Welcome To The Bullpen
The Wisdom of a Ranger
Tim Carpenter
The intensity of the hot afternoon sun was merciless. Shimmering heat waves stretched out to the distant horizon, appearing to make objects move even though they were stationary. The distortion from the rising heat made the desert appear somewhat unreal, with tall, wavy saguaro cactus interspersed with what looked like long, narrow, glittering lakes out in the distance. The lakes appeared cool and refreshing. The air was stifling, hot, and smelled of dust.
It was all an illusion created by the heat radiating from the ground and Ward Hatcher of Company A, Texas Rangers paid little attention to it. He had seen it all before, many times. The thought of cool, refreshing water was alluring, but Ward knew these shimmering lakes held only the promise of death. To dwell on their possible existence was madness.
A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face, clinging momentarily to his whiskered chin before falling off into the dust. The sweat and dust caused his lean, unshaven face to itch a little, but he didn’t move to scratch it. Instead he just gritted his teeth and swore softly to himself through dry, cracked lips. It was hot.
He was lying motionless next to a large granite boulder. The desert before him appeared empty, but looks were sometimes deceiving, and Ward knew without a doubt that the man he was trailing was out there somewhere not too far away. He waited patiently beside the giant rock for an indication as to the outlaw’s whereabouts and wondered how long it was going to take for the man to make a mistake.
A bee buzzed lazily past Ward’s position and the fading sound contrasted sharply with the otherwise silent expanse before him. The only other sound he could remember was an annoying, whiny buzz of a fly that had continually flew around and around, landing over and over again on some coyote droppings a few feet away. That had been earlier that morning. Or, had it been yesterday morning? Ward was no longer certain, but either way, it seemed long ago. It was like that in the desert. Time seemed to stand still, or at the very least, pass slowly. Nevertheless, Ward Hatcher kept his lonely vigil, scanning the desert with tired, red-rimmed eyes. The heat was almost unbearable.
This was an old game to the hardy Texas Ranger, whose lithe form and hawk-like countenance belied his gentle nature. His features were bronzed by the sun and honed by the wind and there was a smattering of gray hair beginning to show at his temples. He was a middle-aged man, wide of shoulder and lean of hip, and his skill and experience went well beyond his age of 34 years. He laid perfectly still, only his eyes moving, searching, and briefly resting on each object before him as his mind sifted through every bit of information brought to him by his well developed senses. His only movement, besides his eyes, was his shallow, nearly imperceptible breathing. He knew from experience that the first one to move was usually the first one to die.
Ward had gained his experience the hard way. He had applied himself, using his wits to gain any and every advantage. That is not to say that he hadn’t made mistakes in his eleven years as a Texas Ranger. On the contrary, he had made some real blunders, but he had learned from his mistakes and tried hard not to repeat them. More often than not his dedication to learning, especially when the odds were stacked against him, had paid off in spades. He had been fortunate, yes, but wisdom had been gained as well, and he had learned to listen to his inner voice, to heed its warnings. It had saved his life on more than one occasion and he listened for that voice now. It was telling him to be one with the desert and to wait, the answer to his dilemma would soon be revealed.
The desert was a harsh taskmaster, and offered no apologies to those who did not conform to its ways. The lessons it imparted were hard, oftentimes brutal, yet rewarding as well. Ward had heeded the desert’s warnings and had survived as a result. He had learned to live with the isolation and the vast distances, and had gained an appreciation for the subtle beauty of a tortured and twisted land. He had also learned early on that the desert demanded certain things from anyone who ventured into its domain. One of these demands was patience.
Patience was a virtue, if not a necessity, when wandering in the desert and Ward had become a patient man. He had learned to move slowly, to study every detail, to see and hear what the desert was trying to tell him. For his effort, the desert had responded grudgingly with a reward, and that reward had been life itself. To those who neglected to learn the lessons taught by the desert, the reward was a horrible and lonely death.
Ward was thirsty, yet he refrained from thinking about reaching for his canteen and the warm, brackish water it contained. Instead, he elected to pick up a small pebble, placing it in his mouth to entice his salivary glands into producing a little moisture. It was just one of many lessons he had gleaned from the desert, and in certain circumstances could mean the difference between life and death. Was today going to present one of those circumstances? It was a possibility.
