handed three ten dollar bills to an elderly woman. “That’s for you and your husband, Mrs. Bolger. Reckon you can use it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cates, but you shouldn’t--”

“Sure I should!” Ricky Cates smiled broadly as he spoke. “Why, you folks have been mighty kind to hide me out these past two days.”

Simon Bolger sat at the dining table in a small house consisting of a dining area, kitchen and bedroom. In front of him lay a copy of Ricky Cates: The Robin Hood of the Range, a dime novel. The publication was one of the very few “extras” the farmer allowed himself.

“This here drawin’ of you on the cover is a good likeness, Mr. Cates. But won’t that be sort of a problem ...”

“Reckon not,” Cates replied. “Why, every lawdog in the Arizona territory has a description of the Robin Hood of the Range. I just learn to live with it.” At twenty years of age, Ricky Cates carried a monstrous vanity regarding his appearance. He dreaded cutting his long brown hair and Buffalo Bill style beard.

Elsie Bolger took the three bills Cates had given her and stepped through an open door into the kitchen, where she took down a large jar from a shelf that sided the oven. “The west certainly needs a man like you, Mr. Cates.” She placed the bills in the jar and placed it back on the shelf. “That banker, Russ Adams, has got plenty of money in his bank. He can spare two hunnert dollars. Folks like us got almost nothin’.”

“That’s right ma’am, and I plan to hand out more of that money, startin’ today.”

“Are you leavin’ us, Mr. Cates?” Simon asked.

“Yes sir. Been two days since I robbed the bank. Guess the law has figured I’m far away by now. I need to start handin’ out money to poor folks that need it.”

“Well, before you leave you gotta have a good breakfast,” Elsie declared. “I’ll start getting’ the food on the table. Isaiah should be back from early chores soon.

Ricky Cates smiled, but he wasn’t happy. Isaiah, a hired hand, was a lot stronger than his elderly and frail boss. Cates could tell that Isaiah did not accept the Robin Hood story he had fed that crazy writer from the East. The outlaw hated Isaiah for that. Ricky Cates also hated Isaiah for his black skin.

Hoofbeats sounded from outside. Simon awkwardly arose from his chair and hobbled over to the window. He brushed back the thin curtains, then turned to Ricky. “It’s Marshall Tyler and his deputy!”

Episode Two:

Ricky scooped up the bedroll that lay on the floor. “Get rid of ‘em. Fast!” He rushed inside the Bolger’s bedroom.

Marshall Pete Tyler spotted Simon at the window as he and his deputy, Amos Noonan, hitched their horses. The Marshall smiled and nodded as the two lawmen stepped onto the front porch of the house.

Simon opened the door before Pete could knock. “Mornin’ Marshall, Deputy. Been a while since you two have been out this way.”

“Reckon so,” the Marshall replied. “Last time we were in these parts was about eight months ago, when we were tracking the Carnes gang.”

“Back then, you folks were great about lettin’ us put on the feed bag,” Deputy Noonan’s freckled face gleamed with hope. “We could sure use some of that kindness now. The Marshall and me has been ridin’ hard. Getting’ mighty tired of eatin’ jerky.”

Pete Tyler laughed and shook his head. The Marshall stood at medium height, slightly overweight with iron gray hair. “Amos ain’t none too subtle. Now, if you folks have already had your breakfast--”

Amos Noonan’s face took on a dreamy look. He smelled the food being prepared in the kitchen. Simon couldn’t see any way he could lie about having already eaten. “No, Elsie and me was jus’ getting’ ready to sit down. Both of you’s are welcome.”

The two lawmen took off their hats as they ambled into the Bolger house. Marshall Tyler felt a bit awkward. It wasn’t right imposing like this on folks. If he had been more at ease himself, he might have spotted Elsie’s nervousness as she stepped out of the kitchen. After greeting the two lawmen, she fussed with her apron and tried to sound casual. “What brings you two gents to these parts?”

“Didn’t ya hear?” Amos Noonan spoke loudly as was his custom. “The bank in Grimsby got robbed two days ago. We’re trackin’ the man who done it. Think it was Ricky Cates.”

Elsie’s anxiety sounded like anger in her voice. “Can’t see why a U.S. Marshall and his deputy have to make such a big deal over two hunnert dollars. That banker, Russ Adams, thinks he has to have every penny in the territory.”

Marshall Tyler looked confused. “Ma’am?”

“Well, that’s all that got took from the bank. Two hunnert dollars!”

“Where’d you hear that?” A strong curiosity laced Pete Tyler’s voice. Cates could hear it from where he stood directly behind the door of the bedroom. The outlaw stared at the six-shooter in his right hand. As always, it gave him a sense of power.

Episode Three

Elsie’s nervousness became more apparent. She began to work her hands. “Why, we was in town yesterday and someone told us. Can’t recollect who.”

“Someone told you wrong!” Now the Marshall’s voice sounded angry. “The bank was cleaned out of almost eight thousand dollars. And Russ Adams was gunned down in cold blood.”

“That can’t be true!” Simon shouted as he moved beside his wife.

“Why not?” The Marshall shouted back. Neither lawman noticed the door behind them opening.

Cates fired two shots: the first ripped into the back of Marshall Tyler, the second plunged through the throat of his deputy. Tyler slammed onto the dining table, his body tipping the table over on its side as the lawman landed on his back. His deputy dropped to his knees, then went down, splaying out onto the floor. Both lawmen instinctively began to reach for their guns as they squirmed on the floor only moments from death. Ricky Cates barged into the room and fired another two shots into the heads of the lawmen.

Elsie Bolger began to scream hysterically. “You ought not, you ought not!” Her husband put an arm around the woman trying to calm her, but his body was also trembling.

“Shut up, old woman!” Ricky opened his six- shooter, pushed out the empty cartridges and reloaded from his gun belt.

Elsie continued to scream, “You ought not, you…”

Ricky Cates stopped her screams with another shot. The horror of his wife’s brutal death was the last thing Simon Bolger saw. Cates sent another bullet into the old man’s chest.

Ricky cursed himself as he once again reloaded. He should have let Simon Bolger live for another few minutes. He needed to know where Isaiah was. The Bolgers talked about their hand doing the “early chores.” What did that mean? Was Isaiah close enough to have heard the shots? Probably, but Cates couldn’t be sure.

The killer made his way around the dead bodies, hurried into the kitchen and retrieved the three ten dollar bills from the jar. He again used caution in stepping over the human obstacles as he returned to the bedroom. He didn’t want to get blood on his boots.

Episode Four

Inside the bedroom, his bedroll and saddle bags were lying on a wide bed. Cates returned the thirty dollars to one of the bags containing the money he had stolen from the bank.

The outlaw suddenly dropped to the floor, using the bed as a shield between himself and the small window in the room. He thought he had seen some movement at the open window. Could Isaiah have been spying on him?

Six gun in his right hand, Ricky advanced on his belly toward the window. The outlaw paused to collect himself as he reached the wall, directly under the fluttering curtains. He then sprang up and gazed out the window, ready to gun down any adversary.

There was no one there. Ricky cursed the two birds that were flying about and almost fired at them.

The killer breathed heavily and tried to calm himself. His pinto was out in the barn. He had kept it there purposely. A fine horse tied up in front of the Bolger’s place would have attracted some attention. But now he had to reach his steed while keeping clear of Isaiah, wherever he was.

Ricky Cates prided himself on being smart. He paused and thought about everything the Bolgers had told him about their hired hand: hard- working, honest, kind…

Cates enjoyed dealing with such men. They were easy to fool. And Isaiah was a black man. The killer’s mood became almost playful. This could turn out to be fun. He once again went to his saddle bags, this time to pull some things out.

Caution was still needed. Bedroll under his left arm and saddle bags slung over his left shoulder, Ricky Cates left the house and headed for the barn. He tried to look casual but his right arm was free and ready to draw.

“Stop right there, Mr. Robin Hood!”

Episode Five 

Ricky stopped and turned around. Standing in front of the Bolger house was Isaiah. He was a big man, wearing a checkered shirt and pants made of rugged material. His temples were lined with gray and his arms held an old scatter gun. 

“Drop everything you’re carryin’, and take off that fancy gunbelt real careful,” Isaiah ordered. “You’re gonna pay for what you just did. I’m takin’ you into town.”

Cates spoke as he carried out the instructions. “You know, brother, I’m happy you came along. That devil just gets inside me sometimes, and I do horrible things. I hope you can forgive me like Simon Bolger did. He says the Lord will forgive me and so does he.”

A wave of shock passed through Isaiah. “Mr. Bolger is still alive!”

“Sure is.”

Isaiah turned his head toward the house. Ricky Cates pulled a derringer from under his sleeve and fired directly into Isaiah’s chest. The killer laughed as his victim went down, collapsing onto the scatter gun. “I use the derringer most times in card games, but it worked just fine on you, Isaiah.”

Cates continued to laugh as he rebuckled  his gunbelt, tied down the holster, and gathered up his cargo. Sauntering into the barn, he hummed the tune of a hymn whose lyrics he couldn’t remember. As he saddled his pinto, he wondered how long it would be before the dead bodies were discovered. Probably not too long. He needed to be on his way.

But as he rode out of the barn, Cates couldn’t resist the urge to inflict more pain. He carefully rode toward Isaiah’s body, stopping several yards away. The body of the hired hand was moving a bit. He was still alive.

“Hey Isaiah!” Ricky shouted. “I know you wanna see your friends the Bolgers. Now, bleedin’ to death can take a long time.” He drew his six shooter. “So, I’ll hurry along your journey.”

An explosion sounded from underneath Isaiah’s body. Despite his fatal wound, Isaiah had managed to pull the trigger of the old scatter gun. He had been unable to aim, but his shot didn’t completely miss its mark.

Ricky Cates yelled in pain, holstered his gun and spurred his horse. He needed to get away from the Bolger place and find help, find another farm or ranch where the fools believed in the Robin Hood of the Range.

Episode Six

***

“Are you listenin’ to me, girl?”

“Yes, Pa.” Cissy Runyan looked down at the food on her plate. She always looked down when her father talked to her.

“Tomorrow afternoon, Harry McGivern is gonna come by. He’s lookin’ to buy a horse for his boy. The kid’s got a birthday comin’.”

“Yes, Pa.”

“I want you to pretty up and be nice to McGivern. Show him that little buckskin we got. McGivern will say the horse looks scrawny. You tell him it will only take a week or so to get more meat on the horse’s bones.”

“Pa, if we took better care--”

Dencel Runyan grabbed his daughter’s red hair and pulled back. He moved his face in close to hers. Cissy could smell the whiskey on her father’s breath. “You don’t tell me how to run the ranch. Understand, girl?!”

