Chapter 3

Jim was feeling like something the hounds had dragged in, chewed up, and then spit up. He had pushed himself far past the point of fatigue for the last two weeks, then he had seen his heroic efforts wasted by the slipshod methods of the Sheriff and Deputy, though he still had some hope that he was right and the injun would leave the outlaw trail.

His friendship with Vickie was over. Hellfire, he fumed, he hadn't ever asked that crazy female woman to fall in love with him. Due to his association with her, a good woman he might have learned in time to really care for wouldn't even give him the time of day. The one good thing he'd done in the last month was to kill that damned Silas Hawkins, if you could call his having killed another mother's son a good thing.

Any other time Jim would have been proud of having been the long, swift arm of justice, but with his outlook today, the killing only seemed to be one more notch on an already whittled up tally stick. Jim stopped his spotted stud at the telegraph station and tied him securely out in front.

The door to the telegraph office was open so Jim hobbled right on in. The elderly man behind the desk was evidently the telegrapher. He looked Jim up and down and seemed to be more than a little disappointed in what he saw. He asked Jim. "You the Ranger 'at kilt Silas Hawkins? I'd a thought you'd be a much bigger man."

"I was big enough to get that job of work done, I reckon." Jim answered shortly, then he felt worse for being angry with the old man. "Look, can I just have a telegraph form, please?" It seemed to Jim as if nobody was going to like him as he was today!

The man slid a form and a stubby pencil across the counter. Jim printed tersely, "Brought Joe in. Got receipt. Joe headed north out of Texas. Killed Silas Hawkins. Jim." The Ranger Captain didn't believe in his men wasting state money by sending long messages, as Jim had found out early in his career.

Jim gave the man the address as the Ranger headquarters at Austin to deliver the message to and told him he would wait for a reply. He paid for the message then he went to wait out front. There was an old wooden bench out there; Jim moved it far enough away from the wall that he could sit down comfortably. He sat down and leaned back and he found himself getting drowsy from the fatigue and the loss of blood.

Sometime later Jim groggily woke up as the telegrapher shook him by the shoulder. "Hey Ranger. Your answer just came in from Austin."

Jim took the message; he cleared his throat and thanked the man. He wiped at his eyes with his fists then he read the message. "Luke Warner seen in Gonzales. Capt. Rayford."

He'd not even rated a "well done!" Well, the Captain certainly wasn't known for his appreciative attitude or long-winded praise but then again, Jim had known how he was for the last five years. "I guess I'd best head for Gonzales." Jim thought, "It ain't like I've got anything or anybody keeping me around here!"

Jim stubbornly climbed on his horse and rode around to the Sheriff's barn to pick up his mule. He led the mule around to the livery stable and called to a man who was inside tending the horses. "Would you be interested in buying a good young mule?"

The skinny, bearded old man came outside into the barnyard and Jim could tell he was really giving the mule a hell of a looking over on the way. He stopped a few feet from the mule and spat a thick stream of tobacco right between the animal's front hooves. "Sure would, Cowboy, I'm always in the market for a good mule! Do you know where abouts I can find me one?"

"Wait just a minute, Mister." Jim stopped the hostler. "Before you set in to dickerin', I was talking about this'n right here! Any other time I'd enjoy arguing with you, but just now, I've got to get on down the road. We both know this mule and his tack are worth thirty-five or forty dollars easy, but right now I've got me a big knife hole in my hind leg and if I don't have to get back down off of this tall stud to haggle, I'll take thirty for him."

The old timer looked at the mule's teeth to determine his age; he picked up his feet to check on his disposition and the condition of his hooves, then he lightly swung onto his back and reined him around the yard to make sure that he rode all right. This mule was about as gentle and sound as a mule could possibly be and he handled well with a light rein. The man crankily called across the yard; "I'll be needin' me a recipe for him."

Jim reached a pencil and paper out of his saddlebags; he wrote out a short description of the mule as a bill of sale and exchanged the receipt for the money the buyer handed him when he reined the mule back in next to the stud. The feller had a real sour look on his face, Jim realized it was because he'd stolen the man's thunder by not haggling with him on the deal.

