Looking to the Future, page 4
A lean, trim Mexican man a few years older than Wes walked out of the stable. He was dressed in boots, pants, a long-john top and a billed cap. He removed the cap and wiped sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his right arm, then cupped his left hand at his brow as he looked at the lone rider. “May I help you, señor?”
Wes grinned. “It’s me, Ramón. Wes Crowley. How you doin’?”
The man slapped his cap back on his head and hurried forward, a grin on his face. “Wes! Madre de dios! Is it really you?”
Wes chuckled as he dismounted. “You still got a stall for ol’ Charley here? And—”
“Yes sir. And oats. Lots of oats.” He laughed and offered his hand. “Where you been, amigo?”
As they shook, Wes said, “Oh, here and there. You know.”
Grinning broadly, Ramón pointed at Wes’ chest. “Deputy US marshal, eh? You still doing that?” He laughed again. “You are not here in your official capacity, though, eh?”
Wes grinned. “Nah, nothin’ like that. Actually, I meant to switch back to my Ranger star when I crossed into Texas. Guess I forgot.”
“Well, it is good to see you either way. And I am glad you are back. Some things have changed, but much remains the same. You will see.”
Wes nodded, then handed Charley’s reins over to Ramón. “Take care of him for me. I guess I’ll walk on into town. I want to send a telegram first thing. Then I’ll say hello to the captain and whoever else is around.”
“They will be glad to see you, my friend. I will feed this one, then give him a bath and groom him.”
Charley worked his head up and down and sniggered quietly.
Wes chuckled again. “Well, don’t treat him too good or he might not want to go with me anymore.”
Ramon laughed. “Somehow, I don’t think that will be an issue.”
“Listen, can you keep an eye on my gear too? I’ll be back to collect it later.”
“Sure thing. Leave it with me.” He shook his head. “It is so good to see you again.”
Wes raised one hand as he turned away. “Hasta la, Ramón. See you later.” He walked a few steps, then stopped and looked back. “Hey, drop by the Inn later if you want. I’ll buy you a drink.”
Ramón grinned and raised one hand. “Gracias. I will do that.”
Wes turned and started the short walk into Amarillo proper.
About fifty yards farther along, he turned the corner onto Main Street. He stepped up onto the boardwalk and— Checked himself and stepped aside, then touched the brim of his hat. “Ladies.” He nodded as two women passed in fine dresses.
Beyond them farther to the east, Mr. Trimble, the portly banker, paused for a moment to say something to Mrs. Trimble outside the bank, then turned and went inside.
Mrs. Trimble continued along the boardwalk.
Probably on her way home. Probably the two of them had gone to dinner together. He remembered they often did. Some things never change. He grinned.
Other citizens were moving about farther along the boardwalk on both sides of the street. The telegraph station was about halfway down the block he was on, and the Company D Ranger headquarters was two blocks farther east.
The Amarillo Inn was located across the street and slightly catty-cornered to the east from the Ranger headquarters. All the Rangers lived there. He wondered whether his old room was still available. It was at the front of the Inn and overlooked Main Street. Probably Manuel Ortega, owner of the Inn, had rented it to someone else. Or if there were new Rangers about, maybe one of them lived there now.
He would find out soon enough. He preferred his old room, but a bed was a bed.
But before he did anything else, he wanted to send that telegram. He owed the governor that consideration. Governor Wallace probably didn’t expect him back after he expelled the comancheros from Kiker anyway, but Wes’ leaving wasn’t something they had specifically discussed.
The boardwalk felt and sounded good under his feet. Comforting. Like home.
Most places in Santa Fe were at street level. They didn’t have boardwalks, and the chalky dust of the street often followed customers into shops and restaurants and offices there. A lot of shop owners and even some customers complained.
But Wes had lived-in or ridden-through dust most of his life. He was often coated with a thin layer of it, little mud rivers trickling down over his forehead and cheeks in the heat of the day. So dust didn’t really bother him. Mostly he missed the comforting sound and feel of the boardwalks.
He looked at the boardwalk as he walked, and he thought again of Rosy.