“Dencel, please--” Iola Runyan reached across the table and placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“You stay outta this!” The man glared at his wife, who immediately retreated, then looked back at his daughter, tightening his grip on her hair. “Don’t never talk back to me!”

“Yes, Pa.”

Dencel continued to hold on to Cissy’s hair.

“Please Pa, let go. It hurts.”

Dencel Runyan slowly relaxed his grip, then used his hand to grab a potato from a bowl on the table. As he cut open the spud he glared threateningly at his daughter.

Cissy pushed her food around on the plate for a few minutes and even managed to swallow a couple of bites before speaking to her mother. “May I please be excused, Ma?”

“Honey, try to eat a bit more. Breakfast is a long way off.”

“The food’s very good, Ma, but I just ain’t hungry.”

A look of resignation came over Iola Runyan’s face. The woman was accepting one more small defeat. All of her days were becoming a jumble of small defeats.

“I need to get to the barn and tend to the horses,” Cissy spoke in a soft but firm voice.

Iola glanced at her husband who was now shoving food into his mouth, indifferent to the two women at the table. The woman smiled weakly and nodded at her daughter. Iola and Cissy shared a secret about the barn.

Cissy rose from the table, quickly ignited a lantern, and headed outside. She was anxious to get to her escape. The last time the family had gone into town, her ma allowed her to buy a dime novel. Iola had slipped her daughter the money, which Dencel would have wanted to be used toward a jug. Cissy had bought Ricky Cates: The Robin Hood of the Rangeand, so far, had only read it once. The publication now lay beneath a pile of hay in the barn. She was looking forward to a second read.

As she walked past a corral in bad need of repair, the girl wondered if she would ever leave the ranch. At sixteen, Cissy had often thought of running away, but it seemed wrong to leave her ma alone with her pa, who was drinking more and becoming harder to live with by the day.

When Cissy opened the barn door she gasped in surprise and stepped back. She glanced upwards at the sky, where clouds seemed to be playing some strange game with the moon, then she slowly returned her eyes to the barn.

Episode Seven:

A magnificent pinto horse stood inside the barn. Though she had spent her lifetime around horses, Cissy was frightened by the animal. She approached it slowly. The pinto carried a beautiful saddle. Why, this horse looked just like Sherwood, the faithful steed of the Robin Hood of the Range.

Holding the lantern in her left hand, she carefully reached out and began to pat the horse. For a moment, Cissy experienced a moment of magic. Ever since she had turned thirteen, Cissy had done as her father ordered. She had prettied up and helped to sell horses to the men who came to the ranch. Many of the sales had been to men who were looking for a horse as a gift for a son or a daughter, a special birthday or Christmas present.

But there had never been anything special for Cissy. She had long ago even stopped thinking about it. Birthdays came with a quiet, “Happy Birthday, dear,” whispered by her mother. Christmas was a day when her father got even more drunk than usual.

And now…the girl continued to pat the horse, feeling more comfortable with the animal. This was a real horse, not a creature that somehow popped out of a story. But how…

Cissy heard shuffling sounds nearby. Without hesitation she hurried to the right side of the barn where two lines of hay bales were stacked. She lifted the lantern over the bales and was greeted by the barrel of a gun pointed directly at her.

Cissy gasped again, this time more out of wonderment than fear. She looked at the man who was lying on the floor. “You’re Ricky Cates!” Her voice was a stage whisper of excitement and adulation. “You’re the Robin Hood of the Range!”

Episode Eight 

Cates lowered the gun. He knew immediately that the girl wasn’t a threat and could be a help. He smiled weakly. “That’s right. I’m him.”

Cissy looked at the bloody mess which was Cates’ left shoulder. “What happened to you, Mr. Cates?”

“Ricky. Please call me Ricky. What’s your name?”

“Cissy. Cissy Runyan. I live here with my Ma and Pa.”

Cates broadened his smile. “Okay if I call you Cissy?” 

The girl shrugged her shoulders and briefly moved her face out of the lantern light. “Reckon it’d be all right.” She quickly regained her composure. “Now, tell me what happened to you, Mr.—Ricky.”

“I robbed a bank of two hunnert dollars. That ain’t much money to take from a bank…”

“I’ve read all about you. You only take a little money from the bank. Just enough to give to poor folks.”

“That’s right. And sometimes I depend on poor folks for help. I was holed up at the Bolger place. Know them?”

“Just a little. Our family don’t get around much.”

“A posse tracked me there. They opened fire on the Bolger house with no warning at all. Killed Simon, Elsie and that hired hand of theirs, Isaiah. I tried to defend them, but--”

“I know how hard it must have been, what with you only shooting to wound, never to kill.” Cissy moved around the bales of hay and crouched over the gunman, holding the lantern where she could get a good view of the wound. “It doesn’t look too bad. I can pull the buckshot out. Your real problem is losing blood. How long have you been here?”

“’bout thirty minutes,” it occurred to Cates that for once, he was telling the truth. “After leaving the Bolger place, I stopped by a grove of trees somewhere and tried to make a bandage to stop the bleedin’. Passed out for a while, then got back on my horse. Remember seein’ this barn. The door was open. I was half unconscious. Rode in and closed the door. Can’t remember much after that.”

“Girl, what’s takin’ so much fool time?!”

“Who’s that?” Cates asked.

“My pa. He…he drinks some.”

There was another shout. Dencel Runyan was getting closer to the barn.

Cissy looked at the open door. “Pa will come in. He’ll see your horse. He’ll start lookin’ around and find you.”

Episode Nine:

Cates started to say something, but the girl hurried toward the front of the barn. She looked near the door. Her hopes were realized: her father had left it there that afternoon, as he occasionally did.

Cissy picked up the jug and moved quickly out of the barn. She reached her father as he passed by the corral and handed him the prize. “Here it is, Pa. Knowed you’d be lookin’ for it.”

Dencel had forgotten about the jug but accepted it gratefully. “Thanks.”

“A man needs to whet his whistle at the end of the day.”

Dencel was confused. His wife and daughter had never shown much good humor when it came to his drinking. He returned to the question that had brought him out in the first place. “Whadda you been doin’ in the barn?”

“Lookin’ after that buckskin. He don’t look all that good.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Don’t rightly know. I’m gonna spend the night in the barn. I’ll have him lookin’ fine by tommorra, pa. You’ll be able to get a good price for him.”

Dencel glanced over his daughter’s shoulders. He thought he saw movement inside the barn. One of the nags seemed to be out of its stall. The horse might even have a saddle.

The man’s vision began to go fuzzy, as it often did. He uncorked the jug and took a drink.

“First thing in the morning, I’ll pretty up, Pa. I’ll be ready for that buyer when he comes.”

“You do that.” Dencel turned and began to slowly weave his way back to the house.

Cissy stood and watched her father until he made it inside the house. What would she have done if her lies had failed? The girl didn’t know, but she did know this much. She would never have let her pa get past her and find Ricky Cates.

Episode Ten

Cissy ran back to the barn. She retrieved a bag of clean rags that could be used as bandages, and a few clean tools, including a bucket. The girl stepped outside the barn where there was a pump and filled the bucket about a quarter full. She then hurried over to the outlaw, whose face remained pale.

“This is gonna hurt some, but I’ll have you fixed up soon.”

Cates’ voice expressed anger and disbelief. “What do you know about doctorin’?”

A lifetime spent with Dencel Runyan had inured Cissy to harsh words. She accepted the mockery in Ricky’s voice as her rightful due. “I’ve been brought up on this hardscrabble ranch.” The girl spoke as she undid Cates’ makeshift bandage which came from a ripped, dirty blanket. “My pa likes his drink. All sorts of ugly things happen around here. I don’t have much book learnin’, but I’ve still learned a lot. Had to.”

The outlaw became more cautious. He realized, once again, that this girl could help him.  His voice became friendly. “Nobody could accuse you of braggin’ on your family.”

“Nothin’ much to brag on; my ma is a fine woman, but…” Cissy held the lantern closer to the wound. “Not too much buckshot there. You must have been movin’ pretty quick.”

The killer caught the strong element of hero worship in the girl’s voice. “There were…six men in that posse.” He started to say a dozen but realized Cissy lived too close to Grimsby and the real world to believe that. “They were all armed with shotguns or Winchesters. I wounded four of them. Figured they had it comin’ for what they did to the Bolgers. Simon, Elsie and Isaiah, why, they were just hard working, poor people.”

What followed was painful for Ricky Cates, but he remained stoic as the girl removed the buckshot and cleaned the wound. He had to keep the image of the Robin Hood of the Range alive in order to keep himself alive.

Cissy concluded by locating a ladle, putting fresh water in the bucket, and making her patient take several drinks. She held the ladle in one hand and lifted Cates’ head with the other. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re gonna be weak for a spell.”

“Guess so…thanks for all you’ve done.”

Cissy allowed the outlaw’s head to gently return to the ground. She withdrew her hand slowly, allowing it to caress Cates’ cheek. The girl looked confused and upset. She started to speak, then stopped and began again, only this time on a different track. “I’m gonna  give Sherwood a rub down, then put him in a back stall, where he won’t be easy to spot.” 

The girl tended to the horse, then with the lantern in hand, she quietly went back to her patient. Ricky Cates was sleeping but the light woke him up. As his eyes opened, he smiled at the pretty face which hovered over him.

“I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I’m not.”

The girl’s body trembled; in her nervousness she forgot about the first name arrangement with her hero. “Mr. Cates, there’s somethin’ I gotta say to you.”

Episode Eleven

“Go ahead.”

Cissy placed the lantern down and kneeled beside the outlaw. “Mr. Cates, you’ve done so much for poor people and you’ve paid a price for it. I mean, you’re sort of like a martyr, like Stephen in the Bible.”

The killer had no idea who Stephen was but he still replied, “Right kind of you to say that.”

“It’s true. That’s why, Mr. Cates, you must not give us any of that two hunnert dollars you took from the bank. Like I sorta told you before, my pa, he’s a drunkard. The money you almost died for, my pa would spend on liquor. You give that money to folks that deserve it, Mr. Cates!”

“Tell you what, Cissy, I’ll give sixty dollars to you! You sure deserve it for fixin’ me up.

“No, I don’t want--”

“When Ricky Cates decides to help someone, well, there’s just no stoppin’ him. I’m givin’ you that sixty dollars, Cissy, and only askin’ one more favor from you.”

“Yes?”

“I want you to take part of that money and buy yourself a nice dress. A real pretty girl like you should have a pretty dress.”

“I couldn’t…” The girl stopped speaking and looked away. When she looked back, Ricky Cates once again had his eyes closed. Cissy picked up the lantern and walked back to the right side of the barn where she would make herself a bed of hay.

