A Ranger Named Rowdy Page 3

  “I won’t,” Tate promised. He and Liz headed up the stairs, while Tim went back to the hotel. Reaching his room, he pulled off his boots, socks, gunbelt, vest, bandanna, and Stetson and placed them on a chair alongside the bed. He knelt and said his evening prayers, then slid under the blankets.

  This trip didn’t start out all that good, he thought. Sure hope things take a turn for the better. Within minutes, he was sound asleep.

  Tate returned a few hours later. Unfortunately for Tim, he didn’t keep his promise to come back quietly. He stumbled through the door, sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled off his boots and tossed them across the room. They slammed into the wall with a thud.

  “Hold it down Tate, will ya? Tim complained.

  “Sorry, Tim.” Tate yanked off his gunbelt and dropped it to the floor. He pulled back the covers, lay down, then pulled them up to his chin.

  “Tim?”

  “Yeah, Tate?”

  “Thanks for backin’ my play back there in the saloon. I’m not sure I could’ve outdrawn that cowboy. And thanks for callin’ me your pard.”

  “You are my pard, leastwise for this job,” Tim answered, mumbling. “Don’t worry about it. Just lemme get back to sleep.”

  “All right, Tim. Nonetheless, I’m obliged.”

  Tate soon fell asleep, but then began snoring, his snores reverberating through the small room like a buzz saw. He rolled onto his stomach, and his arm flopped across Tim’s back. Tim shoved an elbow hard into his ribs.

  “Ow!” Tate yelped. “What was that for?”

  “Just move over and stick to your own side of the bed,” Tim ordered. “Don’t get any ideas about hoggin’ all the covers, either.”

  “All right, all right,” Tate muttered. He rolled onto his back and went back to sleep. His snores resumed.

  Great, Tim thought. Just what I didn’t need, a pardner who snores like a longhorn bull chasin’ a heifer. With a groan, he pulled his pillow over his head in a vain attempt to drown out the racket.

  ***

  Even though they had the opportunity to sleep in, Tim, as always, was awake with the sunrise. Alongside him, Tate lay sprawled face-down on his side of the bed. Sometime during the early morning his snores had finally subsided. Tim lay there for an hour, saying his morning prayers and thinking about the job ahead. He then got up, pulled off his shirt, and walked over to the bureau, where a pitcher of water and a basin waited. He poured some water into the basin, ducked his head into it to soak his hair, then picked up a washcloth and bar of yellow soap to wash his face, neck, and upper torso. He shivered as he washed in the poorly heated room. Not bothering to shave, he ran a rough towel over his face and body to dry off, then headed back to the bed, picked up his shirt, and shrugged into it. He finished redressing, then shook Tate’s shoulder.

  “Huh? What?” Tate mumbled.

  “Rise and shine, pardner,” Tim said. “Daylight’s a-wastin’. Time to get up, check on our horses, and grab some chuck before our train comes.” He shook Tate again.

  “All right, all right.” Tate moaned and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. He sat there for a minute, bleary-eyed. Dark whiskers stubbled his jaw. It was clear he’d had a drink or two too many. He pulled himself to his feet, yawned and stretched, then yanked off his shirt and tossed it on the bed. He scratched his belly and chest, then stumbled over to the wash basin. Like Tim, he gave himself a rudimentary washing and then redressed.

  “You’re lookin’ a mite rough there, Tate,” Tim said. “Hope it was worth it.”

  “It purely was,” Tate answered. “Especially that Liz. She’s some gal.”

  “And you’ll meet at least a half a dozen more like her before this trip is over,” Tim said. “C’mon, let’s get goin’.”

  Shouldering their saddlebags, they headed downstairs to the front desk to turn in their keys. After that they went to the livery stable, where Rowdy and Buddy were just finishing their morning oats. Rowdy picked up his head and whinnied loudly when he spotted Tim approaching.

  “All right, I’ve got your doggone candy,” Tim scolded, in jest. He pulled two peppermints from his pockets, handed one to Tate for his horse, then gave Rowdy his treat.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” he assured the paint. “Gonna get some breakfast for myself, then it’ll be time to load you up.”