Shifting his gaze out to the shimmering horizon and back again, Ward confirmed what his eyes had picked up moments before. There was a shadow, or rather a sliver of shadow next to an outcropping of rock that was out of place for this time of day. He had almost overlooked it, but Ward had kept studying the desert before him, sensing that something was out of place. He had studied every detail carefully, for to do otherwise would have been shear folly. The desert had stayed silent, testing him once again, and now he had been rewarded with the knowledge that his quarry was indeed out there.
The outlaw had been careless. Perhaps he was not as knowledgeable in the ways of the desert as he had led Ward to believe. This infraction was going to cost him, and Ward was there to make sure he paid the price for his negligence. It didn’t mean that Ward was going to kill him, though he would if it became necessary, but bringing the outlaw to justice for his crime was payment enough.
Considering the desert around the outlaw’s hiding place, Ward saw that there was a slanting rock wall behind and to the left of where the man lay in ambush. If he were to change his position a little, Ward knew he could use the rock wall to his advantage. It only took a moment to make his decision, and quietly spitting the small pebble out of his mouth, he slowly slithered back out of sight behind the boulder he was lying next to.
Quickly and quietly, Ward eased along the outcropping of rock he had utilized as a lookout, and came to a small notch surrounded by more granite boulders. Easing his Winchester out ahead of him, he sighted along the barrel, careful to keep the rifle in the shade of the boulders. Any glint of sun from his rifle would give away his carefully concealed position, and could lead to his own untimely death, and that just would not do. Besides, in the afternoon heat, it wouldn’t take the direct sunlight long to make the rifle barrel uncomfortable to the touch. A rifle that couldn’t be held was useless to him.
Ward Hatcher smiled when he thought about how Sam Connors was going to take the news that he had been outsmarted. Sam had been a pretty good opponent so far and had probably come to the conclusion that he was going to get away with committing his particular crime. Ward knew Sam fairly well now, and had a good idea how Sam’s mind worked. You didn’t track a man for the better part of three weeks over every type of terrain and not learn quite a bit about him and how he thought.
Yeah, it was just as he had thought. The slanting rock wall was tilted at the right angle and he could ricochet as many bullets into Sam Connors as he wished. Sam would have to give up now or be brutally shredded by hot lead. There was no place left for him to run without being cut down instantly, and Ward Hatcher was an excellent shot with either rifle or pistol.
“Sam,” Ward spoke evenly, just loud enough for Sam to hear, “You might as well give up.”
“You can go to the Devil, Hatcher,” Sam replied momentarily.
“Sam, I don’t want to kill you, but I will if you make a break for it. That wall of rock behind you makes a pretty good target and you know what a ricochet will do to a man. Why don’t you be smart and throw down your guns and come on out of there.”
Sam swore loudly and Ward knew that Sam had finally come to the only conclusion he could come to under the circumstances. Ward was willing to let him think on it for another moment or two, but that was all. The sun was going to be setting soon and Ward wanted to end the chase before that happened. He didn’t want to take a chance on letting Sam Connors slip away after dark. Besides, he was tiring of this game.
“Just throw down your guns and come on out where I can see you Sam,” Ward prodded. “It’s as easy as that.”
“Easy for you maybe, but not for me. I’m facing a rope, Ranger.”
“Maybe.”
“Ain’t no maybe about it! I need time to think about this,” Sam was beginning to sound a little desperate, but Ward was unmoved. He didn’t want to believe that Sam was just playing for time, but he couldn’t take that chance.
“Sam, from what I was told you may only get a few years in prison for killing Len Hasbeck. The way I heard it, he was crowding your range and was looking for trouble.”
“Yeah, well, he found it.”
“Give it up Sam. I ain’t goin’ to ask you again.”
The desert remained eerily silent, the air oppressive and hot. It was as if every living thing was waiting to see what was going to happen next. Time continued to drag by slowly.
Suddenly, the air was rent with a loud curse from behind the outcropping of rock and Sam’s gun belt and rifle flew out, landing with a metallic thud on the soft desert sand. Ward watched as Sam Connors raised his hands above his head and slowly stood up, looking around to try and see where his captor was hiding. His dark, unruly hair was dusty and his face sunburned and unshaven. He had a scowl on his face and did not appear to be happy at all about the way things had turned out.