The girl suddenly stopped. For a few minutes, she stood still in the barn. A cacophony of sounds came from outside as night critters made their customary noises, but Cissy Runyan heard none of them.

She turned back and returned to the outlaw. This time, his eyes didn’t open when she stood over him. He appeared to be in a deep sleep. Cissy placed the lantern nearby and crouched over Ricky Cates. She gently kissed him on the forehead.

“You’re the first boy I ever kissed, Mr. Cates.”

She picked up the lantern and this time went directly to the other side of the barn and her bed of hay.

Episode Twelve

***

Cissy Runyan awoke at dawn. Instinctively, she crossed the barn to check on the Robin Hood of the Range. He was asleep.

She wanted to pretty up as she had promised her pa, but not in order to sell a horse. The girl picked up the book that lay beside her makeshift bed and stared at the drawing of Ricky Cates.

How could she be so blessed as to be able to help the Robin Hood of the Range? Would he ask her to go with him when he got better? “I want that more than anything,” she whispered reverently to the dime novel. 

Hoofbeats sounded from outside. Cissy put the publication down and cracked open the barn door. She immediately recognized one of the two riders approaching their house. The wiry man wearing a brown shirt and a white Stetson had to be Sherriff Tom Laughton. His aquiline profile was apparent even at a distance. Cissy had seen him in town a few times. The lawman had nodded, smiled politely and put two fingers to his hat. She had smiled and nodded back. That’s as far as it went.

The other man was a stranger, at least to her. He was probably part of the posse that Laughton must have headed up: the posse that killed three innocent people and wounded Ricky Cates. Ricky had taken care of four of those trigger happy fools. Maybe she could outsmart the two who were left.

The girl slipped out of the barn as she heard Tom Laughton shout, “Hello the house!”  Her mother stepped timidly onto the front porch. Cissy couldn’t hear exactly what the sheriff said next but from the few words she could pick up, he was apologizing for coming by so early. Cissy knew what the next question would be: Laughton would ask if he could speak to her husband. The girl also knew her mother’s response, “He’s not feelin’ well at the present, is there anything I can do?” Cissy had heard those words many times before.

As the girl got in close range of the house, the two men, still on their horses, turned to face her. Her mother raised her voice in a cheerful manner, “This is our daughter, Cissy. Cissy, this is Sheriff Laughton and…”

Laughton spoke up quickly. “This here is Rance Dehner. He’s a detective with the Lowrie Agency. They're sorta like the Pinkertons.”

Both men seemed so…nice, Cissy thought.  Maybe they believed they were doing the right thing when they opened fire on the Bolgers. Still, they were dangerous. She had to be careful. “Nice to meet both of you. Ma and me would be pleasured to fix you some breakfast.”

“Thank you, Miss Runyan,” the sheriff spoke as he patted his horse, “but we hav'ta keep ridin’, see--”

“What’s goin’ on?” Dencel stumbled onto the porch and viewed the newcomers with hostility. “What’s the law doin’ here? I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

“I’m sure you haven’t, sir,” Dehner felt sorry for Iola. He had spotted the look of tension and fear on her face when her husband barged out of the house. He could only turn around and glance briefly at Cissy. Her reaction was harder to gauge. “We’re tracking a killer--”

“A killer!” Cissy’s voice was almost a scream.

Episode Thirteen

“Yes ma’am!” The sheriff replied immediately. “Ricky Cates robbed the bank in Grimsby and killed Russ Adams. We’re pretty sure he holed up at the Bolgers’ place.”

“Oh…” Cissy shook her head in a disjointed manner, then noticed the curious looks from the two lawmen. “I mean, that makes sense…that he would hide out at a farm.”

They’re lying, the young woman thought to herself. They’re lying in order to fool people into helping them catch the Robin Hood of the Range.  

“The Bolgers paid a terrible price for hiding an outlaw,” Rance said. “Two lawmen that stopped there were gunned down. Shot in the back. The Bolgers were both killed, as was a man who worked for them.”

Iola placed a hand on her chest. “My Lord! That’s horrible. You and the sheriff find that Ricky Cates, Mr. Dehner, and see that he gets what’s coming to him!”

“We intend to do just that. Thanks--”

Tom Laughton laughed softly. “Looks like you’ve been up and busy doin’ chores this morning, Miss Runyan.

“Ah…” The girl shrugged her shoulders.

The sheriff pointed at Cissy’s head. “You’ve got hay in that pretty red hair of yours, Miss Runyan.”

Cissy hastily ran a hand through her hair, leaving the hay untouched. “That’s not so strange. See, I slept in the barn last night, takin’ care of a sick horse. A pinto we hope to sell this afternoon…”

Dencel shouted angrily at his daughter, as if she had insulted him. “We ain’t got no pintos!”

“Of course not!” Cissy again shrugged her shoulders. “I meant to say a buckskin. I guess sleepin’ in the barn has made me dumber than a mule.”

 “I know a little something about horses, like me to take a look at him?” Dehner asked.

“Obliged, but no…not necessary…he’s just fine!”

“Well, Rance and I better be goin’. The sheriff smiled at the three Runyans. “Thanks for your time.”

As the lawmen rode off, Cissy spoke to her parents. “There’s a few more things that need  tendin’ to in the barn. Only take a few minutes, then I’ll  get helpin’ with breakfast.”

Iola stared at her daughter for a moment before speaking. “Honey, don’tya think it would be better if you had something to eat first?”

“Leave the girl alone!” Dencel shouted at his wife. She’s got work to do at the barn. You get to makin’ breakfast.”

Cissy watched her parents go back into the house, then ran to the barn. She slowed her pace as she got inside and approached the bales of hay. “Mr. Cates…Ricky?” she spoke in a stage whisper.  “It’s me, Cissy.”

“You alone?”

“Yes.”

“You better not be lyin’.”

“I’d never lie to you, Mr. Cates.” She approached the bales slowly. Peeking over them, she saw the outlaw holding a gun. “You look just like you did the first time I saw you, Ricky Cates.”

“Who were those men?”

“I thought those riders would wake you up.”

“Who were they?”

“The law. Sheriff Laughton from Grimsby and a range detective named Rance. Forgot his last name.”

“What did you tell them?”

The girl had originally planned to tell Ricky about her blunder concerning the pinto.  But there was an undercurrent of anger in his voice and she wanted desperately to stay in his favor. “I told them lawdogs I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of any stranger. You must be somewhere far off. And they believed me. They rode out of here fast, trying to pick up your trail.”

“Good work.”

“Could you put the gun away now, Mr. Cates? I need to change your bandages, and…” 

“Reckon."

***

Dencel Runyan stood with his back to the barn, directly beside the door. He gripped the Henry in his hands as he listened to the conversation taking place inside. All his life, he had been cheated out of what was rightly his. Well, now he was going to get even with everyone. There had to be a reward of some kind out for Ricky Cates, but Dencel hoped for more. He hoped Cates still had the money from the bank holdup.

Episode Fourteen

He peered between the double doors and watched as Cissy moved around behind some bales of hay. That must be where Cates was hiding.

The girl looked around, “Where did I put that bucket, I need--”

 Moving faster than at any time in his life, Dencel ran into the barn, toward his target. “Don’t nobody move or I’ll kill you!”  Dencel stopped when he could look down on Ricky Cates. The outlaw had partially yanked his gun from the holster that lay beside him.

“You drop that gun boy, or I’ll take off your head.”

“Obey him, Mr. Cates,” Cissy’s voice was pleading. “He’ll do it. He’ll kill you.”

The look of savagery in Dencel Runyan’s face convinced Cates that Cissy was telling the truth. He tossed his pistol into the hay behind him.

“Now you’re bein’ real smart.” Breathing heavily, Dencel moved behind the bales of hay and picked up the six shooter. “Just so you won’t get no fool ideas.” Dencel gave Ricky a hard kick in the head.

“No, Pa,” Cissy screamed. “He’s already hurt bad.” The girl ran at her father. Dencel slammed his daughter on the side of her head with the pistol. She screamed and dropped to the floor.

“You little tramp!” Dencel yelled down at her. “You spent the night out here in the barn with this no good. I oughta…” Dencel’s eyes hit one of the back stalls. “Well, well, whadda we got here.”

Cradling the Henry with his right arm and carrying Ricky’s six shooter in his left hand, Dencel made his way to the stall at the end of the row, where Sherwood was housed. “So, you was tellin’ some of the truth, anyway. This is a right fine pinto.” He spotted the saddle and saddle bags that rested on the side of the stall.

He dropped both of the weapons to the floor and dug furiously into the saddle bags. What he found there at first sent him into a stunned silence, then he made forth with a primitive shout of joy.

Dencel flung the saddle bags over his shoulder, retrieved the weapons and made his way back to his daughter. Cissy was crouched over Ricky Cates. “Pa, that money is for poor people who--”

Dencel again made a loud, primeval laugh. “Don’t you worry ‘bout that none. This money is gonna make one poor man very happy. Now, you saddle that pinto. I’m gonna pack me up a few things, then ride far away from here. I’ll never have to look at you or your ma again.”

Iola entered the barn and looked about in a confused manner. “I heard so much commotion--”

“You get back to the house, woman. Right now!” The look of savagery returned to Dencel’s face.

His wife took a step forward, looking at her daughter. “Honey are you…”

Dencel pointed the six shooter at his wife. “Get back! Now!

Episode Fifteen

Terror covered Iola’s face as she hurried from the barn. Seeing how effective the use of the pistol had been, Dencel pointed it at his daughter. “You do like I say, girl.”

“Yes, Pa.” Cissy remained crouched over her patient as her father hurried from the barn.

Ricky Cates wanted to close his eyes and retreat into unconsciousness.The outlaw knew he couldn’t do that. He had to come up with a good scheme: a plan which would get the money back and allow him to escape.

The killer remembered when he had rested under some trees after leaving the Bolger place. He had reloaded the Derringer and strapped it to his ankle in the event someone found him and took away his six shooter.

“Is your head feelin’ any better at all, Mr. Cates?”

Ricky Cates realized the Derringer wasn’t his strongest weapon. His best weapon was Cissy Runyan. She was a weapon he would use.

“Hey now, what’s with all this, ‘Mr. Cates.’? I thought you and me agreed to call each other by our first names.”

Cissy closed her eyes and started to cry.

“None of that, now,” Cates place a hand on the girl’s cheek. “How are you feelin’?”

“Not so bad,” Cissy inhaled and quickly brushed away several tears. “Pa hits me and ma a lot. I was sorta expectin’ him to do what he did. I ducked. I didn’t get the full…”

Time was short and Cates didn’t really care about Cissy’s injury. He stroked her cheek. “Cissy, last night I told you I’d only ask for one more favor. Guess I was lyin’. I got another favor to ask. A big one.”

