Ranger, Marshal, Sheriff, Deputy, a western fiction

'Ranger, Marshal, Sheriff, Deputy'

By Phineas Redux

—OOO—

Summary:— Henrietta 'Harry' Knappe and Sally 'Snapshot' Nichols, Deputies and lovers in 1870's Red Flume, Arizona Territory, USA, struggle with a complex interaction between a variety of Law organizations.

Note:— Influenced by the 'Wolfville' stories of Alfred Henry Lewis.

—O—

Sheriff Charles Donaldson, proprietor of all that was Lawful in Red Flume, Territory of Arizona, in this middling normal year of 187-, had been reading his multitudinous mail and in so doing had experienced a conundrum.

"Harry, we got us a problem—a mighty big one."

Henrietta Knappe, full-time Deputy and part-time bear hunter, shuffled on her chair casting a wanted poster aside with disdain.

"Thet bein' the reg'lar theme of all our days, Charlie. What makes this so different? A Bank robber? Rustler? Downright murderer? What? Or should I say, Who?"

"Coupl'a letters here dealin' with the Grattan gang," Charles brooding over the pile of missives, some more interesting than others, cluttering his desk. "y'know, Bart Grattan an' gen'lly six other deadbeats, robbin' Banks, stores, an' ranches all over Texas an' Coloraddy an' elsewhar."

"What about 'em?" Henrietta not much interested. "Don't recollect any action pertainin' t'us on their part these last yar or so. What's up?"

"Letter from Marshall Terence Simmons, up t'Phoenix, lettin' me know he was comin' down hereaways t'rummage around in the local sand-hills t'dig 'em out."

"Thinks they're holed-up somewhere round Red Flume?" Henrietta, by her tone, making clear a certain level of disbelief.

"Apparent." Charles nodding. "But, also, a letter down t'San Antone from the Rangers—"

"Oh, God!"

"Yeah, anyways, Ranger Robert Wharton tells me he too is on the track of the Grattan gang, an' wants t'join the party round about."

Henrietta sat up on her hard chair, a minor point having occurred to her.

"Where'd we come in this farrago, I asks?"

Charles nodded again, unhappily.

"Yeah, jus' thet! They both, Marshal an' Ranger, say they have official citations allowin' 'em t'cross borders an' go after their prey as they will, an' they can call on our support an', legally speakin' apparent, we don't have any option but t'go along with 'em."

Henrietta could feel opposition gathering in her innards.

"What can we contribute? We ain't heerd any of Grattan bein' in the vicinity this last yat, like I sez. An' we're only a handful o'Depities ourselves; we got other things t'occupy us. D'ye know personal either o'these jokers, Charlie?"

"Ranger, I ain't ever heerd of a'fore; Marshal Simmons, I've met three or four times—he's one of those reg'lar tyrants. He has the power, an' bombards everyone he feels he can bamboozle with it as much as they'll take a'fore breakin' an' runnin' or pullin' their Colts an' havin' at him. Seems t'have survived so far."

"He tries thet grift on Sally he'll find himself on the Heavenly Express, two stops, quicker'n he kin blink!"

—O—

When Sally herself returned from her routine circumnavigation round the town streets, keeping order, she was as little impressed with the news as Charlie or Henrietta.

"Lem'me guess!" She sparking-up from the outset. "This Marshal Simmons'll try'n take command the minute he walks through thet thar door—orderin' us ter jump t'every command he gives, without cry or opposition; wavin' his citation in our faces like to one o'Moses' Commandments! The same which ain't gon'na happen, at least not on my watch, jus' so's ye both knows!"

Henrietta here felt it necessary to back-up her lover to the hilt.

"Same here, Charlie. He gives me any angst, he'll regret it the next second, Marshal or no. Being same Marshal cain't over-ride your authority as regional Sheriff; so don't let him get a toe in thar, friend."

"I ain't a simpleton, leddies," Charlie coming back with verve. "trust me t'hold my place in an argy'ment along'a those lines. He may try, but he dam' well won't succeed. Dependin' on his sity'atin, an' plan, if he has one, then we might be able t'work t'gether somehow. But otherwise, if he's intransigent, waal, we'll jus' have'ta call it a day an' wave both him an' the Ranger a fond farewell, an' their official citations can go chase themselves."

"My kind'a guy!" Henrietta happy with this outcome.

