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TITLE: Mending Broken Bow By Chuck Myers 06/13/06 |
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“Mending Broken Bow”
A “Ross Peters - Texas Ranger” short story
by C. D. Myers
A note from the author
“My desire has been to write historical fiction, and such is this story. This story is the fictitious account of an actual feud that went on in Custer County, Nebraska in the fall of 1878.
“I. P. Olive lived in Plum Creek, Dawson County but had his office in Custer County. He, and his brother, Robert, who had assumed the name Stevens, were the primary instigators in an attempt to remove homesteaders from the area because of missing cattle. Ami Ketchum, a local homesteader, was too courageous and too good with a gun to be moved, and so a strong argument ensued.
“Later on, Stevens would be killed by Ketchum when the Olive’s attempted to arrest him. Ketchum would then be hanged by I. P. Olive - but that’s another story. I hope you enjoy this one!”
I lay in the musty, smelly, hay of the livery stable waiting for the men outside to discover my location. I knew I was in trouble. My body contained the holes of at least two bullets in my back and side. I was losing a lot of blood, of that I was quite sure. I felt as though I could pass out at any time. The men that had shot me were gunmen; mean, and - as one - they hated me, so unless something drastic happened in a hurry, I was dead!
I wondered where Garren was. Could he help me? Was he pinned down, or out of action? Garren Rader and I had uncovered the cruel actions of this local gang over the past couple of days, and now they were dead set to destroy us.
I thought back to the events that had led up to our being in this out of the way little community, and it was an amazing story. I would never have guessed that I would be lying in an unused horse stall, in a town I wouldn’t even have known the name of a few days before, waiting for a large group of men to kill me.
* * *
For weeks Broken Bow had been under siege by a gang of ruthless, wicked men. Shootings, knifings, and fist fights had become a nightly activity. In the last two weeks five people had been killed. Even worse was the fact that whenever someone would try to help one of the victims they would take their own life in their hands. One of the five victims had been doing nothing more than trying to help a badly knifed man. One of the gang had shot him in the belly and left him to die a slow, agonizing death.
Even the local doctor was not allowed to help. While the shooter sat in a chair, under the overhang of the saloon, the doctor yelled from his office window.
“You’ve got to let me help those men.”
“I don’t have to do nothing.”
“I must go out and check on those men.”
“You do and you’ll get a slug ‘tween the eyes.”
“You can’t be serious.” The doctor was having a hard time understanding how anyone could be so callous.
“Just step out the door, and ya’ll see.” The man lifted his gun, aimed at the clinic window, and fired a shot as the doctor ducked back behind the wall.
The doctor decided that the man was more than capable of doing exactly what he was claiming. The next hour was the hardest of his life as he was forced to watch two men die before his very eyes. What he didn’t know was that the man’s young son was watching the whole thing from a nearby alley.
The ranches in the area were struggling as well. Hundreds of cattle were missing, and more disappeared every night. Everyone knew who was behind the thefts, because the gang made it quite apparent that they were untouchable.
The town sheriff was at a loss as to what to do. On several occasions the men he had rounded up for a posse were out-manned, outgunned, and out-smarted. They had lost men on each occasion. The last time he had asked for men, no one had been willing to go. It was not that they were scared as much as they were not equipped for this. Broken Bow was firmly in the grip of a gang of men with no morality, compassion, or fair play!
* * *
Jackie, the nine year old son of the man killed trying to save the knife victim, stood alone in the street. Even as he grieved the death of his father he wondered what would become of him. The preceding year had been bone dry and hard. Most of the farmers and ranchers in the area were struggling to survive. To take in another young child was difficult for anyone to comprehend. There was one family that had offered to take him in, but he was scared of the man known to backhand his children at the slightest provocation, and work his kids like miniature farm hands.
The funeral over, Jackie stood alone in a small group of people who had come to pay their respects. He stared at the well dressed men who stood off to one side. They were not from town, and seemed to be in complete control of themselves. They wore cowboy hats rather than the cheaper bowler hats, leather dusters over black vests and bow ties. These vests and ties contrasted vibrantly with the white silk shirts they wore with style.
One man was tall with broad shoulders and a thin waist. His face said “laid back and easy-going”, but his eyes showed something else. The dark blue eyes never ceased their vigilance; it was almost as though this man expected the most unlikely thing imaginable to suddenly take place. He seemed to be at ease with those around, but carried an unmistakable air of authority - almost to the point of being removed from his surroundings.
The other man was much shorter but exuded a sense of natural, and massive, strength. The Irishman wore his hat at a rakish angle, and had smile lines around the corners of his mouth.
Jackie wished he could sit down and tell these two men his problems, sensing a innate compassion in the eyes of both. There was no way these were members of the gang; he would not, could not, believe that! But why were they here?
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