The Faith and the Rangers Read online

  The Faith and

  the Rangers

  A Collection of

  Texas Ranger & Western Stories

  James J. Griffin

  iUniverse, Inc.

  New York Bloomington

  The Faith and The Rangers

  A Collection of Texas Ranger & Western Stories

  Copyright © 2009 by James J. Griffin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by

  any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying,

  recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system

  without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of

  brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  iUniverse

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  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links

  contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer

  be valid. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents,

  organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s

  imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Author Photo: Patricia Johnson

  As always, thanks to Texas Ranger Sergeant Jim Huggins of

  Company A, and Karl Rehn and Penny Riggs of KR Training,

  Manheim, Texas, for their invaluable assistance.

  Thanks to Paul Dellinger for the title Left Handed Law.

  ISBN: 978-1-4401-9320-0 (pbk)

  ISBN: 978-1-4401-9321-7 (ebk)

  iUniverse rev. date: 12/02/09

  Table of Contents

  On The Border

  The Faith and The Rangers

  Left Handed Law

  Banker’s Bluff

  The Wind

  The Youngest Rangers

  Once a Ranger

  Ambush at Railroad Canyon

  Partners

  Gunfight at Taylor Ridge Introduction

  Texas Ranger Novels

  by

  James J. Griffin

  Trouble Rides the Texas Pacific

  Border Raiders

  Trail of The Renegade

  Ranger Justice

  Panhandle Raiders

  Big Bend Death Trap

  Ranger’s Revenge

  Forthcoming Novels:

  Death Stalks the Rangers

  Dancing Fox Publishing, Winter 2009

  Ride for Redemption

  A Texas Ranger Cody Havlicek Story

  Condor Publishing, Inc. Spring 2010

  Bullet for a Ranger

  A Texas Ranger Jim Blawcyzk Story Six

  Guns Westerns, Spring 2010

  For my readers, with thanks and gratitude.

  On The Border

  1

  Texas Rangers Bill Pierson and Ben Judwin rode slumped with weariness as they pushed their tired horses down the single dusty street of Cotulla. They had been riding hard, southward from San Antonio, for the past several days. The pair still had at least three more long days ahead of them before meeting Company D, which was camped somewhere along the Rio Grande between Laredo and Eagle Pass. Both men were looking forward to a good meal and a night in a comfortable hotel bed, rather than their usual trail supper of bacon and beans, then sleeping on the hard ground.

  “There’s the livery stable just ahead,” Pierson noted. “We’ll put up our horses, then find a room for ourselves.”

  “Some decent grub and a few drinks will taste good too,” Judwin answered.

  After placing their horses in the stable and arranging feeding and rubdowns for the mounts, the two men tossed their saddlebags over their shoulders. They headed for the Ransom House Hotel, where they obtained a room overlooking the street.

  While Pierson stretched out on his bed, Judwin peeled off his sweat-stained shirt. He stepped over to the washstand.

  “You gonna clean up a mite too, Bill?” he asked. He poured water into a cracked basin from a chipped pitcher, then ducked his head into the tepid liquid.

  “Perhaps a bit later. I’m not out to impress the gals like you are,” Pierson grinned.

  While he rolled and lit a quirly, Pierson studied the young man riding with him. Ben Judwin was only nineteen, and had joined the Rangers just a few weeks previously. He was tall and thin to the point of lankiness, with sandy hair and light brown eyes. From the little Pierson had learned so far about the new recruit, Judwin had no family. His parents had died of the influenza several years back. The boy then fended on his own as a cowpuncher, until deciding to join the Rangers.

  “Maybe someday I’ll be an old married man like you, Bill, but until then I’m gonna have some fun with the ladies,” Judwin retorted. He ran a rough washcloth over his chest. “Might play some poker, too.”

  “I ain’t exactly old, kid,” Pierson snapped back.

  Despite his protest, the veteran Pierson knew he was indeed getting old for a Ranger. He was pushing forty. Years of exposure to the Texas sun and wind had weathered his face so he looked several years older. The deep wrinkles around his clear gray eyes and the blonde hair bleached even lighter testified to that. In addition, he was starting to detect the beginning of a slight paunch around his middle. Neither Pierson nor Judwin wore their badges in plain sight, although they both carried one, Pierson a battered silver star on silver circle, Judwin a half-finished badge he was still carving from a Mexican ten peso coin.

  “Ben, are you gonna leave some skin on your bones, or are you gonna scrub it all off?” Pierson grumbled. “I’m ready for some grub.”

  “Be right with you,” Judwin answered.

  The young Ranger dug in his saddlebags for his spare shirt. He shrugged into it, retied his bandanna around his neck, and shoved his dark Stetson back on his head.

  “You about ready, Bill?”

  “’Bout time you finished dudin’ yourself up, kid,” Pierson shot back. “Let’s go.”

  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^

  After a quick supper, Pierson and Judwin settled in at the High Lonesome Saloon for a few drinks. Pierson

  was nursing his last beer for the night, while Judwin was drinking whiskey and making plans with one of the saloon women, Betty Jean, a bosomy blonde in a low cut scarlet gown.