“Sure. What is it, Mr….Ricky?”

“I need you to kill your pa.”

“What?!”

Cates sat up slowly, lifted a pants leg and pulled out the Derringer. “I can’t get close enough to him for this gun to do much good, but you can, Cissy.”

The girl stared at the weapon in the killer’s hand. Cissy had seen quite a few old rifles and knew how to handle them. But this gun was different. It looked sort of pretty, like something on a necklace.

“Aim for his chest, Cissy. That or his head.”

“I can’t…he’s my pa.”

“I gotta get that money back!” Cates paused, realizing he had to remain Robin Hood if his idea was to work. “There’s lots of poor folks who need the money.”

“I know, but…”

Heavy footsteps were approaching from outside and mixed with the sound of Dencel’s manic laughter. “Cissy, I’ve been doin’ some serious thinkin’ since we met up. I think we’d make a great team. I want you for my wife, Cissy. I love you.”

“And I love you.” She reached down and embraced Ricky Cates. The killer held her as tightly as he could and kissed her, not gently, on the lips. They parted as Dencel’s laughter and shouts became dangerously close.

Cates lifted the Derringer toward the young woman. “Before we can have a life together, you gotta do this one thing, Cissy. For us.”

Cissy’s eyes briefly fell on her dress and the streaks of blood that were there: the blood of the man she loved and who loved her. Ricky Cates’ blood had transferred onto her while they were kissing. The blood represented a sacred bond with the wounded hero who lay in front of her.

The girl nodded her head and took the gun.

Episode Sixteen

Dencel stormed into the barn. The saddle bags and a sack containing a few belongings were strewn over his shoulder. Ricky’s six shooter was in his belt. He was carrying the Henry. “Why haven’t you saddled that horse, like I told you?”

“I’ll saddle the horse.” Cissy walked around the bales of hay and began to approach her father.

“Well, get to it!”

“In my own time, Pa, there’s somethin’ I gotta do first.” She kept moving.

Dencel sensed that something very strange was happening but he didn’t know what. “I just gave your ma a goodbye beating. Maybe you need the same thing.”

Cissy was now only a few steps from her father. “No, Pa,” the girl’s face began to contort. “You’re not beatin’ anybody again.” She lifted the Derringer and pointed it at his chest.

Dencel gave a loud, mocking laugh. “I suppose your new boyfriend, the thief, gave you that thing.”

Cissy’s body trembled. She was having trouble pointing the gun straight. “Don’t you call Ricky Cates a thief! He’s a finer man than you’ll ever be.”

“You’re talkin’ crazy!

“You’re no kind of man at all,” Cissy shouted as the arm that held the Derringer began to shake. “Beatin’ up on women and demandin’ your own way. That’s all you’ve ever been good for.”

“I should kill you for sayin’ that.”

“No… no… I’m the one who is gonna do the killin’. I’m gonna kill you for what you did to me and ma. I’m gonna kill you for Ricky Cates, the finest man that ever lived.”

Cissy took a step closer to her father. Her entire body began to shake uncontrollably. The girl suddenly broke into tears, dropping the gun to the floor.

Dencel pushed the gun away with his foot as he slammed a fist into his daughter’s jaw. The blow sent Cissy into a fast twirl. She tried to stay on her feet but collapsed to the floor.

A look of grotesque amusement appeared on Dencel’s face as he looked down at his daughter.“I guess that kick to the head I gave your boyfriend didn’t do much good. Maybe I can kick some sense into you. It might take a few, but you ain’t gonna be doin’ no more talkin’ about killin’ your pa.” 

Episode Seventeen

Rance Dehner rushed into the barn and tackled Dencel Runyan. Both men hit the floor. The saddle bags and sack fell from Runyan’s shoulder but he still had the Henry. He gripped it with both hands and used it as a club, bringing it down on Rance’s neck. Dehner delivered a hard punch to Runyan’s throat, causing him to gasp for breath as he dropped the rifle and pushed Rance off.

Dencel grabbed the Henry and ran outside the barn. Dehner sprinted after him. When Dencel turned to fire the rifle, Rance was directly behind him and assaulted the large man with a whirlwind of punches. The Henry dropped to the ground, but Dehner deliberately didn’t try to knock his opponent down. That would end the fight. Having witnessed what he had done to Cissy, Dehner wanted to inflict as much punishment on Dencel Runyan as he could.

***

Cissy staggered to her feet and looked out the barn door. Her father and the detective were still fighting, but the outcome wasn’t in doubt. She hastily turned toward Ricky, who was on his feet but, like her, none too steady.

Ricky spoke in a loud whisper. “Bring me the saddle bags and the gun.”

Before carrying out the instructions, Cissy took another glance out the door. Her pa was on the ground. The Rance fellow was shouting at him to get up and fight some more. The girl smiled broadly. Pa didn’t seem to care much for the notion.

The girl’s playful thoughts quickly vanished. Both she and Ricky were in no shape to resist the law. The detective was pretty much in charge. But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Cissy weaved a bit as she picked up the saddle bags and the Derringer and carried them to Ricky Cates. “That man who beat up on pa, he’s the detective I told you about. We can’t get away from him, we’re both too hurt.”

The man she loved didn’t seem to be paying much attention to Cissy. He grabbed the saddle bags and gun from her and immediately looked inside the bags.

“Ricky, surrender to the law. You never took too much money from the banks and you never hurt anyone. Not serious. Everyone knows you’re a wonderful man. You’ll only have to do a little jail time, a couple of years. I’ll wait for you…”

The Robin Hood of the Range smirked and tossed the saddle bags over his shoulder. “Why, that’s right sweet of you, girl. Before I turn myself in, why don’t you give me one more kiss. Something to remember you by while I’m sittin’ in a cold cell.”

The moment they kissed, Cissy knew something was wrong. As soon as their lips parted, Ricky grabbed her by the hair as her pa had often done, held her against his chest and placed the Derringer at the side of her head.

“Ricky, please, you’re…”

“Shut up and move. We’re goin’ outside. If you try to get away, I’ll kill you.”

Ricky shouted as he paraded with Cissy toward the open barn door. “Mr. Detective, I know you’re out there. You’d better be in plain view when I reach the doorway or Miss Cissy gets a bullet in her head. You hear me?!”

Episode Eighteen

“Don’t harm the girl, Cates,” Rance’s voice sounded from outside. “You’re holding all the cards. I’ll do what you say.”

Cissy Runyan spoke in a whisper as she pleaded with her captor to release her. She fell silent as they left the barn and Ricky began talking with Rance.

“I got some orders for you, Mr. Detective. Orders you better follow if you don’t wanna see this girl’s head come apart.”

“Like I said, Ricky, you’re holdin’ the cards.”

“First thing, I need me another gun. I believe that is a Colt .45 you got strapped on. Unbuckle the gun belt and let it drop, real careful like, to the ground.”

Dehner needed to distract the killer. Tom Laughton was now advancing on Cates from behind. The sheriff had been hiding at the side of the barn.

Rance began to slowly take off his gunbelt. “How do I know you won’t use this gun to kill me? Or for that matter, to kill everyone here, like you did at the Bolgers’ ranch?”

“You just don’t know that, Mr. Detective. Killing all those folks at the Bolger place did make things right convenient. People don’t tend to cause much problems once they are dead.”

Ricky Cates gave a harsh laugh. It would be his last laugh for some time. Sheriff Laughton grabbed the Derringer from the outlaw, spun him away from Cissy and delivered a hard roundhouse to the killer’s head. Cates went down.

“Are you okay, Miss Runyan?” Tom Laughton asked as he handcuffed his prisoner, who was lying on the ground, semi-conscious.

Cissy nodded her head.

“You’re not a very good liar, Miss Runyan,” Rance spoke as he buckled his gunbelt. “Tom and I knew something was wrong when we talked with you. But this land is so flat. Took us a while to circle back without being spotted.”

“We hid our horses when we got near the ranch, and split up,” Tom spoke as he stepped away from Cates and walked over to Dencel, who he also handcuffed. “I took the house and Rance came here to the barn. Your ma is hurt, Miss Runyan, but she’s gonna be okay. When I got here, Rance had your pa on the ground out cold. We heard some of your talk with Cates. I hid by the side of the barn.”

“Thanks. Both of you. Obliged.” The young woman’s words were flat and emotionless. Cissy’s face was pale and her body limp, as if her soul had been ripped from her by force. She looked down at Ricky Cates. The killer’s face was in the dirt, his hands cuffed behind him. Ricky Cates was alive, but to Cissy he was a lost dream.

“I wanted it to be true,” Cissy spoke to everyone and no one. “Just this once, I wanted things to be good. Guess I wanted too much.”

The next thirty minutes or so were taken up with getting a buckboard ready to take the women and the two prisoners into town. The Robin Hood of the Range was the main catch, but Dehner was pleased  that Tom Laughton planned to charge Dencel Runyan with assault and anything else he could throw at him.

The two women were withdrawn, speaking only when spoken to. They had been freed from one hell and seemed to wonder if another one awaited them. Dehner noticed that Tom Laughton was very attentive to Cissy. The Sheriff had appeared smitten by the young woman when he saw her earlier in the morning. Dehner hoped more would come of that.

 As he checked on the two prisoners who were now lying on the flatbed of a dilapidated buckboard wagon, Dehner felt happy that Ricky Cates was alive. Who knows what nonsense those Eastern writers would have come up with if Cates had been shot down by a lawman? Now, those writers would be covering the trial of Ricky Cates and relishing all the details of Cates’ savagery. Ricky Cates would die at the end of a rope and the Robin Hood of the Range would already be dead.

The Witch of Cooper, Arizona

Episode One

Reverend David Martin looked out the open window of his study. The sun was  loosening its hold and allowing a breeze to stir the trees. October was the month when people once again began to fill the streets of the town in the late afternoon.

            Martin chuckled to himself. During the summer, members of his congregation often asked why the Good Lord gave Cooper, Arizona afternoons with temperatures that matched those in Hell. Was God sending them a message?

            The sound of the church door banging open shattered Martin’s private musings. Loud, desperate footsteps pounded toward his office. Someone was very anxious to see him.

            David Martin sprang from his desk, hastily opened the office door and saw Lamar Burke almost running down the middle aisle of the church. “I need your help, Preacher!”