"Better see t'oilin' my Smith an' Wessons!" Sally holding to an altogether more pragmatic outlook.

Henrietta, because she always saw the funny side of the most abstruse questions, sniggered loudly.

"What's the sentence fer shootin' a Texas Ranger? Come t'that, what happens t'someone who, however accidentally, shoots a Marshal? Something significant, I expect!"

Charles pondered the question with a dark frown.

"Depends on circumstances—could be outright murder, or possible manslaughter if thar be any element of accident involved. 'Course, if it was ter be Bart Grattan who did the deed then we'd be on solid ground. The rope'd be waitin' reg'lar as clockwork, fer sure."

Sally nodded, as one taking this information in for future use.

"So, all we need is ter inveigle Grattan in'ta the right position, an' let him let fly at the right time at either one, or both? I, perhaps we, could manage thet, sure!"

Henrietta and Charles looked at each other before Henrietta replied.

"Sal, you amaze me sometimes! All these years, an' still I ain't got ter the bottom of yer personality. Ya sure must be jokin', baby; I hopes with all my heart?"

Sally stood up, adjusted her gunbelt, gave her companions a glance neither could read, and turned to the door.

"My shift's up, goin' home. Dinner'll be ready when you return, dear."

With which enigmatic reply she disappeared.

A short pause ensued while both Sheriff and Deputy and lover gazed at the floor and ceiling respectively.

"She's some gal, no kiddin'." From the Sheriff.

"She sure be!" From the Lover, shaking her head.

—O—

The week following Marshal Terence Simmons showed up outside the Sheriff's Office, making quite a splash in doing so. The first the inmate of the office knew of anything interesting happening in the street was when the thunder of racing hooves could be heard followed by a confused noise as the unseen mount was brought to a shuddering halt in a cloud of dust, some of which actually made its way through the nominally closed door.

"What in Hell!" Henrietta being alone in residence at the time.

Striding to the door and opening it in the accepted manner she saw a dust covered horse standing by the guardrail while, just having dismounted, what appeared to be a giant from a fairytale standing at the edge of the sidewalk. Around six feet four in height, broad as a grizzly bear, clad in a long dark coat and carrying a Henry rifle, all topped by a wide-brimmed dark hat, he gave the impression of someone's worst nightmare come to life. His features showed him to be in the early thirties, though much of his lower jaw was obscured by a wide thick black moustache giving him an aura of importance that may or may not have been integral to his nature.

"Howdy thar, lady! See's yer a Depity, so's here I be. When kin we git started, then? Time bein' as it is, always t'seek, never t'hold!"

Ignoring this quaint introduction Henrietta chose the formal response.

"Marshal Simmons? Glad t'see ya, sure. Wan'na come inside? Sheriff Donaldson's out moseyin' roun' the town at present; should be back in ten minutes or so. This way."

Once inside she pointed out the single uncomfortable chair, she sitting in the official seat behind the desk.

"So, hear's ye're after Bart Grattan an' his outfit? Thet right?"

"Sure be, ma'am—"

"Henrietta—but call me, Harry!"

"Ah—OK!" Simmons raising an accepting hand at this request. "I be Terence, but call me Terry, thanks."

Henrietta smiled.

"Havin' got the formalities out'ta the way, let's t'business. So, ye're after Bart Grattan?"

"I be, indeed; all the way t'the gallows an' beyond."

"Beyond?"

"I particular wants ter see the b-st-rd swing, certin! But I also intends t'wait on the mornin', an' Doc an' Undertaker doin' their thing, so's I kin be absolute sure the bag o'sh-t's really dead an' goin' ter the Hot Place on a one-way ticket. Cain't be too sure o'anythin' these days, ma'am, y'know. Al'lus best t'take time an' really get the flavor of a thing, I finds. Had hopes o'takin' a chopper t'his carcass an' separatin' the pieces wholesale, jes' t'be wholly sure—but my Depity, back ter Phoenix, talked me out'ta thet thar daydream, sadly."

Finding there was indeed no answer to this admission Henrietta breathed a silent sigh when Sally entered at this providential moment.

"Ha, Sal! Here's Marshal Simmons, from Phoenix. Marshal,—Sally Nichols. Sally,—Terry Simmons."

"Hi'ya, glad t'see ye."

"Terry's jes' been sayin' he's on tenderhooks ter get started an' run Grattan t'cover."

Sally was instantly up for opposing this energetic plan.