  There was a small café across the street from the livery stable. Tim and Tate went there and downed a large breakfast of ham, eggs, and fried potatoes, as always washed down with cups of strong black coffee. Once they were finished and paid their bill, they went back to the stable, retrieved their horses, and walked the short distance to the Texas and Pacific station. They tied the mounts to a hitch rail out front, then headed inside to pick up their tickets.

  “Good morning, Rangers,” the clerk behind the ticket window said, from behind its thick iron grate. “Your train’s right on schedule. Should be pullin’ in shortly. In the meantime, there’s a cattle car for your horses pulled up to the freight platform, if you’d like to load them now.”

  “Reckon we might as well,” Tim said. “That’ll get them settled before we pull out.”

  “Excellent. I’ll call George for you.”

  The agent summoned a porter, who in turn went and located a freight handler, who in turn led the Rangers and their horses to the platform. A cattle car sat there, door open and ramp already in place. Hay was piled in one corner, and two buckets for water hung from the slats. The Rangers’ gear was also already in the car, set neatly at one end.

  “The car’s all ready for your horses, Rangers,” the brakeman said.

  “Thanks,” Tim answered. Rowdy and Buddy were led inside, their halters and lead ropes removed. Each was given a peppermint and a pat on the nose, then fell to munching on hay. Once Tim and Tate left the car, the ramp was removed, the door shut and latched.

  “Your train’s comin’ now,” the brakeman said, as the chuffing of an approaching locomotive drifted through the air. A few minutes later, with the clanking of couplers and the release of steam, the train pulled into the station and rolled to a stop. Passengers whose destination was Fort Worth descended from the coaches, while others who would be departing for points west waited to load. The engine was serviced, coal added to the tender and the tank topped off with water. The crew members were changed, and wheels, brakes, and bearings checked. Forty-five minutes later, the train was ready to roll westward once again.

  Tim and Tate had taken seats in the middle passenger coach. They were just settling in when the train backed up to Rowdy and Buddy’s cattle car. When it clanked to a stop a man, well-dressed in an expensive businessman’s suit, summoned the conductor over.

  “Yes, Mr. Braddock?” the conductor asked. The expression on his face clearly indicated he was already tired of dealing with this insufferable individual.

  “What’s the holdup now, Conductor?” Braddock demanded. He opened the expensive gold turnip watch which dangled from a thick gold chain draped across his substantial paunch and glanced at it. “You are well aware I need to be in El Paso as quickly as possible. I was told this railroad ran efficiently, yet now we are fifteen minutes late. And instead of moving onward we are going backwards, and have now stopped yet again. I demand an explanation.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Braddock,” the conductor answered. “However, there are two Texas Rangers who have just boarded this train. They are on their way to Sierra Blanca. Their horses are in the car we just backed up to. Once the car is coupled, we will be on our way. It will only be a matter of a few minutes, no more, I assure you.”

  “What? This train is being delayed for horses?” Braddock shouted. “That’s preposterous. And it’s unacceptable. It’s enough of an indignity that this train has no Pullman car, as I was promised, so I have to ride in this coach with all these… these ruffians. This riffraff! And now I am to be detained even further? That is totally inexcusable. I insist, no, I demand this train get underway, right now. Immediately! Forg
et those horses! And the president of this railroad will be hearing from me about this… this farce. This… this travesty!”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Braddock,” the conductor said. “However, we have to do whatever the Rangers ask. They are on legal business for the State of Texas. We can’t leave without their horses. Please, be patient. We’ll only be here a short while longer. As far as your berth in a Pullman, I’ve already explained to you, the Pullman car attached to this train developed a hotbox. We had to leave it behind in Shreveport. Otherwise the wheel truck or its bearings would have overheated and failed, leading to a derailment. There were no other Pullmans available to replace it. I’ve already apologized to you for that, more than once in fact. And this train will move when the car carrying the Rangers’ horses is coupled and ready to roll. Not a moment sooner.”

  “You’ll move this train, and right now!” Braddock insisted. “I’m a friend of the Governor. I’ll have your job, and I’ll do my best to see the Texas and Pacific receives no further franchises in this state!”

  Tim rose from his seat and joined the conductor. His badge was in plain sight on his vest.

  “Conductor, let me handle this,” he said.

  “With pleasure, Ranger,” the trainman answered.