Ward kept his rifle trained on Sam’s midsection as he stood up, then motioned with it, indicating to Sam to move off to the right into the open desert. Sam complied, albeit slowly. Ward was wary of this outlaw, trusting his instincts and keeping his guard up. Now was not the time to relax. Not just yet.
Moving down toward the outlaw, Ward picked up the gun belt and rifle that Sam had abandoned and walked toward his captive. He noticed a deformity in the shadow Sam cast and realized the outlaw had something hidden in the back of his pants.
“Turn around Sam so I can cuff you, but get rid of that hold out gun you have hidden in the back of your pants first, and be careful not to do it too fast. I’d hate to have to bore you by mistake.”
Sam cursed softly under his breath and gingerly reached behind his back and pulled the small pistol out and offered it to Ward. Ward shook his head no and pointed with his eyes toward the ground. Sam smiled, revealing white even teeth and tossed the gun to the sand. He then turned around and waited patiently while Ward locked the steel cuffs around his wrists.
“You Rangers are a salty bunch, ain’t you? You don’t miss a trick.”
There was genuine admiration in his voice as he spoke and Ward just smiled at him. He was tired and hot, but he wasn’t about to let his guard down. There was still a couple hundred miles of desert to cross before this episode was over.
“Let’s get your horse rounded up Sam, and get out of here. If you’re a good boy I may just feed you once or twice between here and El Paso.”
Sam Connors looked quickly at Ward Hatcher but still couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. He decided right then that he wanted to eat before he got back to Texas, so he would make every effort to be on his best behavior. With this tough, competent Texas Ranger there was no telling what might happen. He hadn’t had time to eat much of anything in the past day or so and he was beginning to feel the affects. Besides, he was too tired to make much of a fuss about anything. He could afford to rest up and get some grub in his belly and then size the situation up later. It was a long way to El Paso and anything might happen between here and there. He might just get lucky and get a break.
* * *
The sun was just breaking over the horizon when Sam Connors opened his eyes. Something had caused him to awaken abruptly and he scowled at the interruption, but remained silent. Stealing a quick glance at the place where Ward Hatcher had been sleeping, Sam felt suddenly all alone. The Ranger’s bed was empty and he was nowhere in sight. Sam started to get to his feet but Ward’s voice stopped him. The voice seemed to emanate from a crop of boulders a few yards away.
“Stay where you are Sam,” Ward said soft and low. “We got company comin’ and I don’t know who it is just yet.”
Sam was uneasy. He didn’t like being handcuffed and hated the idea of not having a gun of his own. He felt exposed. He was beginning to hear the sound of several horses moving along out in the distance. It was only an occasional hoof fall or a stone rattling and he wanted desperately to see what was going on. He waited, listening intently and hoping that maybe somehow this was going to be the break he had been waiting for.
Sam Connors had been riding handcuffed to his horse for four days and he was tired of being confined. He had spent a lot of time thinking about how to get Ranger Hatcher to uncuff him, if even for a little while, but could think of no situation where the Ranger would be inclined to do so short of an ambush by the Apache.
Apache….. Sam Connors suddenly began to worry. It was entirely possible that the horsemen approaching could indeed be Apache and if that were the case, they were in big trouble. What if they were discovered by the Apache? At the moment, Sam realized he had no weapon and became very concerned about it. Damn that Ranger!
The sound of the approaching horsemen grew louder and then abruptly stopped. He could hear voices talking low and realized it was a mixture of Spanish and something else. Although he understood Spanish to a degree, he couldn’t make out what was being said because they were talking in soft, low tones.
Suddenly, there was a sharp cry and the sound of the horse’s hooves increased. Sam could see the swirling dust cloud created by the milling horses and then there was the loud CRACK! of a rifle shot off to his right. At the same time came the shout of the Texas Ranger, telling him to get over in the rocks with him.