"Not so fast, Terry. We got'ta have a signed an' sealed plan of campaign here. Sheriff Donaldson'll have a mite t'say along those lines, fer sure. An' we haven't yet made space fer Ranger Wharton, comin' up from San Antone, sometime whenever?"

Here, as if a curtain had been raised, or more realistically dropped, in a theatre Simmons suddenly showed his true nature; a dark frown washing any sign of friendliness from his features as if by a sudden rainstorm.

"Listen lady, ya don't know me, but I have a repy'tation fer gettin' the job done, an' gettin' sich done quick, fast, an' at once, no argy'ments allowed. An' dam' Ranger Wharton! So, park the complaints, get yer jacket an' hoss, an' lets get out on the dam' prairie soon's anytime. Ya show me any opposition I'll have yer dam' ass fer cocoanuts in the local Courthouse, per my official citation here, in a dam' second. Thet same goin' fer yer Sheriff, wherever the dam' he may be hidin' presently. Come on! Time's a'wastin'! Get t'yer hoss's, the both on yer, right now, dam'mit!"

Instead, Sally stood firm and immobile staring into the Marshal's eyes coldly and calmly, saying not a word in reply; Henrietta in her turn sitting immobile, awaiting unfolding events somewhat anxiously.

"Waal! What the dam's keepin' yer?"

Sally quietly lowered her left hand to her waist, a second later she raised it holding her Smith and Wesson .38 revolver, barrel pointed to the floor.

"Last bucko who talked t'me like thet, he fell on the floor half a second later, perforated by three of my bullets—savvy, mister?"

Before the astonished Marshal could form anything resembling a reply the door opened again to reveal Sheriff Donaldson himself. Taking in the panorama with one expert glance he instantly placed himself between the two opposing forces, eyeing the Marshal with contempt.

"Terry Simmons! As big a fool an' bully as ever, I sees! Ain't ya ever learned manners in the last year since I knocked yer flat on yer back thet time. Done it once, can dam' easy repeat the performance if needed. These here're my Depitys, both of 'em, an' I stands by their every order an' word. You I take fer the dam' rat ye seem ever able t'represent yersel' as bein'. This here town's my town, not your'n. Remember thet; Marshal nor no Marshal. What goes round here's what I sez goes, an' there's an end of it! Waal?"

Simmons's face had gone through a range of tones while he suffered under this tirade; but now returning to its original sallow grey he opened his mouth—though far less sassily than before.

"Ha! Lost my footin' thet time, nor I'd have whupped yer ass fer sure! Anyways, I got a dam' citation here—"

Sheriff Donaldson was up for this feeble get-out clause.

"No citation, from whomever, don't over-ride my authority as Sheriff, remember thet, Simmons. Only thing a citation kin do is politely request me ter help ye out in whatever ye may have to mind. Whether I actil does or not still rollin' on whether I feels like doin' so or not. OK?"

Simmons looked from one of his opponents to the other, all three, then heaved a deep sigh, curling his lips in a wide sneer that, because of his luxuriant moustache, went mostly unnoticed.

"I'm over t'Harrison's Boardin' House, on Mortimer. I'll be back."

With which statement he turned to the door and a moment later had the slight satisfaction of slamming same behind his retreating form.

Henrietta, coming out of a trance wherein she had expected gunfire at least, and possibly the end of the world for all three of them, shook her head all round.

"Thet man's a danger t'all an' sundry he meets on a daily basis. How'n Hell's he still a Marshal? He oughta'd met his match yars ago, with thet outlook on life?"

"Has a mighty strong feelin' same ain't far off fer him!" Donaldson replying through gritted teeth. "Had hopes he'd mellowed some, but find's mysel' some disappointed. Word of advice, leddies, go careful with him. He has a tendency ter bully, shout, growl, an' then go fer his Colt. Jes' a warnin's, all."

Henrietta glanced at Sally, she slowly returning her Smith and Wesson to its legal resting-place.

"Think's I an' Sal here kin handle him, no bother; whatever he may decide t'do, whenever, Charlie!"

—O—

The next day dawned as warm and sunny as the previous, and boded to equal most of the following for the next month if ordinary circumstances played out as they should. Apart from the unending sunshine and dust it also heralded the arrival of Texas Ranger Robert Wharton, all the way up from San Antonio of that State.