  Braddock looked at Tim and started to say something, but hesitated under the glare of the angry Ranger’s cold blue eyes.

  “Mister,” Tim said. “You want to complain to the Governor, go right ahead. But I’ll tell you right now, he’s not gonna waste his time listenin’ to an overstuffed windbag like you. This train’ll be movin’ in a couple of minutes. Until it does, you’re gonna sit there nice and quiet-like. And you’re gonna keep still all the way to El Paso. If me or my pardner hear one peep out of you between here and Sierra Blanca, we’ll have you thrown off this train on the spot. And I don’t need to tell you if we’re not near a town there’s an awful lot of empty territory, full of rattlers, coyotes, outlaws, and even some renegade Indians you’d have to cross to reach civilization. So I’d advise you just sit there and keep your mouth shut.”

  Braddock regained some of his bluster.

  “Ranger, obviously you don’t know who I am. My name is Matthias T. Braddock. I have business interests all over this state, in fact all over the West. Those are much more important than any piddling concern of yours. As far as speaking to the governor, I fully intend to do so. Now I’ll be demanding your resignation as well. I will have your badge, Ranger, rest assured.”

  “You want my badge, you can have it,” Tim snapped. “My name’s Bannon. Timothy Bannon. My commanding officer is Captain Nathaniel Strong, and my pard back there is Tate Slocum. You can have his badge too. But they won’t do you much good with a bullet hole blown clean through your skull.” He tapped the butt of his Colt for emphasis.

  “What? Are you threatening me, Ranger?” Braddock spluttered.

  “I didn’t hear a threat. Just a statement of fact of what could occur,” Tim replied. “We’re heading into mighty dangerous territory, and anything could happen. In fact, I believe I heard you use the word ‘holdup’. Not a smart thing to say on a train. One of those could happen anytime. Plenty of robbers out there stoppin’ trains to rob the express cars and passengers all the time. It’d be a real pity if you accidentally caught a bullet durin’ a robbery. Now, as far as what I said, did you hear any threat, Conductor?”

  “I sure didn’t, Ranger,” the trainman answered. “Merely a warning to be careful, because as you say, we’re heading into some plenty rough territory.”

  “I didn’t hear a threat either,” a derby-hatted drummer spoke up from across the aisle. “Only a promise. Better listen to the Ranger, Braddock. He knows what he’s talkin’ about. Even if he is just a ruffian.”

  Braddock opened his mouth to form a retort, then snapped it shut. He turned and stared out the window.

  “Reckon that’s settled then,” the conductor said. “Thanks, Ranger.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Tim said. He returned to his seat, to find Tate consumed with mirth.

  “You sure showed that big blowhard,” he said, laughing. “Thought he was gonna have apoplexy.”

  “Just part of the job, Tate,” Tim answered. He settled back in his seat as the train lurched into motion.

  ***

  With the Texas and Pacific’s tracks, connecting to the Southern Pacific at Sierra Blanca, being part of the southern transcontinental railroad route across the United States, this train had a few more amenities than the average passenger train. Every coach had two enclosed lavatories, one each for men and women, and a coal stove at either end of the cars kept them comfortably warm despite the chill outside, so most passengers had shed their heavy coats and gloves. There was a smoking car for gentlemen travelers, and even a dining car. And as Braddock had said, ordinarily there was a Pullman Company sleeping car attached to the train. Those sleepers were considered the height of luxury for travel by rail, with their individual berths, curtained for privacy, and their Negro porters. Most of those porters were former house slaves, experienced in service, who were now well-paid to cater to the needs of the Pullman Company’s patrons, for in fact the railroads didn’t own any Pullmans. The Pullman Company did, and paid the railroads to couple their cars to the trains. Customers paid Pullman, not the railroad, for their space in a sleeper. While the train rolled across the Texas prairie, Tim and Tate joined some of their fellow passengers in the smoking car for a game of poker. By the time they retired for the evening, Tim had won most of the hands, and had raked in several large pots.

  “Boy howdy, pard,” Tate said, after they returned to their seats, “I’ve always heard you were sort of a choir boy. ‘Bannon? He ain’t much fun. Don’t chase women, hardly ever cusses, don’t smoke, don’t drink anything stronger than beer.’ That’s what most of the other Rangers say about you. Never knew you were much of a card player, but you sure play one heckuva mean game of poker. I’ve never seen anyone bluff as good as you.”