Jim put the thirty dollars in his poke, then he rode on out headed east toward Gonzales.

The mule brayed at them loudly, in the last week he'd gotten so he liked following the big spotted stud. The farther Jim rode from San Antonio, the weaker he felt. That night he came close to falling off of his horse when he tried to dismount.

The Ranger knew by then that his decision to leave San Antonio had been made while he was still half dazed with shock and loss of blood; he should have wired the Captain that he'd been wounded by the outlaw and needed a few days off. He realized he was in as much or more danger now than he'd been when he was facing Silas Hawkins in the cafe.

He gritted his teeth and he managed somehow to slide down off of the saddle without jarring his leg much and he kept a good hold on the horse's reins. He curled up right there on the rough ground and held the reins through the painful night, he knew that if his horse grazed off even a few feet from him, he'd probably lie right there and die.

Jim's last coherent thought before he passed out was his imagining some dumb sod buster of a hundred years in the future turning up his rust encrusted Colts with a plow.

After closer examination they might dig up his badge and maybe even a few shards of his bones and his gold coins. He pictured big wagon loads full of curious town folks riding out to the farm to see the grave and relics of a real old-time Texas Ranger.

When Jim woke the next morning he was feverish and stiff. He looked around the best he could and saw he still held the spotted stud's reins. Jim gritted his teeth against the pain and sat up. He stiffly rolled over; then he got to his knees and started pulling himself up his saddle. By the time he stood erect he was so nauseous from the pain in his leg, he had to endure the dry heaves for a spell.

This weakened Jim so much, he barely had the strength to continue his tortuous trip to the seat of his saddle. Once he was there, he urged the stallion to walk and he held on to the horn. He wasn't real sure where he was headed, but he knew if he stayed where he was he was sure a goner! Jim let the appaloosa have his head while he dozed.

Hell-Fire and Perdition!

Jim came to with the realization that the Bible poundin' preachers had been almighty right about him, he was roasting in hell for his many sins! He struggled to get out of the hot coals but the devil pushed him right back down amongst 'em again. He struck out weakly and he heard the dark angel talking in tongues, this gave him the strength and the will to keep on fighting.

The brave Ranger had never heard tell of anyone escaping from purgatory but he had never been a quitter and he thought if he could only hold out to fight his way back to the saddle of his good spotted stud he might just prove to be the first!

A woman's calming voice penetrated his sense of doom in his fight for his life. He wondered what one of Satan's demons was doing talking to him in a soothing woman's voice? A cool, wet cloth on his brow finally brought him around. The voices weren't talking in tongues now, but in some European language; Jim gave up and quit fighting.

Later, the same woman's sultry voice murmured to him as he felt her hands on him. He couldn't understand how he could be so feverish and yet so aroused at the same time. He felt the woman on top of him and then he felt the snug warmth of her surround him and her soft breasts bouncing on his chest as she rode him to a standstill. Jim's raging fever broke then and he slept.

Jim was freezing to death, for a spell he thought he was back on the front lines of the rebel war against northern aggression in the midst of a bitter winter. His teeth wouldn't stop their infernal chattering. A warm, nude body climbed under the covers with him and a woman's hands chafed his shivering body and held him close until he felt warmer and slept.

Later, he remembered her offering him a bitter bark tea of some sort; he decided from the taste, it was willow. He was almighty thirsty, but try as he might, he was so weak he could only sip a few drops of the brew.

When Jim woke next the stifling heat was still with him, but most of the pain and delirium were gone. He roused and looked around him. He was inside an ornately painted wooden wagon of some sort, and there was a black haired, brown-eyed beauty watching him in appraisal.

He found she had broken his fever this time by wrapping him with blankets and putting hot poultices on his leg. As he watched her she pulled back the covers that wrapped him. Jim felt so much better now than he had been feeling he decided to go along with any damned thing she did!

The woman took the luke-warm wraps off his leg and carefully looked it over. She smiled and nodded encouragingly and brought a fresh steaming cloth and rewrapped the leg. Jim ventured a questioning, "Who are you?"