Chapter Nine -- Fire!
The ranger was feeling quite pleased with himself as he walked down the street. For only being on the job for one day he felt he had made a lot of progress. As he passed the blacksmith shop an idea came to him. Cody Wells had struck him as an upright man who was interested in assisting the law. Perhaps he would work odd hours as a deputy.
"Why sure, Ranger," Cody responded when Hagan presented the idea. "I was going to ask if you could use a hand."
"That's great, Cody, I've got to take Twombly to Tombstone in a couple of days and I didn't want to leave the town alone." He told him about the nights in the jail with the prisoner making a racket.
"I'll stay the nights with him," volunteered the blacksmith. "I'm not married, so it won't make any difference."
"Thanks, Cody, I owe you one."
With Cody to watch the prisoner when Hagan was away the ranger had greater freedom of movement. On the weekend the crowds were boisterous but for the most part harmless. Some local ranch hands did have a run in with some Mexican punchers. Hagan was able to nip this in the bud. He finally picked the most warlike spokesman from both sides and hauled them off to jail. Both men were full of threats about what they would do to him but these words he ignored. They were both liquored up and such empty talk was to be expected.
The local man was asleep as soon as he found the bunk in his cell. The Mexican kept up with his threats, though, telling the ranger that he had better watch out when he met the monster of the desert.
The odd thing was that the man did not seem to be afraid when he said it. Other vaqueros had said such thing with a superstitious look over their shoulders, perhaps crossing themselves when they mentioned the creature. This man was not like that. The ranger was sure that this Mexican knew some of the answers. Since the new prisoner showed no signs of going to sleep Hagan decided to go into his cell and interrogate him.
"Bud, are you sure you know what you're doing?" asked a worried Deputy Wells.
"Nope. If I did I'd be a successful rancher or maybe a blacksmith. But I am quite a bit bigger than he is."
"If he should have a knife on him he might shorten you up."
Hagan took off his gun belt and hung it on a hook. "I've always got a few secrets, myself," he said, and he showed the deputy the double derringer he had in a hidden holster under his belt.
When the ranger entered the cell the Mexican looked up in surprise. He wasn't sure what was coming, but he was sure it wouldn't be good.
"Tell me of this creature, Senor," commanded the ranger. "You do not seem to be afraid when it is mentioned.
"I am Ramone. I fear nothing," responded the proud Mexican.
That name rang a bell with the ranger. If his memory was correct then the man in the cell with him was an outlaw wanted in two Mexican states. Hagan had nothing concrete, though, so he knew he could not hold him.
"One does not fear what one knows. You know all about this creature of the night, don't you, Ramone?"
The Mexican started to speak but stopped himself just in time. This Arizona Ranger was smarter than he looked. He knew there was something fishy about the story. This man should be stopped, thought Ramone.
"You must spend some time in the desert, Ramone. I've been looking for an old friend of mine named Johnny Ringo. Have you run into him anywhere?"
The man from Sonora looked at the ranger closely to see if he was joking. There was no way that this lawman was a friend to Ringo. What would his next request be? His help in stealing the silver from a church?
"I know of no one with the name of Ringo."
"Oh well, I just thought I'd ask. How about King? Have you seen him lately?"
How could this ranger know these things? It was downright spooky. He couldn't be sure of these things. He must be just guessing, hoping that an unguarded answer would tell him more of the story. This ranger must die!
"You know nothing. You are just guessing. I wish I could be there when you face the beast. You would be shaking like a little girl. But you will not get the chance. Now you must die!"
With that he slipped a knife from his boot and held it over his head, ready to stab the ranger!
The click of the hammer cocking on the Remington .41 derringer stopped his arm in mid-air. "You don't have a chance, Ramone. Drop the knife or you will meet your ancestors."
The Mexican did as he was told. One look into the ranger's eyes told him that he would do just what he said he would. Ramone was surprised to feel himself start to shake as the reaction set in. That had been close!
"Ramone, I am going to let you sleep on it. I had every right to shoot you, but I didn't. I try to do the right thing. I must find out more of the desert robberies. Think about it, and tell me more in the morning."
Back in the office Hagan told Cody of what had occurred. "He knows that I would have been within my rights to shoot him. Perhaps some sense of gratitude will set in and he will tell me some answers."
"You took a big chance. I hope it pays off."
"I guess we'll see in the morning."