The first the Sheriff's Office knew of his advent occurred when the door opened to reveal a reedy specimen of around five feet seven inches, thin as a rail, clad in dark clothes and a long dark coat that reached nearly to the ground, almost concealing his boots. Sharp featured, sparse hair, topped by a wide-brimmed hat, and carrying something enormous in the rifle line, he touched his hat to all and sundry within, that being Sally alone, and got down to business without hesitation.

"—allows I be Robert Wharton, Texas Ranger. Here be my badge, an' here be my citation orderin' me ter get your help in whatever I sees fit ter do round these here parts over the next month. Sheriff round anywhere's?"

"Out on his reg'lar patrol, back in half an hour." Sally realising sadly that, as with Marshal Simmons, a certain level of authoritative stand-off would be necessary in this conversation. "Nice ter meet ya, sure; but, there be certin rules an' pertikler's we needs ter straighten out a'fore movin' for'rard any. First, yer citation, mighty lovin' as yer surely finds it, warmin' the very cockles o'yer heart as it clearly does, ain't worth the paper its written on anywhere's close ter Red Flume—an' this here township's Red Flume itself—get me?"

In answer Wharton raised an enquiring eyebrow, though saying nothing. Before the argument could proceed to personalities, however, the door opened again to reveal Henrietta, wiping her perspiring brow after returning from visiting a nearby ranch on official business.

"Hi'ya, Sal! Gave Hardigan those papers; he wasn't very pleased, but I fancy things'll go smooth from now on. Hi'ya, mister!"

"Ranger Robert Wharton." Sally doing the necessary. "Ranger—Deputy Henrietta Knappe."

"Hummph, never allowed as women were any great shakes at any profession, never mind the Law!" he starting-off on wholly the wrong note, if only he realised—which he didn't. "Anyway's, I'll wait on the Sheriff, tell him what I requires round here, OK?"

"Not OK!" Henrietta taking command like a heroine. "If'n yer ain't talkin' ter us, then shift yer carcass out'ta our way an' sight; plenty o'Hotels an' Boardin' Houses round about, not t'mention saloons."

Wharton, however, made no move to rise from his seated position opposite Sally.

"Mighty heavy with yer wants an' needs, leddy! What exact makes either o'yer think I allows ter take note o'anythin' yer says? Thinks I'll wait right here fer the Sheriff. Go about yer business as yer pleases, meanwhile."

How Wharton found himself, thirty seconds later, lying on the boardwalk outside the Office he never figured out, but such was the case. Having pulled himself together, picked up his hat which had been thrown down by his boots, brushed most of the dust from his coat, taken a few deep breaths to recover, glanced around to see just how many interested passing citizens had observed his sudden exit from the building, and frowning darkly, he took a step back towards the shut door, paused to consider, then turned on his heel to walk off, defeated for the moment.

Inside, Henrietta and Sally were holding a Council of War.

"An uppity Marshal, now an uppity Ranger!" Sally growling like an angry grizzly, caressing the butts of her two Smith and Wessons for comfort. "There's gon'na be a reckonin', sure's my middle name's—"

"Nominally, we're all on the same side, much as circumstances might seem otherwise." Henrietta addressing the logical aspect.

Sally sniffed disdainfully.

"Don't wan'na be on either o'their dam' sides! Faster they hauls ass an' goes back ter dam' Phoenix an' San Antone the dam' better—we kin deal with Grattan whenever we pleases by oursel's, sure!"

"Ain't disagreein', baby, ain't disagreein' none, fer sure!"

—O—

The following morning found the real discussion of ways, means, and measures taking place within the hallowed grounds of the Office. Sheriff Donaldson behind his desk, Henrietta taking the single hard chair, the rest standing—no-one casting rays of sunshine or joy around them.

"Lets jes' get down ter details, shall we?" Donaldson taking charge, reluctantly. "First, yer citations, the which lie here a'fore me. Waal, they has some authority, but not totally so. They asks me, not orders me, ter give yer both as much of a helpin' hand as I finds needful or possible, dependin' on circumstances. Which, as I reads same, gives me the authority ter make my own mind up about what I finds needful or no. Yer both kin order, whine, complain, or whimper much's yer likes—it'll be me who decides what can be done, what will be done, and how it'll be done, an' whar. No argy'ments. Git thet through yer heads from the start, boys."

Wharton was first up in the field of resistance to these facts of life.