            Lamar Burke was a large man and muscular, but a hard life was making him old beyond his forty-two years. The ranch he owned outside of town was a struggling operation. Or, at least, that is what the pastor had surmised from his visits there. Lamar’s wife had been an invalid since an accident three years back. Reverend Martin had planned to visit her frequently, but the Burkes were very private people and Lamar had asked him to restrict his visits to the first Monday of the month. Lamar Burke occasionally came to church with his niece, but arrived late and left early.

            “What’s the problem, Lamar?”

            “Vicky, that fool niece of mine! She came into town with me and now she’s vanished. Can’t find her nowheres.”

            “I’ll ring the bell!” Reverend Martin bolted back to his office and retrieved the key to the church steeple. Both men hurried out the front door of the small wooden building  and ran around to the side. The door to the steeple was kept locked to prevent the bell from being rung by playful boys and drunken men.

            “Don’t worry, Lamar,” David spoke as he entered the small enclosure and grabbed the bell’s rope. “We’ll find Vicky, soon. There are a lot of good people in this town who will join the search.”

            Lamar looked uncertain. “Yeah, and there are some very bad men in this town.”

            David understood the point. Vicky Burke was fifteen. She had recently transitioned from a gawky kid to a beautiful young lady. But Vicky had problems that no one could completely understand. The more polite citizens of Cooper called Vicky “slow.” Others referred to her as “loco”, “touched in the head”, and there were even some who claimed she was possessed by a demon.

            Everyone knew that Vicky Burke liked people and was far too trusting. And, yes, Lamar was right. There were some very bad men in the town.

            Reverend Martin pulled hard on the rope. 

Episode Two

***

            Judy Martin stepped out of Mary Peterson’s dress shop and looked about anxiously. She spotted her husband and Lamar Burke coming toward her on the boardwalk. She could tell from the expressions on their faces that they had not found Vicki or even a clue to her whereabouts since she had split off from them less than a half hour before. Judy spoke as soon as the two men were in hearing range.

            “Vicky was in the dress shop about ten minutes ago. Mary tried to keep her there but couldn’t, the girl--”

            Raucous laughter blared next door from the Golden Nugget saloon. “So, you can conjure up magic spells!” A man’s voice shouted above the clamor. “Let’s see you put the whammy on me!”

            Martin and Burke hurried into the Golden Nugget. Vicki stood away from the bar, in the center of a collection of round tables used for drinking and playing poker. But there was no imbibing or gambling going on at the moment. All attention was focused on the blond haired girl with confused eyes and trembling hands   

“Don’t you make fun of me, Kyle Ryan!” Vicky’s voice was a scream. “I’ll get you for it, I mean it!”

            Kyle Ryan was an overweight, bald headed barfly, his only virtue being that he accepted enough work to pay for his own drinks. He leaned against the bar and shouted, “Why, I think the little girlie is gonna put a hex on me!”

            Laughter exploded again in the saloon. David Martin took several steps toward Vicki while shooting the saloon patrons an angry glare.

            “Just hold on, preacher!” Mockery laced Ryan’s voice. “You need to give the girlie a chance to prove she ain’t no liar.” Kyle took a step toward Vicki. “Go ahead, put the whammy on me.”

            Two other men who had been searching for Vicki entered the saloon but said nothing. Outside the Golden Nugget, Judy Martin peered over the bat wing doors at the drama going on inside. Her face reflected tension and concern. 

            David Martin was as transfixed as everyone else in the saloon. The expression on Vicki’s face became intense and glowering. The young woman didn’t close her eyes and yet she seemed to be going into some kind of trance.

            Kyle Ryan laughed again but this time his laughter conveyed nervousness and anxiety. Vicki slowly raised her right hand. The hand became a claw which pointed directly at Ryan. Vicki let out a loud hiss, sounding like a cat that had spotted an adversary.

            Ryan screeched in pain, grabbed his right thigh, and collapsed. Sounds of shock and fear exploded around the saloon. People hastily stepped away from Vicki Burke, fearful that she might cast some nightmarish spell on them.

Episode Three

“Stop it, please, stop the hurt,” Ryan’s cries sounded like those of a small boy as he thrashed about on the floor.

            Vicki Burke spoke in a toneless voice. “The pain will stop but you will walk crooked for the rest of your days!” Vicki lowered her hand as her entire body seemed to go limp. She smiled uneasily and looked around the Golden Nugget as if seeing the place for the first time.

            “Uncle Lamar, why are you here?” Vicki’s voice was all that could be heard in the saloon except for the moans of Kyle Ryan as he struggled to get back on his feet.

             Lamar ran to his niece. “Vicki, we need to head home.”

            “Not yet,” Vicki giggled. Her voice sounded childish and playful. “People will want to see my magic box!”

            Reverend Martin was helping Ryan to stand up. Once on his feet, the barfly began to limp around. He leaned against the bar and spoke in a stage whisper. “That girl is a witch, I tell ya.” He looked at Lamar Burke. “Git her out of town and never allow her back!”

            The scene inside the Golden Nugget had been subdued since Ryan issued his challenge to the girl. Raucous noise once again broke out, only now there was no laughter. Angry shouts of “witchcraft” and “demon” filled the saloon. Vicki remained untouched by the ugliness around her. The young woman’s cheerful declarations about a “magic box” were partially lost in the ferocious screams and strident demands that she leave town.

            Lamar Burke put an arm around his niece’s shoulders. “Come on girl, we have to get out of here.”

            David Martin kept close to the Burkes as they left the saloon. A crowd of people followed behind them. Judy Martin joined her husband as they hurried off the boardwalk.

            “What has gotten into these people?!” Judy asked.

            David Martin did not try to answer his wife. He was grateful that the crowd was staying behind them. No one was trying to injure Vicki or her uncle. Not yet.

            Lamar and Vicki were walking toward a buckboard that stood in front of the mercantile across the street and down a few stores. “That’s our wagon,” Lamar Burke shouted above the cries of “Leave!” “Go away!” and “We don’t want no witches here.”

            Vicki once again laughed in a girlish manner. She broke away from her uncle, ran to the buckboard, and did a quick hop to get on board.  The girl reached under the bench and pulled out a black box. Then she stood on the bench and held the object up for all to see. “My magic box!”

Episode Four:

Judy Martin eyed the box carefully. “Looks like a hat box.”

            “Vicki, come down, please!” Lamar had reached the buckboard. The pastor and Judy were beside him. The crowd behind them had grown larger as curious town folks joined the saloon patrons. Everyone seemed fascinated by the magic box, though the mob froze at a few steps from the wagon as if scared of the young witch and her magic powers.

            “What does your magic box do, Vicki?” A man’s voice shouted.

            One of the saloon girls chimed in, “What does a witch keep in her magic box, potions of some kind?”

Vicki smiled at the mob in front of her. “Witches can cast good spells too. Witches can sometimes do nice things for people. What nice thing do you people want a witch to do for you?” 

            Her question engendered a brief moment of silence, which was broken when a male voice shouted, “Make us rich, Vicki!”

            Laughter followed as more people began to shout, “Make us rich!” The shouts were sarcastic but Vicki didn’t seem to notice. She laughed along with her scoffers.

            “Everybody wants to be rich. So, a witch will make you rich!”  Vicki Burke reached into the magic box and pulled out a large wad of money. She quickly tossed it upwards and laughed in an almost hysterical manner as the bills got caught in a mild breeze and then scattered throughout the crowd. 

            A shocked silence froze the mob. One barfly picked up two bills, examined them and yelled. “Money! Vicki Burke can make money appear out of nowheres!”

            The main street of Cooper began to resemble a battleground as people scrambled to grab as many bills as they could. Fist fights broke out and some men drew their guns. David Martin jumped onto the wagon. Standing on the bed, he tried to make his voice heard above the tumult.

            “People, come to your senses! That money is not yours! We have to--”

            “We’ll pray for forgiveness on Sunday morning!” Came one shout. A woman’s voice could be heard yelling, “You never helped the poor this good, preacher!”

            David Martin could spot the sheriff, Buck Stephens, at the edge of the crowd. The lawman’s gun was drawn. He was arresting three men who had planned on using their firearms to get to the cash now lying on the ground. The three hardcases were arguing with the sheriff who had handcuffed one of them. The pastor realized that Buck had his hands full and it would be a while before he could help with controlling the mob.     

Episode Five:

    Martin heard a cry of pain. Skimming his eyes over the pandemonium, he spotted an elderly man trying to keep his balance as the crowd jostled him. The old timer fell. Four men rolled him over to grab the bills he had fallen on, then began to fight over the money. 

            Vicki Burke remained calm. She stood on the bench of the wagon with a benign smile on her face as if she were watching rambunctious children at play.

            The pastor was scared, though he tried not to show it. Someone would get killed if this riot wasn’t stopped soon. A sense of desperation tinged his voice as he tried again to calm the unruly throng. “People, listen to me--”

            “No! You listen to us, Martin! Tell that witch to make more money!” The shout came from one of the jaspers who had rolled the old man.

            “Yeah!” a woman shouted. “There ain’t enough here fer everbody. That’s not fair. All of us should get rich! Tell her to make more money!”

            The mob chanted, “make more money, make more money” as it advanced on the buckboard. Judy Martin, who was standing in front of the wagon, held up her palms in a stop gesture. She was pushed against the wagon.

            “Step back,” David Martin yelled. “You’re going to crush her!”

            A rifle fired. Martin turned to see Sheriff Buck Stephens standing beside him holding a Winchester which he had just fired into the air.

            “You heard the preacher, step back!” The mob reluctantly complied. There were now about ten steps between the town’s folks and the buckboard.

            Sheriff Stephens kept his Winchester pointed above the crowd. David Martin eyed the lawman carefully. Buck Stephens was an honest man: young, strong and dedicated to his duty. But he had only been on the job for about six months. Buck could handle unruly drunks and hardcases trying to shoot up the town. But this was something very different. Buck had never dealt with a mob of normal citizens who had collectively gone insane.

Buck took off his hat and set it, upside down, on the buckboard between himself and the pastor. He started to pat his brown hair into place but abruptly stopped. Both hands were needed for the Winchester. “Now, I want you folks to come forward peaceful like and put that money in my hat. I’ll find out where it came from and where it belongs.”

            “The devil!” came an angry shout. “You’re gonna keep that money for yourself!”

            Another male voice sounded from the middle of the crowd. “He’s going to arrest Vicki and keep her in jail where she can conjure up stacks of money for him!”

            “Let’s take Vicki ourselfes!” This time the voice was female. “Find a place for her. Somewheres where she can make us all lots of loot. I’ll bet she can make gold too!”

            “Yeah!” This time both the pastor and the lawman spotted the jasper who was shouting: Hector, a miner who frequently slept off his drinking binges in jail. “Let’s take her right now!”