  “How about your partner? Does he want some company too?” Betty Jean asked Judwin.

  “Bill? Not hardly,” Judwin chuckled. “He’s got a wife and three kids at home, so he’s not interested in another woman. And he quit gambling a long time ago.”

  “Really?” Betty Jean gazed thoughtfully at Pierson.

  “You could still have some fun, Mister,” she suggested.

  Pierson ran an appreciative glance over the woman before he replied.

  “Thanks, but no thanks, honey. You and you friends are sure easy on the eyes, all right, and it’s fine to look. But that’s all I’ve done since I got married, look.”

  “Suit yourself,” Betty Jean shrugged. “Ben, if you’re ready to play cards, I’ll introduce you to Joe Pickett, our chief houseman.”

  “I sure am. Then you and I’ll have some more fun afterwards.”

  Ben grinned in anticipation.

  “Ben, I’m heading back to the hotel. Don’t stay out too late,” Pierson warned. “We’re ridin’ out at sunup.”

  “I won’t,” Judwin promised. “C’mon, Sugar, let’s go.”
>
  Pierson watched his young partner and the saloon woman head for the gambling tables. He lingered over his beer for a few minutes, then drained the mug. He tossed a coin on the table in payment for the drinks, and stepped out of the saloon for the short walk to the hotel.

  Pierson paused halfway across the street to roll and light a quirly. As he touched a match to the smoke, two men emerged from the general store. One of them shouted in recognition and grabbed for the gun on his hip.

  “Pierson!”

  “Clete Hardisty!” Pierson dropped the match. He clawed for his own sixgun.

  Pierson was too late in reacting as the gunman leveled his Colt and fired. Hardisty’s bullet tore into the Ranger’s stomach.

  Pierson grunted and buckled at the bullet’s impact. He tried to bring his gun in line with Hardisty’s chest. Before Pierson could thumb back the hammer, Hardisty fired twice more. Both slugs ripped into the Ranger’s belly. Pierson clawed at his bullet-torn gut, then jackknifed to the dirt.

  Clete Hardisty gazed disdainfully at the lawman he’d just downed.

  “C’mon, let’s get outta here,” he ordered Pete Stone, his partner. The two men lifted their horses’ reins from the hitchrail, climbed into their saddles, and loped away.

  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^

  Ben Judwin leapt from his chair at the sound of gunfire, scattering his cards.

  “I’ve gotta go,” he told Betty Jean. He pulled his gun from its holster, shoving men aside to force his way out of the crowded saloon. He jumped from the porch of the High Lonesome to join the crowd gathering around a man lying in the dusty street.

  “What happened?” he demanded.

  “Some hombre got plugged,” a bystander replied.

  “I’m a Texas Ranger. Let me through!” Judwin ordered. He pulled his half-finished badge from his pocket.

  The crowd parted to let him pass. Judwin hauled up short when he saw Bill Pierson lying there, blood spreading over his shirt.

  “Bill! What happened? Someone get the doc,” Judwin shouted. He leaned over his partner, who was still breathing raggedly.

  “Doc Slade’s already on his way,” someone answered.

  After what seemed an eternity to Judwin, an elderly man carrying a black satchel arrived.

  “I’m Doctor Slade. Stand aside,” he ordered.

  Slade knelt beside Pierson, made a cursory examination of the wounded Ranger, then tsked softly.

  “There’s nothing I can do for him here. Some of you bring him to my office.”

  Judwin and two other men lifted Pierson and carried him to the physician’s small home, where the wounded man was placed on a table in a tidy examining room.

  “Doc, is there anythin’ you can do for my pardner?” Judwin pleaded.

  The doctor opened Pierson’s shirt.

  “I’m afraid not,” he replied. Slade washed the blood off Pierson’s belly, then placed a clean white cloth over it. More blood immediately soaked through the fabric.

  “He’s been gut-shot. Your partner took three bullets right through his abdomen. Frankly, I’m amazed he’s still alive. He doesn’t have much longer. I wish I could do more for him, son.”

  “Bill,” Judwin murmured. He placed a hand on Pierson’s shoulder.

  Pierson’s eyes flickered open.

  “Ben…”

  “I’m here, Bill. Who did this?”

  “Hombre name of… Clete Hardisty,” Pierson gasped. “He’s head of the gang Company D’s been after. Must’ve… gotten around them, if he’s this far…north. He usually stays closer to. the border, since his outfit holes up in Mexico when they’re not… causin’ trouble in Texas. He surprised me and…plugged me.”

  “I’m goin’ after him,” Judwin gritted.

  “No, you’re not, son,” Pierson ordered. “Pete Stone, Hardisty’s segundo, was with him. That means his whole gang’s not far off. You can’t take on that bunch of killers single-handed. Just keep ridin’ until you locate the company. Tell Captain Moore what happened, and he’ll get the boys on Hardisty’s trail right quick.”

  “But Bill,” Judwin began to protest.

  “No buts. That’s an order. Ranger,” Pierson snapped.

  “All right,” Judwin reluctantly agreed. “Anythin’…anythin’ I can do for you, Bill?”

