Lilli Stone

9

Double update because I was so sick yesterday!

Eli Ransom was the half-breed son of a Lipan Apache warrior and a captive half-Mexican half-French woman, though no one really knew the truth behind those circumstances. Folks said he was raised among the Apache until he was nearly twelve and well on his way to being a full-on brave. Then his mother finally escaped her captors and took young Eli with her.

The nearest outpost was , stationed near the gulf in the Republic of Texas. She made her way there, despite Indian pursuit, desert heat, and bad blood between the Mexicans and Americans. Four days after reaching the fort, she died, her abused body weak from thirst and hunger. Young Eli was left to his own devices.

Established in 1825 by José Carbajal, the fort was named for the Lipan Apache Indians, who had long used the site as an ancestral campground. Prior to Carbajal's fort, an old presidio stood there back in 1734, but it was completely gone by the time Fort Lipantitlan was built.

Initially a simple embankment of earth with cannons mounted on each of the four parapets, simple fence-rails lined the fort's perimeter. Later, several buildings and at least one barracks were built surrounding the embankments. I'd heard it was garrisoned with as many as eighty to one hundred and twenty soldiers at any given time.

Young Eli stayed with the Mexican army stationed there, becoming a scout. He served for some years before leaving to make his own way. Making big tracks on the country, many people got to know the name Eli Ransom. Riding on both sides of the law, he made a name for himself as being good with a gun and short on patience. Despite his murky reputation, when he hired on for a job, he rode true.

It paved the way for much of his accomplishments. Brave, honest men were in demand all over the country, regardless of their past. Riding shotgun for the budding stage lines he had a short career as a payroll guard for Wells Fargo. Not a single stage he rode lost their cargo. Then happened the now famous story of the fatal showdown with Blackjack Barlow in New Orleans.

I knew the story by heart, as Smitty had told it to me many times over the flickering light of the campfires. Eli Ransom, now a young man of twenty-one, was quiet, with keen eyes, two good ears, but a closed mouth. He kept to himself, listening far more than talking. Not known to hunt trouble, never did he run from it. All who knew his reputation knew Eli Ransom stood his ground, shoving back hard when he was pushed.

Blackjack was a bully, a hired gun, and a mean drunk. That night he'd been drinking aplenty. When Eli pushed through the batwing doors, Blackjack turned his eyes on the young man and thought he saw an easy mark. He had no use for Indians, especially their half-breed whelps.

Eli Ransom was a strapping figure by then, tall with makings of a deep chest and broad shoulders. He'd seen a good deal, despite his youth, sometimes surviving only by his wit and the speed of his horse. Though not well known by his face, his name carried the reputation of being smooth with a gun as well. He noticed Blackjack's menacing look, but readily dismissed him. He wanted only a place to sit and drink.

As it turned out he was offered both by lovely Miss Susie Walsh, a saloon girl locally known to be Blackjack's woman. Eli only saw a lovely blonde with big blue eyes smiling at him, and he dropped into the chair she offered returning the grin. Neither of them paid any mind to Blackjack, whose face went red with anger, his close-set eyes sparking fire.

Blackjack may have been a short-tempered man but he was not reckless, and he waited with simmering fury while Eli enjoyed his drink, and his companion. Less than an hour later, instead of taking the girl upstairs, Eli slipped her out the back door, gone before anyone really noticed. Blackjack almost lost it when he saw they had vanished, and took off after them, spoiling for trouble. No one thought to tell him it was Susie's job, Eli was a half-breed after all, what did they care?