"The Hell ye do, Donaldson! I'm a dam' Texas Ranger, so—"

"An' this ain't Texas, laddie; this here's the famous an' independent Territory o'Arizonny, so cut the crap an' let's get down t'business, a'fore I an' my Depities here all lose interest an' asks yer both ter sling yer hooks, OK?"

Simmons now piped up, trying his best to re-assert his authority, in a heavy booming voice.

"Ain't the authority o'the Marshal's Office got any say in this h'yar matter?"

"None whatever, friend, I bein' the Sheriff round these parts, an' meanin' ter do my duty, as required, t'the very letter o'my authority!"

A silence, of the prematurely bored Ages, settled in the Office as everyone considered their personal stakes in the matter. Finally Wharton was first to succumb to his needs.

"So what yer thinkin' o'doin', about dam' Grattan?"

Donaldson shrugged, only glad to have gotten the discussion onto vaguely conventional lines at last.

"Depends on what you two wants in thet area. What details ya have about him an' his gang? What's he bin up to lately thet's gotten yer rag's flyin' in the wind fer starters?"

Simmons had the quick answer to this.

"Robbed Barclay's Bank, over t'Phoenix two month since! Got away with close ter six thou! Three citizens dead, two wounded!"

"Shot a rancher, an' his wife, an' his young son; outside a place called Amarillo; four month since." Wharton laying out his requisite. "Trailed him ter somewhere's round these h'yar parts, an' don't mean ter leave till I stand's over his dead body, one way or another, be it legal or no!"

"Thet's the kernel o'the whole affair." Simmons coming in again. "If these citations of ours—thet ye seems ter take so lightly—means anythin' at all within the terms o'the Law, it surely means ya got'ta give us whatever help we needs or requires, surely?"

Donaldson pondered on the matter for a while, frowning heavily in doing so.

"Needs thinkin' over; give us an hour or so. I'll let yer both know what I decides a coupl'a hours after noon, OK?"

The duo of Lawmakers left once more, with every sign of ill-will trailing behind them—the door suffering yet another slamming in the process, leaving the three legal inmates to stare at each other disconsolately.

"Likes neither o'them any better!" Sally laying forth her opinion fairly and clearly.

"They could both do with mendin' their outlooks on Life, fer sure." Henrietta no whit impressed herself. "So, Charlie?"

Charles gazed at his Deputies with a sad mien.

"So, Charlie? Thanks a lot!"

"Ye are the Sheriff?" Sally confidently pinning the man to the badge, and not the other way round. "Waal, now's clarly the time t'Sheriff like thar's no tomorrow!"

"Ye've got the position," Henrietta also calling her leader's cards. "but it comes with high stakes, too. An' h'yar we be!"

Donaldson knew when the world was weighing heavy on his manly shoulders.

"Leddies, go about yer routine patrols, thank ye kindly. Whiles I sits here, like Alexander in Majesty pondering on his next campaign. Come back aroun' one o'clock."

As the women headed for the door Henrietta turned for a parting shot.

"What have yer been readin' lately, Charlie?"

—O—

The discussion in the Office after lunch started depressingly and didn't make much of an effort to mend its ways as it progressed.

"What've we got, oursel's, on Grattan?" Charles asserting his authority.

"Bin lookin' over the wanted posters an' reports from Phoenix." Henrietta as professional as a secretary. "Total o'which amounts ter this—he's a Bank robber mainly, nine in the last seven yar. But not much o'one, havin' lost five of his gang during the course of his depreedations thetaway; though replenishing his ranks from all sorts'a down an' outs on a reg'lar basis. Likes ter hit isolated ranches, not botherin' much about slaughterin' men, women, nor kids in doin' so. Mainly down t'Texas and Coloraddy, with incursions in'ta New Mexico on occasion."

"Dam' New Mexico, let 'em look after their own dam' affairs!" Charles adamant on this point. "So, a nasty piece o'work, eh?"

"Eight wanted posters out on him, fer murder top o'the list."

Sally sniffed, showing all her innate Valkyrie ancestry.

"Was gon'na ask what our plan'd be; but, sure, shoot the f-cker on sight, o'course—without benefit o'clergy or askin' first if we may—ha-ha!"

The glance Charles and Henrietta utilized between themselves had been brought out on numerous previous occasions, and was now looking slightly careworn.

"Sal," Charles attempting to bring a certain level of logic and fair play into the discussion. "thar be sich a thing as due process o'Law, y'know. Y'do know, I takes it?"