As Ward Hatcher’s rifle exploded again and again, Sam made a running dive into the rocks where he figured the Ranger was holed up. Getting unsteadily to his feet in the soft sand, Sam made his way up to where Ward was situated in a small cul-de-sac of boulders. It was hard scrambling up into the small fortress with his hands cuffed behind him, and he swore softly to himself as he staggered and almost fell. There was a loud whine as a bullet clipped a rock next to his face and went ricocheting off after spraying him with fragments. He couldn’t tell if it was blood or sweat or both trickling down his cheek, and he didn’t really have the time to think much about it. All he wanted was Ward Hatcher to uncuff him, give him a rifle or pistol, and let him defend himself.
Ward stopped firing long enough to unlock the steel handcuffs locked around Sam’s wrists and then pointed to a rifle leaning against a rock that helped make up their defenses. He also pointed out where the Apache were now hiding, but Sam could see no trace of the Indians. It was as if there had been nobody there at all and the excitement of the last few moments had been a terrible dream.
“Keep your head down, Sam,” Ward relayed roughly. ‘I got one of them for shore, and maybe burned another, but I don’t know.”
“How many do you reckon are out there, Ranger?” Sam was excited and scared but tried to keep his voice calm. It wasn’t easy. He was panting and sweating and he suddenly realized he was hungry and thirsty.
“I saw five altogether as they rode up, and if two are out of it, that leaves three and that’s a handful.”
Sam nodded his understanding of the situation and tried to get a good look out at the area where the Apache had gone to ground. There was nothing in sight! No horses, no dust, nothing. Suddenly, Ward aimed his rifle and let go with a bullet. Sam couldn’t see what he was aiming at until an Apache suddenly rolled over and laid still next to a small yucca out in front of them. It was amazing that Ward could even have seen the Indian at all. He had blended right in with the desert and Sam had missed him altogether only moments before when he had looked right at that particular spot. His admiration and appreciation for Ward’s skill increased immensely in that moment.
“It’s a good thing I brought our horses in close to camp earlier,” Ward said nonchalantly. “I had a hunch that something was going to happen.”
Sam just nodded and stared out at the early morning desert before him. It was a beautiful morning, the air crisp and clear with a few high, wispy clouds. If it were not for the Apache it would be a pleasant morning all around.
Sam kept his eyes peeled for any sign of Indians but couldn’t see anything that looked like one. Suddenly an Apache jumped up and ran back to a small arroyo, but was only in sight for a moment and neither Ward nor Sam took a shot. It looked like this cat and mouse game was going to last awhile.
Ward Hatcher reloaded his rifle as he stared out at the surrounding desert. There were two Apache definitely out of the fight and possibly a third but he wasn’t about to count the third one. Not yet anyway. That meant there were possibly three left and that was three too many as far as he was concerned.
Turning to Sam, Ward smiled to put the man at ease and then spoke softly.
“Sam, I’m going to check on the horses and then see if I can get in a position to take another Apache out. If I don’t come back, you are on your own. If you hear a lot of shooting, wait at least ten minutes and then head out and go west if I don’t show. Circle around to the north and make a run for El Paso. I’m guessing that we are about fifty miles due south of there. I’d appreciate it if you would leave me my horse. I may need it.”
“Don’t you think you ought to stay here and wait them out?” Sam asked. He had a slight hint of fear in his voice, but was otherwise fairly calm.
“Naw, I can’t wait this time, Sam. If one of them has high-tailed it back to their camp for help, we won’t stand a chance gettin’ outta here. This is the only way.” Ward checked the loads in his two pistols and then grabbed his canteen and swallowed a good gulp of water. Then he spoke one more time.
“Sam, no matter what, don’t let the Apache get near the horses. They are safely out of the way behind us right now. If they get the horses, we’re dead men.”
Ward then turned and climbed quickly down the backside of the boulder fortress and disappeared.
Sam was scared, more scared than he could ever remember. He wished now that he had never stepped foot in this God-forsaken desert. How did his life get so darned fouled up in the first place? He should have just let Len Hasbeck alone and maybe things would have turned out all right. He had been such a fool. Now he was surely going to die here at the hands of the Apache and that thought disturbed him greatly. He had heard all the stories of how the Apache liked to torture a captive and he resolved to not be taken alive if he could help it. It would have been better if he had made it back to El Paso and swung at the end of a rope.
Sam was watching the desert intently as he tried to brush away his morbid thoughts and calm himself down. If he was going to die, at least he could die like a man and go out in a blaze of gunfire. At least it would be short and he wouldn’t have to suffer for very long. He poked his head around and gazed back to where the horses were standing three-legged, grazing on the sparse foliage. He saw nothing but wide open desert.
