Sunset Ride

Lance was there. Bullets were flying over and into the rock formation being used as cover. The no-named band of horse thieves had set up a hasty ambush when Lance Hartingway and Jebadiah Lowrance were gaining on their trial. The two Texas Rangers had been tracking them west from San Antonio for a week when they were finally close enough to apprehend them. That’s when they started shooting.

Lance, gunslinger smile under a curling mustache, loaded his colt and looked at Jebadiah. “If they took the time to set up a meeting like this, you’d think they’d have some music at least.” Jebadiah laughed, timing was Lance’s thing, and he was good at it.

He opened his eyes to find he was not where he remembered being. Jebadiah’s senses were awakening as well, and he became conscious of the smell of pine. Though it was strange to his desert sensitivities, the smell was pleasant when accompanied with a cool, dry breeze. He moved his hat which had been covering his eyes back to it's rightful place on his head. His eyes followed his senses, causing him to sit up and turn around to where he had been leaned back. He captured his surroundings in the rusted steel trap he called his mind, concluding he was on passenger train.

Bench seat he was on, and another across from the table his saddle bag was resting on. Wood trimming, he thought was oak but did not care about trees enough to feel the need to waist time on the observation. He continued to observe his surroundings while turning to face behind his waking self, not sure if his body was moving slow or just his mind. Finally, he looked outside the window of the compartment.

Pine trees, across mountains and valleys, their dark evergreen contrasting the pale blue of the sky. The tops of the mountains where white. Snow he thought and realized this was the first time he had seen mountains like that.

“That ain’t right,” he said, grunted really, to the empty cabin. He sat watching the scenery go by quickly, the click clacks of the rail car continuing the melody of modern travel. Watching and pondering now, as he did not remember getting on the train, or getting to the cabin. “Lance,” he said to the mountain, commanding the far away goliath to provide answers to where his friend ran off to.

Whiskey he thought, as that was his personally prescribed medicine, and Jebadiah reached for his saddle bag. The hand, obviously attached to his body, did not look like the hand he had seen with Lance but moments before. Liver spots the color of the leather saddle bag, hand and bag sharing the same texture, a slight shake to his fingers. He took hold of the bag, pulling it closer and now observing his other hand.

Same.

Jebadiah grunted “I’ll be damned,” sounding more like a bullfrog than the tenor he once was.

In a flash, he had gotten old.

A knock on the compartment distracted him from the sudden shock he was feeling. Left hand unbuckling the saddle bag, and right hand going for his Colt he kept on his hip, he steadied his breath. Old or young, I’m still a Ranger damnit.

“Enter,” came the bullfrog in his throat.

The door to the cabin slid open, and the train’s conductor stood. Politely dressed in black slacks and a grey shirt, with the holepunch in his hand, the conductor peered inside of the compartment. The man’s eyes were quick and smooth, practiced in observation of minor details. Jebadiah was the last thing in the compartment this man took an interest in, where upon he asked, “Where is your guest, sir?”

Jebadiah responded with a noncommittal grunt, sounding like the “I don’t know” he refused to enunciate on any given occasion he realized he did not have the right answer immediately. Behind the conductor, Jebadiah could see the hall leading to either end of the car. Porters were flashing by quickly, passengers taking their time as the only item on their itinerary was to arrive at the station, their journey out of their control.

The conductor had not wavered in his observation of Jebadiah, ignoring what was around him to ensure he kept his quarry in his sights. “Alright then,” the conductor relented, “Ticket please.”

Jebadiah released the handle of his colt to better investigate the contents of this saddle bag. Buckle undone, flap open, he slowly inspected the contents of his bag to find mostly food provisions and a change of long underwear. He closed the pouch and opened the other.

A star fell out of the pouch, landing with a ting that resounded louder than the train itself.

As quick as a rattler, the conductor reached out and snatched up the badge of office, the marker of a Texas Ranger. It took all of Jebadiah’s power, and some of the Holy Ghost’s as well, to keep from shooting the conductor.

You don’t just take a Ranger’s badge.

“My apologies sir,” said the conductor dismissively. Turning the badge over in his hand, he was unaware that Jebadiah has once again placed his right hand on his Colt.

“You aren’t retired?” asked the conductor, “Sir?” he added as an afterthought. He had a twinkle in his eye, a flash of amusement in the absurdity. This old man could not mount a horse if he was lowered onto it, he thought.

“I’d give that back,” came a voice from the hallway. Jebadiah could not see the speaker, but the voice carried like a rifle shot and hit the conductor much like a bullet. The man jumped when the voice sounded and turned to hear “Awfully rude to take a Ranger’s badge Mister. I’ve seen men shot for less.”

The door to the cabin closed on its own, leaving Jebadiah by himself once again. The conductor did not return the badge, so he stood to go after the little scoundrel. In his effort to get off the bench, his knees began to ache sharply, there was a pop that emanated from his right ankle and another from his left hip. He made it up and opened the door.

Lance was standing in front of him. Lance, young again with his mustache and gunslinger smile. Jebadiah Lowrance forgot his aches for a moment and asked “Get my badge back?”

“Yessir, Captain Lowrance,” said the Lance Hartingway look alike.

“Good man,” said Jebadiah with a smile. He hid it, but there were two things that confused him. First, this Lance’s voice was the same as in the hallway, but not at all the same as he remembered. It was deeper, more gravel and less songbird than he remembered. The second thing was the fact that he was addressed as “Captain”.

Jebadiah sat down where he had been originally, and the Lance look alike sat across from him. “Good thing I came back around when I did,” the Lance was saying, “I’ve heard some impolite things about that conductor. I think I scared him enough though, and he should know better. We ain’t the only Rangers on this train anyway.”