  “Just make sure word…gets back to…my wife and kids that. I love them. Sell my…horse. I won’t be needin’ him. Send the money…to my…wife.”

  The dying Ranger’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “I’ll do that,” Judwin promised.

  “Good. I guess this…this is…Adios, kid.”

  Pierson’s voice trailed off, and blood welled in his mouth. His body shuddered, then went limp.

  “He’s gone, son. I’m sorry,” Doctor Slade intoned.

  Judwin dug in his pocket and came up with a gold double eagle, which he handed to the physician.

  “Take care of the arrangements for me, will you, Doc?”

  “I’ll do that if you wish,” Slade promised. “But won’t you be here for your friend’s funeral?”

  “I’ve got another funeral to attend. The funeral of the hombre who killed my pardner. And I’m the man who’s gonna send him to Hell.”

  2

  Despite his vow to track down Clete Hardisty, Ben Judwin had few clues to go on when he rode out of Cotulla before dawn the next morning. He’d sold Bill’s horse to the livery stable owner, who assured Judwin he would send the money to Pierson’s widow. Armed with information from two eyewitnesses to Pierson’s murder that the killer had ridden south out of town, and their sketchy description of the gunman, the young Ranger headed in the same direction. He took the main road heading toward Mexico. Along with his own Colt, he was now wearing Bill Pierson’s Peacemaker.

  “I don’t know where those hombres are headed, Charcoal,” Judwin admitted to his steeldust gelding. “I sure can’t pick out their tracks from any of these others. I’ve just got a gut feelin’ they headed this way. If the worst happens, and we can’t find them, we’ll just hook up with the company like Bill ordered.”

  Judwin fell into a pensive silence. He pushed his horse at a mile-eating pace, stopping only to allow the steeldust a brief breather or short drink. It was almost dusk when

  he spotted a dim trail turning off the main road, a trail marked with the hoof prints of twenty or more horses.

  “That’s got to be Hardisty’s bunch!” Judwin exclaimed. “C’mon, Charcoal, get movin’!”

  The young Ranger urged his weary mount into a full gallop. Less than half an hour later he hauled the horse down in a sliding stop, when they topped a rise overlooking a ranch in a small valley.

  Sure looks abandoned, Judwin thought. Through the gathering gloom, he studied the buildings, spending several minutes looking over the spread.

  “Guess we’ll head down there careful-like, Charcoal,” he murmured to his gelding. “Although I’ve got a sick feelin’ in my belly Hardisty’s already paid that place a visit and moved on.”

  Judwin didn’t hear a sound when he walked his horse into the ranch yard and dismounted. He tied Charcoal to the porch rail, then lifted his Colt from its holster before climbing the stairs and pushing open the door. The minute he entered the house, the barrel of a rifle was rammed into his spine.

  “Hold it right there, Mister, or I’ll drop you in your tracks. Lose that gun and get your hands up,” a harsh voice snarled.

  Judwin let his gun fall to the floor and raised his hands shoulder-high.

  “Now turn around, real slow.”

  When the Ranger turned to face his captor, the rifle barrel was jabbed deep into his belly, driving air from his lungs. Judwin grunted. He found himself looking into the face of a cowpuncher little older than himself.

  “Just who are you, Mister?” the cowboy demanded. “Tell
me why I shouldn’t blast your guts out right now.”

  “The name’s Ben Judwin. I’m a Texas Ranger.”

  “You got any proof of that?”

  “My badge is in my shirt pocket, and my commission’s in my billfold.”

  “Take them out and let me see them. Easy. Once false move and I’ll splatter your insides all over this room.”

  Judwin reached carefully into his pockets to remove the badge and commission papers. He handed them to the cowboy. As his vision grew accustomed to the dim light, he realized the house had been thoroughly ransacked.

  The cowboy studied Judwin’s commission for a moment, then handed it and the half-finished badge back to him. He lowered the rifle.

  “I reckon you’re who you claim to be, Ranger. I’m Jake Sheehan. You can put your hands down and pick up your gun.”

  Sheehan suddenly broke into great gasping sobs.

  “I’m sorry, Ranger,” Sheehan apologized. “I just buried my wife. I came home and found her dying.”

  “Let me guess. She was murdered,” Judwin said. He slid his Colt back in its holster.

  “You’re right,” Sheehan confirmed. “Murdered… and worse. I wish those hombres had just killed her rather’n… you know what I mean. Better still, I wish I’d been home when they showed up. I would’ve done in every last one of ‘em before they ever got to Becky.”

  Judwin tried to offer some small comfort to the distraught cowboy.

  “If it’s the same bunch I’m trailin’ all that would’ve happened is you would have gotten yourself killed while your wife watched. That would’ve been even worse for her. Then, once you were dead they still would’ve had their way with her. The head of that outfit gunned down my pardner, and Bill was one of the smartest and toughest Rangers you’d ever meet.”

  “You say you’re trailin’ ‘em?” Sheehan asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Then I’m goin’ with you. I was just getting ready to saddle my horse and take after those men when I spotted you up on that rise. I thought you might be one of them comin’ back, which is why I was waitin’ on you. If you had been one of that bunch, you’d have a couple of slugs in your guts right about now.”