A slight breeze ruffled Sam’s dark, unruly hair as he peered out at the still, lonely desert through dark, tired eyes. There was something wrong with the way the rocks out yonder looked, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on just what it was. He looked off to one side and back again quickly, and he saw then what it was. It was an Apache slowly crawling toward him between cactus and loose rocks. He was crawling so slowly that he hardly moved at all and his dusty hair and dark skin almost blended in with the surrounding rocks and shadows.
Raising his rifle and taking careful aim, Sam squeezed off a single shot. The Apache suddenly leaped almost straight up, dispensing a gurgling yell and then fell back among the rocks and brush, landing out of sight.
Sam thought his heart was going to pound out of his chest and the thumping of it filled his ears. He struggled to listen and to get a sense of what was going to happen next. He looked quickly all around, but saw nothing unusual, and tried to calm his unsteady hands. He was scared more than ever now. Damn that Ranger! Where was he?
Things were different now that he was alone. He thought about the horses and almost made a mad dash for them, but caught himself before making a definite move. He couldn’t bring himself to leave the Ranger all alone out here without a horse. It would mean certain death and he would have the death of two white men on his hands, and that was a burden he didn’t want to carry around for the rest of his life.
Sure, he could run for it now and probably start over again in Oregon or California or somewhere, but he would always be looking over his shoulder and he didn’t relish that thought at all. He had had enough of running and hiding. Besides, the Ranger had been a decent fellow so far and had allowed him to defend himself. He could just as easily have left him handcuffed and weaponless, and high-tailed it out of there all by himself. He didn’t have to stick around and save the hide of a known killer he had been sent to get, dead or alive. He could have left him to the Apache and nobody would ever have known the truth.
No, he would stick it out, no matter what. There could only be one or two Apache left, and one of them more than likely was wounded. The Ranger had even said so, and Sam believed him when he said he thought he had hit another one. The Ranger certainly wasn’t no slouch when it came to shooting and hitting what he aimed at.
There was a sudden, furious explosion of rifle shots and then it was deathly silent. Sam craned his neck to see if he could discern what had happened, but there wasn’t anything to see. The shots had been somewhat muffled and that puzzled him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement and started to swing his rifle around to answer the threat when he recognized Ward Hatcher’s dusty, hatless form and the shadow it cast upon the ground. Something seemed wrong, and Sam realized that Ward had been hit and was bleeding badly from a wound just above his hip. His dark gray shirt was stained red with blood and he was staggering a little as he made his way up into the cul-de-sac. The Ranger grimaced as he sat down quickly on a small boulder and looked like he was about to pass out. Sam was suddenly afraid for the man and moved to help him.
“I need a drink of water, Sam,” Ward spoke softly, his voice dry and crackly.
Sam handed Ward the canteen and then started to raise his shirttail to look at the wound. It was a nasty looking hole, two holes actually, for the bullet had gone clean through. Sam grabbed the canteen and doused his neckerchief with water and cleaned away the blood as best he could, then made bandages from an extra shirt he carried in his saddle bags and bound up the wounds. He succeeded in getting the bleeding stopped for the time being and then stood and looked at Ward. The stalwart Ranger was about done for, and needed help to get on his horse.
Sam gathered up their belongings and quickly mounted his own horse. He then held onto Ward, keeping him from falling out of the saddle as he made his way northward toward where he supposed El Paso would be. He hurried as much as he could and hoped that their luck would hold.
* * *
Ward Hatcher turned a little sideways in his chair and reached into his pocket for a match. He struck the match on the awning post next to his chair, watched it flare to life, and then touched it to the end of the cigarette he had just rolled. He inhaled deeply, holding the spent match until it was completely dead, and looked out across the desert toward the Rio Grande and Old Mexico. He had spent a good bit of time over the last few weeks sitting in this same chair and looking out at the same bleak landscape. As his bullet wounds had healed, he had sat and contemplated his journey through this world and just where he was headed in the grand scheme of things. He had already decided that he would remain a Texas Ranger, and had already been sent a telegram from Austin, indicating that his services were needed once again as soon as he was able to ride.