Sally however was way past giving a bad egg a fair chance.

"A murderer's a murderer whatever breaks y'may give him! Shoot first, shoot t'kill, an' look up the appropriate Law paragraphs in the thick books later, if at all! Far's I see's Grattan's had all the chances he's ever bin liable to."

Henrietta and Chares both sighed together, in the same tone.

"I've come up with a plan, of sorts." Charles changing the subject.

"Oh, yeah?" Henrietta pricking up her ears. "Let it loose, Charlie!"

"We make up a Q ranch! Entice Grattan t'lay waste t'same soon's he sees fit, an' take him down in the doin' so. Wha'ya think o'thet? Pretty good, eh?"

It was Henrietta's turn to exchange her next glance with her lover, both as much in the dark as each other before she turned once more to the grinning Sheriff.

"An' what in tarnation might a Q ranch be, when it's live an' kickin'? Indulge me, Charlie, lem'me know—jus' so's I knows, is all!"

Smiling broadly, like a comic in a theatre who had gone over to a cold audience better than he expected, Charlie did as requested.

"Read same out'ta a Atlantic Monthly some three months since. Seems the North, in thet late little fracas we had amongst oursel's some few yar since, cottoned on'ta the idee of workin' up a simple cargo ship t'sail down t'the estuary o'the Mississippi, but buildin' it up with false sides an' a false foredeck saloon hut, all concealing cannon. The South Navy swarmed up, thinkin' ter grab a easy target, an were in their turn blown ter Kingdom Come unexpected an' out'ta the blue; same bluff bein' called a Q ship. So, I'm jes' thinkin' a Q ranch'll do the same service, if handled right—ha-ha!"

Henrietta thought it first, but Sally was first to put the thought in words—

"Charles, has yer total lost yer mind, entire?"

—O—

A week, in substance, is generally looked on as a fair measure of passing time and opportunity; in the rest of America such would indeed be the general case but, in the fiercely independent Territory of Arizona the first single week could often consume most of the matters, materials and activities usually assigned to the rest of the approaching weeks of the month, if allowed; such being the case in the present circumstance.

Sheriff Donaldson, full of energy and active authority, had taken over for the duration—the duration of what no-one was brave enough to ask— the Double T ranch ten miles south-west of Red Flume, and had in doing so temporarily evicted the family Robinson sending them secretly to the town of Gallimaufry 100 miles to the north-east. Having accomplished this re-location of an angry family, he set about militarising the ranch and its surrounding out-buildings with two small cannon, supplied with grapeshot, two Gatling guns, and as many Deputies as Marshal Simmons could muster from Phoenix at short notice via the railroad; Ranger Wharton in his turn being induced, through the brazen cocksureness of Donaldson, to contribute as many Deputy Rangers of his own, via the same organisation—all done in the direst secret from the citizens of Red Flume.

While he had been concentrating on these devious activities Henrietta and Sally, along with another couple of available Deputies, had been spreading around town the wholly fictitious tale that Robinson down to the Double T had come across a patch of a plant as yet wholly unknown to Science which had instantly proved to have near fatal effects if as much as smelled in the distance on the breeze. Sheriff Donaldson therefore now being engaged in, out of the pure kindness of his heart and wish to save his citizenry from such a terrible fate, doing his best to eradicate the invidious plant as quickly as possible; at the same time keeping herd over the chest in the cellar containing Robinson's life-savings of $20,000 in gold double-eagles. The fact the citizens of Red Flume took this fabrication at face value saying all that need be said about the average intelligence of the town's-folk in June 187-. The dual fact that, also put about by the straight-faced Deputies, the only fatalities so far were allowed to merely be three itinerant Mexican ranch-hands going some way to re-assuring the town's populace that the affair had not as yet reached any serious level of concern.

—O—

"Ye think the idee o'twenty thou in double–eagles'll really tempt Grattan?" Henrietta voicing her doubt on the matter at the end of the week as she stood in the ranchhouse main room.

"Twenty thou in gold'd sure 'nuff tempt me!" Sally making this plain without thinking; fond reminiscences of a former life, as yet unknown to either the Law or Henriettta, swirling around unchecked in her memory.

"Sal, put a dam' sock in it, OK?" Donaldson, after all his hard work, not seeing the funny side at all; while at the same time beginning to harbour strong doubts about at least one of his female Deputies.

"Sorry."