Episode Six

The mob began to shout its agreement. Buck Stephens lowered his Winchester. His aim now went directly into the crowd. There was another moment of stunned silence. David Martin had to move his head behind the six foot sheriff in order to get a quick glance at Vicki. She was still standing on the bench of the wagon. He couldn’t see her face.

            “You won’t shoot none of us, Buck,” Hector clearly relished his new found role as leader of the mob. “You know all of us too good.”

            “Don’t bet on it, Hector! Nobody is taking the girl.” Buck’s words sounded tough, but David Martin could see the perspiration on the sheriff’s forehead streaming down his cheeks.

            Hector moved to the front of the line and faced the lawman directly. “Come on now, Buck. How about a few of us just havin’ a little talk with Vicki?”

            “Not one more step, Hector!”

            “Ahhh. One more step won’t hurt nothin’. You won’t shoot me for that.” Hector had spotted the nervousness in the lawman. David Martin was now certain that Hector would step forward and a slew of folks were ready to follow behind him.

            Two shots sounded from behind the crowd. A tall man on a bay held a Colt in his right hand. “Don’t anybody move or I’ll shoot you down like the wild animals you’ve become!”

            “Who are you?” Hector wanted to hold on to his status as leader.

            “The name’s Rance Dehner.” Dehner kept his horse moving around the mob, carefully assessing the situation. “Last time I visited this town there were a lot of nice sensible folks here. Now, there’s only a bunch of braying donkeys.”

            A sullen quiet fell over the crowd as if they were acknowledging the truth of what the new arrival had said. Dehner spotted a familiar face in the middle of the mob. He stopped his horse and leaned on the saddle horn. “Your name is Gerald, isn’t it?”

            “Yeah.”

            “As I recall, you’re a deacon in Reverend Martin’s church.”

            Gerald’s entire body seemed to twitch a bit. “Yeah.”

            “Then start acting like it! You’ve got a bleeding man lying on the ground. He needs help!”

            Gerald looked downwards at the elderly man who lay only a few feet from him. “Why, that’s Jethro Sanders. He’s bleeding bad. We need to get him to a doctor.”

            Gerald’s wife stood beside him. Like her husband, she pretended to be noticing the injured man for the first time. “Doc is out at the Woodward place delivering a baby. He should be back in a few hours. We can take Jethro to his office and care for him there.”

            “Doc always locks his office when he leaves,” Gerald replied.

            A dark haired saloon girl wearing a gold colored dress was among the onlookers who were now paying attention to Jethro’s plight instead of the magic box. She stepped forward and spoke anxiously. “I have a key to doc’s office. I’ll let you in.”

 “You have a key to doc’s office, Annie?!” Gerald’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Ah…yes…ah…doc gave me the key to keep in case of an emergency like this one.”

The surprise remained on Gerald’s face. “Well, doc has been a widower for some years now, I guess…never mind…let’s get Jethro to doc’s office.”

A group of good Samaritans gently lifted Jethro. The crowd parted as Annie led the entourage to the doctor’s office.

As Dehner had hoped, the incident calmed the crowd. Hector shouted something in an attempt to again arouse passions but his words sounded hollow and absurd.

Sheriff Buck Stephens again took charge. “I want those people who were kind enough to pick up the money to please bring it forward and place it in my hat,” his voice was only slightly caustic. “Mr. Dehner will be keeping a careful eye out to make sure none of the loot gets dropped by mistake into someone’s pocket.”

Episode Seven:

***

            Six people stared at the pile of money on the sheriff’s desk and said nothing. Five of them were mesmerized and puzzled: Buck Stephens, who stood behind the desk, David and Judy Martin, Lamar Burke and Rance Dehner.  Only Vicki Burke looked a bit restless, as if bored by the display of filthy lucre. The girl held tight to her magic box, occasionally giggling as if privy to some private joke.

            “One thousand dollars in ten dollar bills,” the sheriff looked incredulous. Not knowing what else to do, Buck reviewed details with the pastor. “You were there when I talked with Whit Krammer at the bank. He told us he didn’t have any money missing, right?” The moment he stopped speaking, the lawman felt ridiculous.

            David Martin simply nodded his head.

Lamar Burke appeared even more exasperated than the sheriff.  He placed a hand on his niece’s shoulder and asked a question for the third time. “Vicki, do you know how the money got into your hat box?”

            Vicki’s eyes became playful and she began to giggle. “Magic. It all happened by magic!”

            She looked at her companions with such child- like delight that all concerned smiled politely or laughed a bit. Nobody wanted to drag more trouble into Vicki’s life.

            Buck Stephens sighed and pulled out his pocket watch. “In about thirty minutes, I’m taking this money over to the bank. Krammer promised to meet me there and lock up the loot. He’ll look into it, as best he can, tomorrow morning.” 

             Lamar’s entire body seem to slump in resignation. He spoke gently to his niece. “We should be leaving for home. Ruth will miss us.”

            “Mrs. Judy, will you come along?” Vicki asked. “There’s plenty of room at the ranch. You could stay for a few days!”

            Lamar Burke now looked flustered. “Honey, it’s not fair to ask Mrs. Judy a question like that. She has plenty to do here in town.”

            “Please?” Vicki persisted.

            “Perhaps she could come out and visit us for a few hours tomorrow,” Lamar looked to the pastor’s wife as he spoke.

            “Of course, I’d be happy to,” Judy Martin replied.

            “Great!” Vicki’s voice exploded with delight as she spoke to Judy. “Walk with us to the wagon?”

            “Of course,” Judy smiled as she quickly glanced at her husband, and stepped out of the office with Vicki and Lamar Burke. The moment they were on the boardwalk, Vicki challenged them to a race and then ran for the buckboard.

            Judy stood beside Lamar. They both watched Vicki running joyfully to the wagon.

            Lamar spoke in a soft, awkward voice. “Mrs. Martin, I really appreciate you being a friend to Vicki the way you have.”

            “It’s my pleasure. Vicki is a very sweet girl.”

“Ruth and I have done everything we can for the kid, since my brother and his wife died. But, we really don’t know why she is…the way she is.”

            “I know it must be hard on both of you, especially with Ruth bedridden since the accident.”

            Lamar nodded his head as they both stepped off the boardwalk and strolled toward the buckboard. “Things have gotten a bit worse for Vicki since school started up again.”

            “Oh.”

            Lamar gave a deep sigh. “Vicki is fifteen now. Kids that age can be very cruel. And, of course, she has blossomed into a lovely young lady, which presents problems…”

            “I understand.”

            Lamar Burke looked down at the ground as Vicki began to shout, “I beat both of you!” from the wagon.

“Vicki won’t be going to school anymore.”

            “Are you sure that’s the right thing to do, Mr. Burke?”

            The rancher looked up and waved at his niece, acknowledging her victory. “No. I’m never sure about anything when it comes to Vicki. But Ruth needs almost constant care and Vicki is good at that. The two of them get along fine, and to be honest, Vicki can’t seem to understand anything at school. Not much sense in making her go.” 

            They arrived at the buckboard and the mood turned playful. Judy and Lamar smiled as Vicki called them “slowpokes.” As the wagon pulled out, Vicki waved to the pastor’s wife shouting, “See you tomorrow!”

            As she waved back, Judy Martin took a last look at the object Vicki held tightly. The girl hadn’t let go of her magic box since causing a near riot only a short time ago.

Episode Eight

***

            David Martin spoke to Dehner the moment his wife left the office. “What brought you back to Cooper, Rance?”

            The detective laughed good naturedly. “A social call! I just finished a case in a nearby town and decided to drop by.”

            “Mighty glad you did!” Buck Stephens said. “Last time you were in Cooper you served as a volunteer deputy. By any chance would you--”

            “Sheriff, I should be getting back to Dallas--”

            “I know Rance better than you do, Buck.” There was a mischievous gleam in the pastor’s eyes as he looked at the detective. “Come on, Rance, you know you can’t walk away from this: one thousand dollars suddenly appearing in a magic box, a fifteen year old girl putting a hex on someone who taunted her. Give up, man. You’re staying until you get the answers.”

            Rance Dehner gave his friend a crooked smile. “Reverend, your understanding of human nature is downright sinful.”

***

            Whit Krammer looked at the red sky, breathed in the fresh air and knew he should be feeling great. This was, after all, his favorite time of the day, early morning when he could work in his office for a couple of hours with no interruption.

            But as he plodded down the boardwalk toward The Cooper Community Bank, Krammer felt troubled. The way the town’s folks had carried on the previous day had left him spooked. The entire town went crazy! That Dehner fella had called it right. They were all acting like wild animals.

            Krammer stopped in front of the bank and fumbled for his key. Had he forgot the darn thing again? At fifty-seven, forgetful moments bothered him more than they once did.

            Whit smiled with relief as he found the key in his left coat pocket and opened the door. He didn’t know what happened next but suddenly he was falling. The banker landed face first on the floor. Krammer shook his head, picked up his glasses and put them back on. As he started to get up he saw two outlaws, the bottom half of their faces covered by bandanas, standing over him. The six guns in their hands left little doubt as to their intent.

            Whit Krammer gave the outlaws an angry glare as he got back onto his feet. “I suppose you’re going to tell me to do what I’m told if I want to stay healthy.”

            “You’re a smart guy, Mr. Krammer.” The outlaw who spoke was tall and thin.

            “Not so smart really,” the banker replied.  “I’ve been robbed before. Crooks tend to have a very limited vocabulary.” Whit Krammer smiled at his own joke.

The outlaws were not amused. “Listen careful, Krammer.” The same outlaw did the talking. Whit wondered if the other outlaw might be someone whose voice he would recognize. The silent outlaw was about average height and hefty: a description which would fit about half of the men in the town.

            The tall outlaw stepped closer to Krammer. “We want the magic money. Now!”

            Those were words the bank president was not expecting. “Magic money?”

            “The money the girl pulled out of her box yesterday!” The outlaw’s voice was becoming angry. “Get it now!”

            Krammer had locked that money in his bottom desk drawer. The banker once again fumbled with his keys and retrieved the money. He had placed it in a canvas bag. The talkative outlaw now said nothing. He grabbed the bag, peered briefly inside, then nodded to his companion. The two robbers ran toward the front door. Krammer opened the top drawer of his desk and yanked out the gun he kept there.

Episode Nine

***

Rance Dehner heard a shot coming from the bank as he stepped out of the sheriff’s office to begin a morning round. He saw a horseman galloping down main street leading two horses. The rider stopped in front of the bank as two men emerged, firing shots over their shoulders. The gunfire spooked one of the horses. The frightened animal lifted onto two legs as one of the outlaws tried to mount him.