Some time ago, she had hired some boys to create a wide porch of thick terra cotta tiles in front of the door of her Kiva Café. The porch was in the shape of a half-circle, and it was twenty-feet wide along the wall. It served the purpose of keeping dust down in the café, and it was also a unique and attractive addition to Santa Fe.
Well, like the Kiva Café.
And for that matter, Rosy herself.
Wes grinned as he glanced up.
Then he went wide-eyed and jerked to a stop.
Chapter 10: Sam Pencilman, and Mac
A door had opened right in front of him.
A thin old man in black shoes, black trousers, and a black suit coat over a white shirt stepped out in front of Wes. The man faltered, then turned back toward the door.
It was the door to the telegraph office.
Wes canted his head slightly. “Mr. Pencilman? Is that you?”
The man swung his head to the left, a frown on his face. “Well of course it is. And who wants to know?”
“Oh, well, I’m—”
The old man’s frown deepened, his white eyebrows almost knitted together. “Crowley?” He raised his left hand, extended his bony index finger toward Wes. “Wes Crowley, isn’t it?”
“Yes sir, that’s me.”
“You’ve been gone awhile, haven’t you boy? It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you around.”
“Oh, yes sir, I—”
But Mr. Pencilman’s gaze had shifted to the left breast of Wes’ shirt. “Wait.” He wagged a hand at Wes. “No, Wes Crowley was a Ranger. But I see that you’re a deputy US marshal.” He shifted his gaze back to Wes’ face. “Is there trouble brewing in Amarillo, Marshal? Something I should know about?”
Despite himself, Wes chuckled. “Mr. Pencilman, could we just go inside for a moment? I need to send a telegram. But I’ll explain everything.”
“Is it urgent? I was just about to take a break, so—”
“Oh, yes sir, it’s urgent.” Wes glanced at the balding top of Mr. Pencilman’s head and gestured with his chin. “But you need your hat anyway, don’t you? If you’re going to take a break?”
“My hat?” He reached up to feel where his hat should be, but he felt only a few wisps of white hair on his mostly bald head. “Well I’ll be. I forgot my hat. Let’s go back inside for a moment and I’ll get it.”
“Yes sir. And as long as we’re in there, I need to send a telegram too.”
“Oh. Well, yes, we can do that. I’m the telegrapher, you know.” He gestured toward the door. “This is my office.”
“Yes sir.”
“Good thing you caught me. I was just going out.”
“Yes sir.”
Mr. Pencilman opened the door. “Well, you’d better come in, Marshal. I just have to wonder what’s going on that they’d send a deputy US marshal. It never ceases to amaze me.”
As he followed the old man through the door, Wes said, “What’s that, sir?”
Mr. Pencilman turned around. “What?” Then he pointed past Wes. “Shut the door, will you?”
Wes turned and shut the door, then turned back. “What amazes you, sir?”
Mr. Pencilman canted his head slightly. “Did you need to send a telegram, Marshal?”
“Oh, yes sir.”
“Wait here.” Mr. Pencilman turned away and walked an S shaped path to his position behind the counter, where he picked up a pencil and a pad. “All right. To whom?”
“Governor Wallace, sir. Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory.”
Mr. Pencilman scribbled quickly, never looking up. “And the message?”
“Uh, I hadn’t thought of it.” Wes thought for a moment. “Okay, write this: Messina and Rivas ousted. All others deceased. I’ve returned to Amarillo. I request your approval of my resignation. Grateful, Wes Crowley.”
Mr. Pencilman read the message back to him word for word. “Anything else?”
“No sir, that should do it. Oh, but will you let either me or Captain Wilson know immediately when the governor answers?”
Mr. Pencilman frowned and repeated the request as he scribbled it on the bottom of the pad. “You or Captain Wilson.” He looked up. “You know Captain Wilson?”
Wes grinned. “Yes sir. And you know me. I’m Wes Crowley. I was a Ranger first, and then the captain loaned me to the governor. But I finished that job and now I’m back.”
Mr. Pencilman only looked at him.
“Wait.” Wes fished in his pants pocket for a moment. He unpinned his badge from his shirt, then pinned his Ranger star in its place. “See? Ranger Wes Crowley.”