Jebadiah had been back in his saddle bag and retrieving the flask of whiskey at last. When he pulled out the flask however, a small vial of white pills fell out and rolled on the table. Ignoring it, Jebadiah opened and took a big swig of the alcohol, relishing the burn and feeling the rusted trap of his mind getting the oil it so desperately needs.

“Two in every car, right?” asked Jebadiah, not quite knowing where that information came from. He felt that was the truth though, and feeling alone had kept him alive for this long.

“Yes sir,” the much younger Lance Hartingway said while handing over one of the white pills from the vile. “Each pair know their duty.”

Jebadiah took the pill, fingers still shaking, and chased it down with more whiskey. Hartingway continued, “The rest of the team know more than likely they won’t hit the train, they’ve changed their targets at random so much that we may not attract their eye even with the gold.”

Capping the flask, Jebadiah looked out the window. Snow capped mountains, deep green pine trees, high valley walls and a river down below, this isn’t Texas. His mind was clearing now. He felt more than thought his memories returning. He was remembering the plan but needed to make sure this was the right one, and not one attempted years ago.

“Check on the gold while you were out?” asked Jebadiah still looking outside. The location was the key to know where in his own timeline he was. The sun was low over the mountain they were riding on, shadows were cast across the valley.

The land grew up quickly and swallowed them. The tunnel in the side of the mountain was dark, though they had some lights inside the cabin. Electricity, that’s what it is called thought Jebadiah, strengthened by the recollection.

“The cabin next door,” said Hartingway. “Said it yourself, we can’t run the trap the same way twice and you won’t be far away from the bait. Like I said though, we may not see them this go around. Maybe at the end of the line.”

Last time Jebadiah thought. That last time he ran this play to catch a gang was when he still had Lance with him. That last time, the gold was in the last car of the train, Lance was watching it.

That was the trap that killed Lance Hartingway.

Jebadiah Lowrance continued to face the glass and the underbelly of the mountain. That was not a memory he wanted to bring up, though he had mixed feelings about being able to remember anything at the moment.

The first time this trap was set, it was back in Texas. The Tiedown Gang, named by the way they hold their hostages, as they always got at least one hostage, had been running around unchecked for a too long. They would arrive in a new area, check out the area for about a month or two, then slowly start their mayhem. By the end of their stay, six months from the day they set foot in their new playground, families would be killed, structures burned down, and all valuables acquired.

That is why Jebadiah and Lance were sent after them, though the first time around killed Lance.

That is also why Jebadiah was here now, sitting across the table from the second-best Texas Ranger he knew. The train made its way out of the tunnel, the setting sun came back to provide real light. He looked at the second-best ranger he knew.

“Your,” Jebadiah tried to clear the bullfrog in his throat, “Your daddy was a damn good Ranger, Trevor.”

Trevor Hartingway sat there, unsure how to take the comment about his father when the focus should be on the Tiedown gang. Jebadiah was late in the years, especially for a Captain of the Texas Rangers, but that didn’t mean much as he had forgotten more about what it meant to be a Ranger than most knew.

“Thank you, sir,” Trevor said and took a breath to keep going.

The door slid open before he coud and a red-faced porter, who was more round in the middle than the others that had been seen, pushed his way into the cabin.

“Rangers!” he yelled as the door closed behind him.

“Correct,” said Trevor, Jebadiah lent a grunt to the conversation.

The porter was breathing hard, and obviously trying to say something. “Help” was all that came out at first, then “we need.”

“Take your time son,” said Trevor, pulling a canteen of water from his open saddle bags next to him for the young man. “Take a drink and slow down.”

The porter did as instructed, and the red started to dissipate from his face. “We need help.” he finally got out.

“With what? We can’t get you coffee or nuthin like that,” said Jebadiah. Trevor realized he hadn’t heard the old man try to make a joke in months, so that must be a good sign. If we can get his mind back he thought, then directing his attention back to the porter.

“No sir,” the porter said quickly, “The engineer just sent word to the conductor that we’ve lost a line to the breaks. That isn’t an issue yet because we are going upslope right now, but on the down slope it will be an issue.”

Trevor and Jebadiah looked at one another. Jebadiah seemed to have more light behind his eyes than the sun had left in the day, Trevor was glad to see it. Turning back to the porter, Trevor said “Then stop us on top of the hill, that shouldn’t be too hard.”

“No sir, we thought of that but none of the breaks work. We tried the emergency and roof breaks already; we would need those to stay on top of the mountain. There is something wrong,” the porter was getting excited again, obvious panic in his eyes and breath coming quickly.

“Tricky stop then,” said Jebadiah, “but it can be done.”

The comment lingered in the air, the porter trying to catch his breath all over again and Trevor sitting awkwardly trying to puzzle out a solution for the train and its occupants. The train continued its steady climb and took a turn to face directly into the sun. He watched as the train was cast back into direct sunlight when it turned around the mountain, the following shadow trying to keep pace.

Jebadiah just looked at the porter, in his prime he would not stand for someone to lose their cool like this. In his current state however, he probably couldn’t run the length of the train, so he kept his comments to himself.

A thudding, softly at first like it was hidden in the click clacks of the tracks below, became more audible. Jebadiah was afraid it was the porter’s heart at first, but soon realized the thudding came from the roof.

Trevor looked quickly from the window to the porter, “you said the roof breaks were already tried?”

“That’s correct sir,” he answered through puffs of air.

“Then why would someone be on the roof?” Jebadiah grunted in unison with Trevor’s proper enunciation.

The thudding of footsteps continued on the roof, over their heads, and forward to the engine.