  “I’m sure no saint, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at,” Tim said. “And I’ve gotta confess, I do enjoy a good game of cards. Right now though, it’s high time for some shut-eye. See you in the morning, pardner.”

  “One question first, Tim. You really wouldn’t have shot Braddock, would you?”

  “Let’s hope we don’t have to find out,” Tim answered. He lowered his voice. “Of course not. You know that, and I know that, but Braddock doesn’t, and that’s all that matters. Now good night.”

  Tim stretched out his legs, tilted his Stetson over his eyes and leaned back in his seat. Tate did the same. From under his hat, Tim studied his young partner.

  Tate was nineteen, and barely looked that. He had light brown hair, bleached even lighter by the sun where it wasn’t covered by his hat, and light brown eyes to match, but the whiskers now stubbling his face and jaw were a much deeper shade of brown. He stood about five foot eight and weighed about one fifty, Tim would guess. While he appeared a bit on the lanky side, all of those one hundred fifty pounds were muscle and sinew. Until the gunfight back in Fort Worth, Tim hadn’t seen Tate in action, but he would be willing to bet the young Ranger was more than capable with both the Smith and Wesson American he wore on his right hip as well as his fists. He’d certainly shown he knew how to use a six-gun during the gunfight with the drunken cowboy back in Fort Worth. Tate had also shown during that incident he wasn’t a man to back down, nor one to be caught settin’. Plenty of rookie lawmen would have let down their guard when a man started for the door like the cowboy had, which would prove to be a fatal mistake. Tate hadn’t, so he was ready when the cowboy yanked his gun to shoot the young Ranger down. He was most likely handy with rifle and knife, too. And Tim was certain he could ride. Tate certainly knew his horseflesh. Buddy, his grulla gelding, had plenty of speed and bottom. Tim was certain the grulla could keep up with Rowdy if need be, at least for some distance. Right now Tate was dressed in ordinary cowboy garb similar to that Tim wore, a faded checke
d shirt, leather vest, worn denims, and scuffed boots. A tag dangled from the packet of Bull Durham Tate carried in his vest pocket. A bright red bandanna was looped around his neck, and a battered, once-gray but now dirt and sweat-stained Stetson covered his head. In contrast to Tim, like most of the Rangers Tate wore no badge. Tim was one of the few who wore the emblem which was becoming more and more a symbol of the Rangers, a silver star on silver circle badge, carved from a Mexican cinco peso coin. All in all, Tim had the feeling Tate would become a fine lawman, with just a little more experience. A man to ride the river with, anytime and anywhere.

  As the train continued its westward journey, Tim settled more deeply into his seat. He sighed, for he had mixed feelings about the railroads. The Rangers were using them more and more to get from one end to another of the Lone Star State’s vast expanses far more quickly than could ever be possible on horseback or by stagecoach. In fact, quite a few of the Rangers were no longer using their own horses on a distant assignment, but would take the train to their destination, then rent or borrow a horse. Tim wasn’t one of those. He wanted a mount under him he knew he could depend on, both for traveling and in a running gun battle. Or if you were jumped and outnumbered by a bunch of men determined to kill you, if you needed a horse to escape a group of pursuers, such as a band of renegade Comanches, you wanted a horse that had the speed, stamina, and sure-footedness to outrun those Indians or outlaws. You sure couldn’t depend on a livery stable mount or borrowed horse under those circumstances. You needed a horse you had an absolute bond and trust with, like Tim did with Rowdy. However, Tim realized if he had to make this run from Austin to El Paso on Rowdy, it would take him at least ten days, and that would be pushing his horse hard, in fact to Rowdy’s limits. It would more likely take him two weeks or a bit more. Yet by taking the train, which could travel at forty miles an hour in spots, the same trip would be made in twenty-four hours, or one overnight, give or take. If it weren’t for the necessity of stopping for fuel, water, and to take on and discharge passengers and change crew members, the journey could be made in less than eighteen. Tim was certain that, with Christmas just around the corner, Captain Strong wouldn’t have forced this assignment on him if the train hadn’t been available.