“Oh, yes!” Mr. Pencilman pointed at him. “I do remember now. Yes, you’re that young Ranger who came down here from Watson with Mac, aren’t you?”
Wes laughed. “Yes sir, that’s me. Mac’s sidekick.”
“Well, welcome back, Ranger.”
“Thank you, sir. But you’ll let me or the captain know when the governor replies to my telegram, right?”
“Yes, yes, certainly. And I’ll send it right now. Then I’m going to take my noon meal.”
“Yes sir.” Wes gestured toward the gray fedora on the nearby hat rack. “And don’t forget your hat.”
“Oh, no, I won’t. I never go out without my hat.”
As Wes turned away and reached for the doorknob, Mr. Pencilman said, “I do remember you, you know. Sometimes I fade a little, but I remember the good ones. I’m glad you’re back, young Ranger Crowley.”
Wes glanced back and grinned. “Thanks, Mr. Pencilman. It’s good to be back.” Still looking back, he opened the door and stepped out. As he pulled the door closed and turned east, he smacked into something solid. “Oh, ‘scuse me.”
“No, it’s my fault. I’m sor— Wes?”
Wes took a half-step back and looked up. He felt his own eyes grow wide. “Mac?”
Otis McFadden was right there, big as life.
At around 6’2” and in the neighborhood of 250 pounds, Mac towered over Wes. He looked the same as he always had, complete with that massive black hat. It was almost as big as a sombrero. Beneath it, he grinned. “It’s me, Wes. In the flesh.” His gaze shifted to Wes’ chest. “Hey, you’re wearin’ your star. You back?”
Wes laughed. “I could never put one over on you, Mac. Yessir, I’m back. Or at least I hope so.” He gestured toward the telegraph office door. “I just wired my resignation to the governor.”
Mac nodded. “Well good! Good deal! Hey, we got a lot to catch up on. And we need to celebrate! So where you headed? I’ll go with you if it’s all right.”
“A’course it’s all right. I was just headed down to the headquarters to see if anybody’s down there.” He gestured past Mac. “Shall we?”
As Wes started walking, Mac turned around and fell in alongside him. “Cap’s in the office, or he was a few minutes ago. I just came from there. The others are all out somewhere. We do have a few new guys, so that helps. But you’ll meet them soon enough.”
Wes nodded. “Good. I need to talk to the captain, and then I was gonna head over to the Inn, see if maybe I can get my room back.”
“Oh, I’m sure Manuel saved it for you.” As they continued walking, Mac clapped Wes on the shoulder. “Man it’s good to have you back, Wes. I mean, we’re still partners, right?”
Wes frowned up at him. “Well, a’course we’re partners. That hasn’t changed. But listen, I’ve been gone close to a year, so how’re things goin’ around here? They make you a corporal yet or you still just a regular Ranger like me?”
Mac laughed. “You know better than that, Crowley. Jack Stilson will make corporal before I do. Him and maybe some others. Anyway, for now we still have the same two corporals—Connolly and Edwards—and the other old guys are all still here.”
“Nobody went and got themselves killed while I was gone?”
“No sir. And in addition to Stilson, Stanton, Lawson, and Pinchot, we also have four more. They’re Billy Dramon, Sam Britten, Tom Siler, and Eli Sanders. They all seem like pretty good guys. They all did pretty good on the range too, plus their tracking and all that.”
“Sounds like we’ve got a full team.”
“Yep, close to it. Especially now that you’re back.”
“Well that’s good.”
“Wes, other than a patrol now and then, we ain’t had a lot of activity. There was one raid on Amarillo out on the east end, but they were only after grain. And Four Crows wasn’t even among ‘em.”
“Huh. I wonder what he’s up to.”
Chapter 11: Captain Wilson, and Manuel Ortega
Wes stopped at the door to the headquarters and gestured. “Well, here we are. Listen, after I talk with the captain, how about we head over to the Inn? You up for a whiskey?”
“Or five.” Mac grinned. “You want me to wait out here?”
Wes frowned. “What? No, come on in. Hell, the captain probably forgot who I am by now. You might have to introduce me.” He chuckled, then opened the door.