            Dehner drew his Colt .45 and ran toward the outlaws. Though out of range, he fired at them with the desired result. The spooked horse ran off. The stranded rider looked toward his cohorts, hoping one of them would share his horse. That hope was short lived. Two of the robbers rode off, leaving their companion to run for cover as Whit Krammer ran out of the bank carrying his Smith and Wesson and Rance Dehner got ever closer.

            Dehner watched the outlaw run across the street and between two buildings. The detective didn’t like it but he might have to let the man go. The two other outlaws had the bank’s money: money the town probably couldn’t survive without. Dehner needed to go after them.

            The detective stopped at the boardwalk where Whit Krammer had stopped firing at the departed crooks and was now hurling curses at them. “Are you okay, Mr. Krammer?”

            “I’m fine!” Krammer said quickly as if the question weren’t important. “Just growing old. I managed to get a shot at those jaspers as they were going out the door, but I missed and I sure didn’t hit any of them just now. Guess the hands aren’t as steady as they used to be.”

            “Did they clean you out?”

            “No! That’s the crazy thing about it. They only wanted the magic money.”

            “What?”

            The banker cringed, embarrassed by his last remark. “The money that fool girl threw from the buckboard yesterday. Buck told me it was a thousand dollars when he and Lamar brought it over last night. I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet. Planned to do that this morning.”

            “You must have a lot more than a thousand dollars in this bank.”

            “Yes , but they didn’t seem--”

            Both men turned their heads as the sound of slamming wood made a distant bang in the morning air. “That must be coming from the church,” Krammer looked toward the steeple that raised above the rest of the town. “The church doors are heavy and not put in quite right…”

            “Is the church locked?”

            “No…never…do you think that jasper who got left behind…” 

            Dehner spoke hurriedly. “Get the sheriff. He’s at home. This was going to be his day to sleep in. I’m heading for the church.” Krammer nodded his head. Dehner ran in the direction of the steeple.

Episode Ten

As he got nearer to the church, Dehner reckoned he was dealing with a man who lived in Cooper. A church would make a good hide out for a few hours, then the robber could slip out and mix back into the town.

            Dehner wondered if the crook knew how far the sound of the church door had carried. The detective would soon find out.

            Dehner stepped carefully onto the wooden porch of the church and examined the double doors in front of him. The doors were thick and ornate. They seemed to have come from another church. The detective could understand why the doors were a bit awkward to handle.

            He pulled out his Colt, carefully opened one of the doors, stepped inside and slowly closed the door behind him.  The church was typical of a small western town. There were two sections of pews divided by a narrow middle isle. The platform at the front consisted of a pulpit in the center and a choir loft behind it.

            The detective felt compelled to give the outlaw a chance. “I know you’re in here. Give up now and make things easy on yourself.”

            There was no response. Dehner hadn’t expected one. He moved slowly down the aisle, his eyes darting between the two sections of pews and the choir loft. He reached the front of the church without spotting anything unusual. He didn’t really need to use the steps located at both sides of the platform. One quick hop and he was even with the pulpit, directly facing the choir loft.

            The detective’s instincts gave him a plan of action. He began to walk toward the loft. “Okay, I know you are—”

            Dehner spun and fired at the figure crouched behind the pulpit. The outlaw gave a loud screech of pain and fired his gun as he fell over. As he hit the floor, the outlaw raised the upper part of his body for a second shot. A flame from Dehner’s Colt sent the outlaw down for the last time.

            The front door of the church opened and Sheriff Stephens burst in, gun drawn. “The shots from the robbery woke me up. Whit Krammer told me—”

            Dehner was crouched over the body of a man he had just killed. “This man looks familiar. Recognize him?” The detective nodded at the corpse.

            Buck hurried onto the platform and looked at the dead outlaw. “That’s Kyle Ryan. Remember, I pointed him out to you last night. He’s the jasper Vicki put a curse on.”

            Dehner nodded. “Vicki is young, guess she hasn’t got the hang of being a witch yet.”

            “What do you mean?”

            Dehner pointed at the corpse. “I watched this man run after his horse took off. Kyle Ryan wasn’t limping.”

Episode Eleven

***

            Judith Martin awakened and looked over to her husband. He wasn’t there. The woman experienced a momentary sense of alarm and then laughed at herself. Of course David wasn’t there. She wasn’t in her own bed.

            The previous day had gone reasonably well. As promised, she had visited the Burke Ranch. Vicki and her mother, Ruth, seemed to enjoy a visit from the preacher’s wife. Lamar seemed distracted and restless, but after what he had been through she could hardly blame him.

            Judy got out of bed and began to dress. She had promised Vicki that she would help with making breakfast. She planned to leave immediately after the clean-up. Lamar had not been happy with her spending the night at the ranch, but what else could she have done? The rain had been too heavy for her to ride back to Cooper.

            Rain storms were not common in this part of Arizona, Judy mused, and ranchers usually appreciated the few storms that did come. Why was Lamar so grouchy last night? As she thought about it, she remembered Lamar asking her to visit for a few hours. He had seemed to be doing it as a veto to Vicki’s invitation. Vicki’s plan had called for a few days.

            Judy’s thoughts were interrupted by soft, muffled cries. She hastily checked herself in the mirror, then stepped out into the hallway of the house. The sound was coming from Vicki’s room. She knocked gently on the door and entered.

            Vicki sat fully dressed in a chair beside the bed. On the bed lay a Bible.

            “I try to read the Bible,” Vicki spoke as if she and Judy were in the middle of a conversation. “But I can’t. I don’t know how to put the words together. Do you know what I mean?”

            Judy Martin sat down on the bed beside Vicki and held one of her hands. Judy knew there was no way she could understand Vicki’s affliction. She could only be her friend. The pastor’s wife wondered if that could possibly be enough.

            “David has talked with you about the Bible. Remember what he said?”

            “I always do wrong. I make people mad at me.”

            The response did not surprise Judy. Vicki Burke frequently switched topics while talking.  “That’s not true Vicki, why—”

            “Yes it is! I tried hard to do everything right. The trick with the magic box seemed to make people happy, but Uncle Lamar is mad at me because I went into the special place.”

            Dozens of questions began to pound in Judy Martin’s mind but she had to be cautious. Vicki often turned silent when confronted with questions which caused her discomfort. The preacher’s wife spoke casually, “Vicki, where is the special place?”

            Tears were still visible on the girl’s cheeks but a mischievous look flashed in her eyes. Vicki’s moods often changed rapidly. “I’m not supposed to tell. Uncle Lamar will get mad at me.”

            Judy responded with a playful gleam. The two women laughed together.

“Most everyone is still asleep,” Vicki whispered. “Come on. I’ll show you.” 

Episode Twelve

The two women left Vicki’s room and walked down a long hallway, which ended at a door to the kitchen. As she closed the kitchen door behind her, Vicki motioned for Judy to follow her as she walked past the large stove and went outside through a back door. Vicki continued walking.

            “Are we going far?” Judy Martin was beginning to question her own wisdom in seeking out the special place. To her right was a bunkhouse. She hoped all of the hands were sleeping.

            Vicki pointed at another building, straight ahead, that was new but hastily constructed. The place was far too short and long to be a barn or stable. The small window in the front was too dirty to reveal anything inside.

            “That’s the special place!” Vicki spoke in an excited whisper. “The smell is really strange.”

            A few steps further along, Judy did smell an odor, but it wasn’t too strange. It was a smell she encountered every week when she wrote up the church news and carried it over to Silas Hume at the Cooper Herald. But Lamar Burke would not be putting out a newspaper.

            Vicki began to giggle as she ran to the building, opened the door, looked inside and turned back to the pastor’s wife. “There’s no one here! Come on, I’ll show you the magic.”

            Judy followed Vicki into the building, which was dominated by a printing press, larger than the one at the Herald. Vicki playfully ran toward a table holding flour sacks. “Want to see some magic?” 

            Judy carefully looked the place over as she joined her companion. What would a rancher be doing with such a fine printing press?

Episode Thirteen

The young girl quickly revealed the answer. Vicki pulled back several empty flour sacks to reveal a table filled with paper money. “This is where the money really came from,” Vicki said. “That stuff about a magic box was just pretend. Like putting a hex on Mr. Ryan.”

            “You didn’t really put a hex on Kyle Ryan?”

            Vicki’s smile brightened even more. She was having fun. “No! We practiced that here at the ranch. Mr. Ryan works here sometimes. It was all make believe.”

            “Did your uncle know about this?”

            “The trick was his idea! He thought it would be fun to play a joke on the whole town.” Vicki’s demeanor did another quick change. Her face contorted. The girl looked like she might start crying again. “But he got mad at me for the magic box trick. I thought it worked just wonderful. Don’t you think it did?”

            Judy Martin’s emotions were in turmoil. She felt a primary obligation to help Vicki. But curiosity drove her to find out more about what was going on at the Burke ranch. “You sure had everyone fooled! Did your uncle know about you visiting this special place?”

            Vicki shook her head.  “He told me to stay away from here. But I snuck in the night before we played the trick and found the money. I put some of it in that old hat box and called it magic. Uncle Lamar was wrong to get mad at me, wasn’t he?”

            “Vicki, I want you to come into town and—”

            “The girl isn’t goin’ anyplace, lady. You ain’t, either.”

            Judy Martin turned to see a large scruffy looking man standing in the doorway. He had a sharp nose, brown teeth, and angry eyes. Judy was frightened and tried to cover it with righteous indignation. “Just who do you think you are to be giving us orders?”

            “His name is Zack Gilpin,” Vicki glared at the newcomer. “And he’s not a nice man!”

            Gilpin laughed loudly as he approached the two women. “The girlie is right. I’m not a nice man.”

Episode Fourteen

***

            Rance Dehner rode at a brisk pace toward the Burke ranch. David Martin rode on his right and Sheriff Buck Stephens on his left. Stephens was a bit nervous about the task ahead. If Dehner’s hunch proved false, the sheriff could end up looking like a fool.

            “I’m a simple man, Rance,” the lawman couldn’t keep the frustration from his voice. “Tell me again why you think Lamar Burke is involved with making counterfeit money.”

            “Counterfeiting used to be a common crime,” Dehner replied. “Immediately after the war between the states, about half of the currency in circulation in the United States was counterfeit.”

            “That’s no longer the case, I hope,” David Martin was also nervous. His wife could be at the home of a criminal.

            “The government has come down hard on counterfeiters since those days. And, it’s harder to counterfeit money,” Dehner said.

            “So, where does Lamar Burke fit into all of this?” The lawman fussed with the reins of his horse as he spoke.

            “I think Burke is a small man in a large operation. Somehow, a counterfeiting ring found out Lamar Burke was in financial trouble. They use his ranch as a place to make the phony money. His job is to keep the locals away. He probably gets paid well for his troubles.”