They were wrong. Morning just brought the grisly sight of the Mexican's body sprawled across his bunk. Day was just breaking when the roar of a shotgun ruined the tranquil silence. The two lawmen rushed into the cellblock to find that the Mexican had died instantly from a load of buckshot. There would be no fresh information this morning.
One small set of boot prints came up the back alley to the window at the rear of the cell. From there they went directly to the rail where the Mexican horses had been hitched. The group must have been rustlers and been worried that Ramone would spill the beans on the operation.
Hagan and Wells carried the body to the undertakers and then the ranger started to trail the remaining Mexicans. He could not devote too much time to it, but he was in hopes on at least finding a definite course to an outlaw headquarters. As usual, they split up when they headed south out of town.
"Well of course they headed south," thought the ranger, "they are from Mexico." The tracks came back together about ten miles out of town and headed straight for the border. All except for one set that headed east. Could this be a messenger? One that would carry the news of last night's fiasco? Perhaps he could find out.
Hagan rode in an S pattern, crossing the track once in a while to make sure he was still heading in the right direction. Up ahead the walls of a canyon narrowed in. He wasn't about to ride right up the middle. He cut directly north in case anybody was watching. In a thick stand of scrub oak he left his mount and walked a mile on foot, easing up cautiously to the edge of the canyon trail.
He had watch for five minutes before he spotted the watcher. Only the motion of the man rolling a cigarette gave away his position. As his eyes adjusted he could see that this was another Mexican, dressed in tan clothing and sporting a very battered sombrero.
Hagan backed up through the brush, but his foot hit a small rock and sent it clattering against another. Instantly the Mexican's Winchester was spouting lead, fanning the area in which the ranger was trapped. Branches fell on his head and bark and rock chips sprinkled him, but so far he was not hit.
When a lapse in the shooting came he eased himself further to the rear. Another half dozen shots sprayed the area. Hagan found shelter behind some large rocks and moved to his left. He was still heading to the top of the canyon when voices came to his ear.
"Did you get him? It sounded like you were standing off an army."
"I'm not sure, Senor. I loaded my rifle twice and I never had any return fire."
"That's the trouble with you guys. Give you a '66 Winchester and you'll shoot all day without aiming. I ought to give you just one bullet and then maybe you'd hit something. Do you know who the fellow was?"
"No, but I thought I saw the glint of the sun on a star. He might have followed Pico from Sierra Vista."
"A lawman! Why didn't you come up and tell me as soon as you knew he was trailing? Never mind, I can't stand any more stupid answers."
Now the voice started to give orders. Somewhere the ranger had heard that voice before.
"Slim and Billy, you fellows get ready to set the brush on fire. The rest of you harness up and head the outfit for the back door. Move it!"
The back door. That must be a pass at the very top of the canyon. In minutes smoke appeared and the ranger knew he was in trouble. The flames were racing to the west, directly at him. There was no time for caution now. As fast as he could he raced in the direction that he had left his horse.
Suddenly that run down sombrero popped up in front of him. Under the big hat was a pair of black eyes gazing over the brass frame of a 66 Winchester. True to form he sprayed shots from the Yellowboy as fast as he could work the lever. These bullets all went over the ranger's head. His answering shot caught the Mexican in the chest and the lever action became silent.
Smoke was becoming thicker and Hagan was on a dead run. A face appeared in front of him and the ranger's pistol barrel laid him low. When he got to where he had left the roan he found the branches broken off and the Cayuse gone. This was good, for he couldn't bear to see harm come to the defenseless animal.
He found the roan had wandered just out of range of the smoke and was drinking from a small pool in a nearly dried up stream. Looking both ways he tried to figure what the shortest route was around the fire. Hagan made the mistake of choosing the south. After he had ridden two and a half hours he realized that he had chosen the wrong way. He would have to make a dry camp for the night.
Finding an ancient wind cut rock he checked carefully for snakes and then laid out his camp. The smell of smoke was still so strong that the ranger shrugged "So what? " And made a small fire. A fire so small that it could quickly be smothered with a double handful of sand, if need be. On this he made coffee and a little bit of stew from some dried bits of jerky. Thus fed, he extinguished the fire and crawled into his bedroll.
Just after midnight he awoke instantly. What had wakened him? There it was again. A voice that groaned and then pleaded, "Por favor, help me Senor!"
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