A knock at the door now providentially heralded the advent of one of the many subsidiary Deputies haunting the ranch and its environs.

"Guns is all loaded an' ready, Sheriff; an' everyone in their places."

"OK, Coates, thanks." Donaldson eyed Henrietta and Sally with something like relief mixed with apprehension. "Well, leddies, here we be!"

The women both stood in unison, attending to their gunbelts as they too made for the door.

"Let's hope this heliograph idee pans out smooth." Sally throwing this over her shoulder as they left the building.

"All the hidden scouts across the prairie has mirrors an' knows the Morse Code." Donaldson speaking in reassuring tones. "First sign they sees the bums approachin' from whichever direction, we'll know right-off. Come on, time ter get ter yer stations. An' remember, we waits till we sees the whites o'their eyes and-or they dismounts then opens fire promiscus. Nobody gets let-off, nor surrenders; what I wants is a heap o'smokin' corpses, an' no excuses. Anyone survives the first volley t'beg fer mercy, give 'em the friendly present of a bullet in their heads, OK?"

"Got'cha, Charlie." From Henrietta.

"I kin do thet." From an equally cold-blooded Sally.

In the hayloft of the main barn the barrel of a nasty looking Gatling gun pointed down to the open space before the front of the ranch-house; to one side, making the left side of the square, another Gatling lay hidden behind a window of the bunkhouse; scattered wholesale in the remaining various out-buildings, and anywhere else that offered good cover, a further twenty-five Deputies awaited the climax of their efforts over the last few days, all heavily armed.

With all the defenders settled in place all that was left was for them to await the appearance of the band of outlaws in question. A meeting much desired by all and sundry hidden around the ranch but, as the hours wore on to midday and beyond, a result beginning to look ever more unlikely. Henrietta and Sally lay together prone in a little hollow to one side of a small storehouse, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with each passing hour; finally, around 1.00pm, Sally broke into a grumbling tirade of discomfort.

"Whad'da Hell! Looks like they ain't gon'na show-up this dam' day!"

"We jes' had lunch, best part o'the day's still t'come." Henrietta snorting in contempt of this lazy outlook on her partner's side. "Buckle down t'it, cain't ye?"

"Oh, thet's nice!"

The ranch-house was built in the Mexican style; a two-storey central building with one-storey wings going off on either hand. On the flat roof of this main edifice a Deputy had been assigned as Heliograph operator. Now he came into his own, suddenly rising from his position to disappear; a moment later another Deputy exited the ranch, heading in the women's direction.

"Oh-oh! Looks like news at last." Henrietta crouching up as the man drew near. "Yeah? What's goin' for'rard?"

"Message from the nor-west, group of seven mounts comin' in along the Parkin's Flat trail, be here in aroun' twenty minutes."

"OK, thanks."

As the man turned back to the ranch-house Sally perked-up no end.

"Any description of Grattan, thet'd let us identify the sun'na a b-tch at long range?"

Henrietta pondered this for a few seconds, running over in her mind the details of various wanted posters she had read.

"Short stature, aroun' five four; round face, wide dark moustache hangin' below his lower lip, high forehead, wears a white Bowler fer preference."

"Thet'll do fine." Sally salting these details away in her memory with a grim expression boding no good for the man in question.

"Are we out'ta the line o'fire o'those dam' Gatlings?" Henrietta reverting to a worry that had been annoying her since the start of the whole drama.

"Yeah, relax." Sally quite at ease on this point. "Took measurements mysel', didn't I? They're both trained over to our right; we're well behind their line of fire. Only thing'll be hittin' us as a result'll be the dust kicked-up by the rain o'bullets an' bodies as the bums get ripped t'pieces by concentrated machine-gun fire. Lookin' forward some eager t'the spectacle, tell the truth!"

"Jee-sus!"

A quiet period ensued, nothing moving but a few leaves on the low undergrowth surrounding the ranch-house, a few birds flying low, and the sound of the horses in the wide paddock over to the left. These latter being left there to add authenticity to the rural scene and nature of the working ranch. Then the Deputy on heliograph duty on the roof stood up, waving a large red flag to all and sundry who could see him before disappearing from view.

"They're nearly here!"

Henrietta squirmed around, trying to get into a more comfortable position as her partner voiced this statement.

"Yeah! Remember, we don't shoot till the first volley from the Gatlings is over, so's we kin see what kind'a havoc they produced, OK?"