As Mac had implied, the room was empty except for the captain. It looked the same as it had before Wes left.
The long conference table lay straight ahead and ran south to north in the west end of the room. Chairs were all around it, and the big map of Texas and a little over half of the New Mexico Territory hung above it on the west wall. The territorial capital of Santa Fe was included. Albuquerque lay at the western edge of the map, which included El Paso del Norte as the westernmost point in the south.
The coat rack and then the stove lay to the right of the door along the south wall. The captain was seated at his desk on the slightly elevated platform in the northeast quadrant of the room. A low wooden fence and gate reminiscent of a courtroom surrounded the platform. The gun rack mounted on the east wall behind the captain’s desk was filled with Winchester carbines, plus the one Henry carbine that Wes had put there a good while back.
The captain was bent over the desk writing something when the two men came in. For a moment, he continued writing and didn’t look up. “May I help you?”
Wes held up one hand to keep Mac silent and grinned. “I just wondered if maybe I could take the oath, Captain. I’m kind’a bored bein’ just a deputy US marshal.”
The captain jerked his head up, then quickly stood.
He was a good six feet tall, and a broad grin spread across his face as he came around his desk. His blond hair hung to just below the collar of the fringed buckskin jacket that hung open over his white shirt. One point of his Ranger star peeked past the edge of the jacket. “Crowley!” He stepped over the low fence, then crossed the floor and extended his hand. As they shook hands, he glanced at Mac. “McFadden, since when do you go around rounding up strays?”
The captain laughed, but he’d already shifted his gaze back to Wes and clapped him on the shoulder. “Yes sir, by damn, you can take the oath anytime you want.” He hesitated, then said, “Though between you and me, you might be the only Ranger I know who’s never forgotten that oath even for a moment, and that includes me.” He laughed again. “How are you, Wes? Are you just visiting or are you ready to come back to work?”
“No sir, I’m not visiting. I’m here to stay if you’ll have me.”
“So you’re all through over there?”
“Yes sir. The Territory’s had about all of me it can stand.” He chuckled. “The last two comancheros over there were in Kiker, and they headed for the badlands two days ago. Far as I can tell, only Messina and his second, a guy named Jorge Rivas, are left. Another one, a young guy named José Rinconado, quit. He said he didn’t want the life anymore. I watched him ride south. He said he was going back to his papa’s farm south of El Paso somewhere. Anyway, the rest of them are all dead, so—”
The captain shook his head. “Well, I’ll be. All of them?”
“Well, there weren’t that many to begin with. Messina halved his bunch to start with, and then I had some good help from the sheriff over in Santa Rosa, a guy named Trey Miller.”
“So the governor cut you loose?”
“Well, not exactly. Not officially yet. Like I said, I caught up with the last dregs over in Kiker, and I’m pretty sure the governor knew when I ran them off I’d be coming on home to Amarillo. But we didn’t talk about that specifically, so—”
“So he doesn’t know you’re here?”
“Well, he knows now, or he will when they deliver my telegram to him.” Wes jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I stopped at the telegraph office and had Sam send him a message. I told him the comancheros were all gone and asked him to approve my resignation. And I asked Sam to let either you or me know immediately when the governor replies. I figure he probably will.”
“Yes, I suspect you’re right.” The captain paused. “I really wish you’d talked personally with him about it before you left, but that can’t be helped now.”
“I’m sure it’ll be all right, Cap. He and I got along pretty well. He knows I wouldn’t quit before the job was done.”
The captain nodded. “I’m a little surprised you’re here, actually. I heard from him a few months ago. He was telling me I might lose you permanently. Naturally he praised your work, but there was also something about a young woman over there. One who runs a restaurant?”
Mac frowned, then laughed. “I should’a known. Another woman, Wes?”
Wes ignored him and looked at the captain. “Yes sir. That would be Miss Rosy. Rose Padilla. She and I were close for awhile. But when it came down to it, she said she couldn’t leave Santa Fe. I understand. It’s her home and she has a successful business over there and all that. But I don’t want to stop bein’ a Ranger either, so—” Wes shrugged.