            “What Mr. Krammer at the bank told me would back that notion up,” the sheriff said. “Lamar Burke got way behind with the bank, but lately he has caught up. Makes all his payments on time.”

            David Martin looked at the red bulge in the sky. “We’re about fifteen minutes from the ranch, we need to get there as soon--”

            Dehner interrupted him as he looked ahead at the trail. “Gents, I have another idea.”

Episode Fifteen

***

            Zack Gilpin stared with contempt at the man in front of him. “So, Mr. Burke, you decided to put on a little show in Cooper, using Kyle Ryan as a way of keeping people away from here.”

            Zack shook his head and looked at a squat, moon faced man who stood beside him. “What did you think of that, Lucky?”

            “Sounded pretty crazy to me, boss. I tried to talk him out of it.” 

            Lamar Burke fidgeted nervously. He looked beside him where his niece and the preacher’s wife were reluctantly putting counterfeit bills into flour sacks. The faces on both women looked pale and grim.

            Burke ran his words together as he spoke quickly. “If people thought Vicki was a witch of some kind they’d stay away—”

            “Some people would stay away!” Zack took a step toward Lamar Burke. Vicki began to tremble. Judy Martin put an arm around the girl.

            “Did it ever occur to you that some people would want to get a look at the witch, especially a blond, pretty witch? There’d be liquored up jaspers at this place every weekend. You fool!”

            Gilpin pushed Burke, who collided with the printing press. The rancher was terrified but tried to sound strong as he blurted out, “You’ve got no right!”

            “I’ve got a right to do anything I want, Mr. Burke! This ain’t your ranch no more. You’re working for me; I’m the ramrod of this outfit, and I don’t like it when you go off pulling crazy stunts while I’m in Tombstone meeting with the boss.”

            “You’re a bully, Zack Gilpin!” Vicki shouted. Judy shushed her.

            Gilpin laughed, but there was nothing pleasant about it. He kept his eyes on Lamar Burke as he pointed in the direction of the women. “Okay, so you let the pretty little half wit come in here and grab some loot, which she throws around the main street of the town. Then you organize a bank robbery to get the funny money back. That last part makes sense. A smart banker like Krammer would recognize counterfeit bills. But why did you tell the boys to only take the funny money?”

            Moisture formed around Lamar’s eyes. His words came out wobbly. “The whole town depends on the money in that bank for survival. If they had cleaned out the bank, every man in Cooper would have been in a posse combing the countryside…”

            “Yeah, I can see that.” Zack was silent for a moment. A look of desperate hope lighted on Lamar’s face. Maybe the ramrod wouldn’t be so hard after all.

            “Too bad, Lamar.” Zack’s voice was almost a hiss. The rancher’s hope died fast. “You made a lot of stupid mistakes which made that hold up necessary. Afraid we won’t be doin’ business with you no more. Once the pick-up takes place today, we’ll be movin’ on.”  

            “Sure…I understand…”

            A tall thin man stepped inside the makeshift building. “Ready, boss.”

            Zack spit brown saliva on the floor. “Thanks, Haggart. Lamar, since you’re bein’ so understandin’, I’m sure you won’t mind steppin’ outside with us for a moment.”

            “Of course not, Zack.”

            “Lucky, you stay here and keep the ladies company. I won’t be gone long.”

            “Sure.” The outlaw looked lustfully at the two women.

            “Don’t go rushin’ things, Lucky,” there was a warning in Zack’s words. “The wagon ain’t arrived yet. We still got us some work to do. Later on, we’ll get together with these fine ladies and have ourselfes a real nice time.”

            Zack gestured for Lamar Burke to accompany him. They departed the building together with Haggart behind them. “You’ve made things kinda rough on us, Mr. Burke. After the wagon comes to pick up the money, we’re gonna hav’ta leave real soon. No time to move the press. The boss man back in Tombstone won’t like that.”

            Lamar was walking beside Zack Gilpin. He had no idea where they were walking to. He was terrified, but decided on trying to strike a cordial tone,--two men of the world discussing business. “Sorry things didn’t work out, Zack. I’ll be happy to help pay for the press..”

            “Nice of you to offer, Mr. Burke. But that won’t be necessary.” They stopped as another one of Zack Gilpin’s henchmen approached them. He was a red headed man Lamar remembered as being called Gruber. Gruber was toting a gun that looked like a Henry that Lamar owned.

            “What you need is a nice long rest,” Gilpin chuckled as he spoke.

            Not until Gilpin and Haggart stepped away from him did Lamar understand. He tried to run but was stopped by an explosion. It was the last thing he would ever hear.

Episode Sixteen

***

When Zack returned to the building, both women remained silent as they finished stuffing the last of the flour bags. They both knew what the shot had been about. Judy Martin saw a look of grimness and terror on Vicki’s face which had never been there before. Could Vicki ever leave her world of fantasy now that she had a glimpse of how horrible the real world can be?

            “That wagon should get here right aways,” Lucky said to his boss, as he continued to hold a gun on the women.

            “Broder can’t move the wagon too fast,” Zack replied. “Remember, he’s got real sacks of flour on the flatbed of that thing.”

            “Yeah.” Lucky once again eyed the women. “What ‘bout them?”

            “Don’t worry,” Zack’s eyes now rolled over the two ladies. “After the wagon is loaded and gone, we’ll take them over to the house and have our fun.”

            “Then what?”

            “Then we kill them, along with the old lady and burn this place down. We’ll use Lamar’s rifle for the killing part. The law may think Lamar went nuts and did it all hisself. Maybe not. Won’t make much difference. We ain’t never comin’ back here again.”

            “But we’ll have us lots of good memories.”

            “You were always great at finding the silver lining in a cloud, Lucky.”

            A voice sounded from outside. “The wagon’s comin’!”

            “Want me to get out and help you guys, Zack?”

            “Not yet. With Broder there will be four of us. We can unload the wagon. You stay here and tie these two up. When we’re done unloading, you can help us reload and put the money on the bottom.”

            Lucky smiled at his two companions as he kept a six shooter pointed at them. “You girlies will hav’ta give me a moment to find the rope. I’ve tied up lots of jaspers in my life, but I think this time it’s gonna be a lot more fun.”

Episode Seventeen:

Zack hurried out the door and shouted a greeting to the driver of the large buckboard that was pulling in. Broder was completely silent: not cursing, complaining or demanding more pay. Something was wrong.

            “How was the trip?” Zack asked. Haggart and Gruber stood on each side of their ramrod.

            “Just fine.” Broder made an elaborate production of standing and putting a hand on his hip. He wasn’t carrying iron.

            Zack went for his gun. Rance Dehner’s head poke up from behind a stack of flour sacks, so did his right hand which held a Colt .45. “Drop the gun!”

            Zack Gilpin raised his weapon. Dehner fired a bullet into his right arm. The gunman spun and hit the ground.

            David Martin popped up beside Dehner, holding a .44. He yelled at the two henchmen still on their feet. “Unbuckle your gunbelts and let them drop to the ground. Now! Broder, get off the wagon and join them.”

            “Better do what the preacher says, gents!” Buck Stephens shouted as he moved out from behind the bunkhouse. He was walking fast and carrying a Winchester.

            The three outlaws did what they were told.

            Inside the makeshift building, Lucky tossed down the rope he was about to use as he gazed out the small, grungy window. He waved his gun in a threatening manner at the two women. “If either of you makes a peep, I’ll kill you.”

            Judy squeezed her companion’s left arm gently. “Do what he says, Vicki. We have no choice.” 

            Lucky moved to the side of the doorway and peaked outside. Zack was down and not much good to anyone. But Haggart and Gruber were still standing, their guns right at their feet.

            Lucky felt a surge of energy. Guys like Zack rawhided him about a lot of stuff. But nobody had ever accused him of being a bad shot. Now, he was going to show everyone how valuable his gun could be…

            Lucky edged into the doorway. He could take down the two guys in the wagon. That should allow Haggert and Gruber enough time to…

            A sudden wallop hit Lucky from behind. The outlaw stumbled outside of the building as Judy’s voice shouted, “Now, Vicki!” Lucky was hit by a second impact, this time directly to the head. Counterfeit money began to rain over Lucky as the second sack to hit him split open.

            Lucky could hear the two women running off. He spotted them through a multitude of red blotches and raised his gun for a shot. He’d show those…

            Dehner’s fist slammed into the outlaw’s face. Lucky fell onto a sack of money; the sack which Judy had hit him with, the sack that didn’t break. Beside the unconscious outlaw lay the second sack which Vicki had applied to his head. A breeze now played with the contents of the open sack as well as the bills that lay on the ground.

            Dehner did a quick survey of the people around him. Except for Zack and Lucky, everyone seemed okay. But the entire scene was oddly subdued. Everyone remained quiet, almost frozen, as they watched an array of ten dollar bills dance playfully over the barren landscape.

Episode Eighteen

***

            Sheriff Stephens and Reverend Martin stood outside the sheriff’s office, joking with Rance Dehner as he mounted his bay.

            The sheriff was almost gleeful, “You’ve made this small town lawdog a hero, Rance. Them outlaws are blabbing plenty. That counterfeiting operation in Tombstone is being closed down.”

            “Careful, Buck,” the pastor laughed. “Next time Rance is in town, he’ll expect to be paid for doing deputy work.”  Martin’s demeanor suddenly changed, “Rance, there is one thing you need to remember.”

            “Oh, oh,” Dehner smiled from atop his horse. He was trying to maintain the light mood.

            David Martin looked at Rance intensely. “You were right, a lot of our citizens were acting like wild animals when you rode into town. But many of those same people are going to help Judy and me build onto our house. Vicki and her aunt will be able to live with us. Many folks have pledged to help provide food and clothing for Ruth and Vicki. Don’t just remember the bad stuff, Rance.”

            Rance broadened his smile. “As sermons go, I guess that wasn’t so bad.” He gave the men a two fingered salute, then turned his mount to ride out of town.

            The trail was dusty and lonely that day, giving Dehner plenty of time to think. He had wanted to ask Reverend Martin about Vicki. The girl had been born…well…different. Why? The kid would probably never live anything close to a normal life. Why did a thing like that have to happen?

            Of course, he had heard folks try to explain such matters. Some of those explanations made sense, but meeting someone like Vicki made it personal and hard to understand.   

            Dehner laughed quietly at his own reticence. David Martin had suffered through a lot in his life. He may have been able to provide some good insights.

            “Guess I can’t blame the man for not answering a question I didn’t ask,” Rance said to his horse.

            The restlessness stayed with him for the whole journey.  Rance Dehner wasn’t content until he was back on the trail with another case.