A RANGER'S TIME

Chapter 1

The Ranger

August, 1887

Somebody's going to die here. Charlie prayed it wouldn't be him. He slowly inched his hand to his holster and unhooked the leather hammer strap. This was going to go real bad real soon. Ranger Charlie Turlock nervously watched the eight men standing in front of the ranch house.

A hot, dusty August breeze swirled around him and fanned his dirty white duster. A bead of sweat escaped the sweatband on Charlie's hat and traversed the wrinkles that lined the weather-beaten face of this old Texas Ranger.

Charlie and fellow Texas Ranger Dick Adams escorted two deputy US marshals to Abe Walker's southwest Texas ranch to serve an arrest warrant on a saddle tramp named "Bull" Murphy. He was wanted in Wichita for killing a bartender.

Cattle baron Abe Walker leaned against a post on the front porch of his house. He stood with his right hand resting on his gun. Even in his mid-sixties, he was still a titan of a man. His six-foot, two-inch frame and broad shoulders gave him the air of authority. He too carefully watched everyone like a mountain lion ready to pounce. He wore the defiant smile of a man in control.

The four lawmen stood in the courtyard to Abe's right facing Bull Murphy, two other ranch hands, and foreman Mac Sherman. The men formed a disorganized circle. Their eyes shifted back and forth from one person to another. The tension was intensified by the oppressive heat and humidity. Marshal Williams, from Wichita, just announced his intention to arrest Murphy and return him to Kansas to stand trial.

"Well, I don't believe I like that notion, Marshal," Bull Murphy said. "I kinda like it here, so I don't think I'll be obliging you." There was a pause as Murphy looked at Mac Sherman and Abe Walker. He smiled at the four lawmen across from him. "I work for Mr. Walker here in the Pecos and everyone knows the only law in the Pecos is Mr. Walker's law."

The ranch hands and Abe Walker laughed. Walker sauntered along the porch railing to the top of the porch steps. "You got your answer, Marshal! I'm starting a drive soon and I can't spare any hands. I think you'd better leave now."

The two marshals looked at each other and began a short conversation that no one else could hear. No one wanted a gun battle, but at this point there was no getting away from it. Charlie thought he noticed a slight smile break on the corner of Marshal Hendricks's mouth.

"Oh, hell no," Charlie muttered. The deputy marshals turned back toward Murphy and drew their guns. But at the same time, everyone else drew theirs. At the first shot, the men scurried in all directions. Adams and Charlie joined the shootout.

Mac Sherman drew and fired at Marshal Hendricks, striking him dead center in his chest before the marshal could get his gun completely out of his holster. His chest erupted with a crimson discharge and the marshal collapsed. Marshal Williams fired twice at Mac but both shots missed. Then the marshal loosed a couple of rounds at Murphy dropping him instantly. Walker and the other ranch hands fired at the lawmen.

During the melee, Walker's 18 year old son, Jeremiah, came out of the house brandishing a Henry rifle. He shot Deputy Marshal Williams who crumpled to the dirt. Jeremiah then turned his rifle to Dick Adams and fired a shot that missed. Charlie raised his Colt and pulled the trigger. It was empty. He quickly pulled the Smith and Wesson from his belt and fired. The porch wall behind Jeremiah exploded with the boy's blood and he dropped to the floor. Seeing his son go down, Abe Walker dropped his gun, slumped to the porch floor, and cradled the body of his son in his arms.