Ward reflected briefly on his last sojourn as a Ranger, and decided that things had turned out rather well despite being wounded in the process. Sam Connors had been jailed and tried by a jury of his peers, and in the end had been acquitted of the charge of murder. It had been ruled a case of self defense, most of the other jurors having been threatened by the same belligerent Len Hasbeck that had been shot by Sam, and the consensus was that the world, or at least their little part of it, was better off without him.
Ward had testified on behalf of Sam Connors and relayed how Sam had stood shoulder to shoulder with him against the Apache, and had patched him up and brought him back to El Paso even though he was facing almost certain death at the end of a rope.
The West being what it was, and the people respecting someone who displayed the kind of courage Sam had displayed by bringing in the wounded lawman who had also been his captor, had decided that Sam was the kind of citizen the West needed at that time, and overlooked some of the facts in the case to render an acquittal. Ward Hatcher was pleased with the outcome of the trial, and harbored no ill feelings whatsoever toward Sam Connors. On the contrary, he was glad that Sam had been man enough to do the right thing and bring him back safely instead of running away and escaping justice, and leaving him wounded and possibly dying out on the desert.
Ward turned in his chair at the sound of the footsteps on the boardwalk, and winced a little at the slight tinge of pain in his side. He smiled when he saw that Sam Connors had squatted down beside him, looking out at the same desert that Ward had been contemplating for the last couple of weeks.
“How are you feeling today, Hatch?” Sam asked pleasantly. His dark hair was even longer now and just as unruly. He took out the makings and started to roll himself a cigarette.
“I feel pretty good, all things considered,” Ward replied quietly. “I’m getting kinda tired of lookin’ at that same damn stretch of desert yonder, though.”
“I suppose you’ll be headin’ back to Austin soon, huh?”
“Yep, McNelly wired that he wants to see me, so I guess that means there’s another fugitive he wants me to track down.”
Sam nodded his agreement and stared blankly off into the desert as he puffed quietly on his cigarette and picked at his fingernails. There was an unmistakable bond between the two men, although neither man had spoken much about their ordeal. They were both content to let a sleeping dog lie for the moment.
“I’m thinkin’ about getting back out to my little spread and pickin’ up where I left off,” Sam offered. “A couple of the other ranchers are gonna stake me to some cattle to get me started again, and I think I may be able to make a go of it if I don’t run into any more folks like Hasbeck.”
“You’ll be all right Sam,” Ward said nonchalantly. “If you have any more trouble, send for me and I’ll see that they get what’s comin’ to ‘em.”
Sam chuckled at the thought.
“You betcha I will, Hatch,” Sam said, “But, I don’t rightly know if I could do that to anybody.”
Ward looked quickly at Sam with a questioning look and Sam continued talking.
“Having you on my trail all those days was pure Hell. Nobody should ever have to put up with the likes of that.”
Ward chuckled and saw that Sam was smiling too. He had a clear image of Sam heading down into a dry, dusty arroyo a quarter of a mile ahead of him and wondering if he was going to live out the day. It had been a difficult time for him as well, and he decided to let Sam know it.
“You know, Sam,” Ward began, “ You gave me a good run there for awhile, but I finally decided that you were worth saving, and I backed off a little bit there at the end. Some other fellers I’ve chased weren’t as lucky. All things said, you were a real handful of trouble for me, and I’m glad we were able to work things out in the end.”
“Yeah, me too, Hatch. I guess we both came to the same conclusion out there on the desert.”
“You think so, Sam?”
‘Yessir, I do. I think you know as well as I do that you would have eventually killed me, and I’m glad that you gave me the chance to surrender instead. You are one mucho, malo hombre my friend.”
“You were just too good a man to go out that way, Sam.” Ward replied sincerely. “I’m glad that we both arrived at that conclusion, my friend.”
“Thanks Hatch. I know I don’t have to say it, but if there is ever anything that I can do for you…..”
“I appreciate that Sam, I really do,” Ward replied, moved by Sam’s sincere words. “Just don’t make me have to chase you all over Hell’s half acre again, okay?”
“I promise, Ward,” Sam said, making the sign of the cross. “That will never happen again.”
The two men sat quietly and looked out over the dusty, dry, desert country across the river, each one glad that things had turned out just fine.
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