"Yeah, I got'cha!" Sally shuffling around herself, her two .38 revolvers already to hand, an eager light in her sharp eyes. "This's gon'na be so much fun!"

Henrietta refrained from any answer, not having one suitable to hand off the cuff.

—O—

The bandits on arrival, seven in number as previously noted, rode up to the forecourt of the ranch in a tight group waving arms in the air and shooting their pieces randomly at the surrounding buildings, clearly entirely unaware of the snare which had been laid for them and which they had now all unknowingly triggered. Riding close together in a cluster Henrietta and Sally could not at the first flush identify their leader, then the Gatlings opened up.

These hand operated repeating machine-guns were still in their infancy, not many outside of military circles having experienced their noisy lethal and continuous rattling fire. As a result, when they opened up, the women crouched low holding their ears against what they perceived as a veritable thunderstorm.

"Great Mercy Sake's!" Even Sally impressed, not to say terrified, by the noise.

The guns had been previously ranged, in Henrietta and Sally's absence, on a particular spot in front of the ranch main door, at which all their mighty firepower was now exhausted at the moment the bandits hit that spot unawares. The firing only took around twenty seconds before ceasing with the emptying of each gun's top mounted magazine case. As the echoes subsided the women raised their heads to view the after-effects, and to say they were surprised would be an understatement.

Of the seven original outlaws only one still stayed on horseback; the others, and their steeds, laying on the ground in various states of mortality, screaming, groaning, writhing, and neighing in pain. The sole survivor slumped over in his saddle, white Bowler askew on his head showing him to be the erstwhile leader, Bart Grattan.

As the women rose and made their way across the open ground, firing now having officially ceased, they heard random single shots as the closer Deputies followed their earlier orders, dispensing with the troublesome problem of taking prisoners, no matter how seriously or lightly wounded, by the easiest method. By the time they strode up to the heart of the massacre only Grattan himself still laid claim to being alive in some manner, though barely so. As Henrietta and Sally showed up in his speedily weakening peripheral vision as he slumped on his steed he made the last wrong assessment of his life.

"I be shot t'pieces! Hah! Angels o'Mercy come ter host me t'my Heavenly throne!"

With which parting statement to the world at large the murderous thug slid sideways from his saddle to hit the dust at the women's boots, a late specimen of Humanity.

—O—

"Didn't get t'fire a single shot!"

Sally making this statement with a rueful countenance in reply to Sheriff Donaldson's query as they stood in the ranch-house main room around an hour later.

"Waal, them's the way the caird's often falls." He showing no sadness at this news. "What yer think, Simmons? Happy with the result? Grattan sure bein' on the deceased list now, fer sure."

"It'll do, yeah, it'll do." Simmons showing even less enthusiasm than the Sheriff. "When's the next train from Red Flume t'Phoenix?"

"Tomorrow, ten in the mornin'." Henrietta supplying this information with a wide grin.

"Thinks; mighty sure, I'll be on it." Simmons refusing to crack even the slightest of smiles. "Take the remains back ter Phoenix fer official identification, too, o'course."

"Thet ye surely will not be doin', Marshal!" Ranger Wharton butting in here in an authoritative tone and twist of his budding moustache. "The Rangers has first dibs on the scoundrel, an' mean ter take full advantage o'same. I'll take his scraggy corpse back ter Houston, have mysel' photy-graphed alongside him fer veracity o'him bein' seen to be completely extinct, like them giant monsters of Old, then have a slap up supper at O'Henry's Restaurant with a few fellow Rangers!"

Simmons took instant umbrage at this kidnapping of his own personal corpse.

"Oh, ye will, will yer?" He taking a stance like a Greek Hero in front of a whole Scythian army. "Well, I be here t'tell ye t'your dam' face, thet two days from now he'll be on the sidewalk frontin' Dew's Undertakers in Phoenix, on view t'the Public under my orders an' inspection, so thar!"

Wharton was unfazed by this opposition, standing straight in his turn, well able and ready for a full-on argument.

"Thinks a mighty lot o'your authority an' capability, don'cher, laddie? I still says I'm a'takin' the remains ter Houston; so what now, boyo?"

At this point Sally, fed-up by this childish altercation on such a curious subject, stepped between the feuding men.

"I ain't never heerd sich nonsense a'fore, I tells ye both straight! Ye both came h'yar, t'the environs o'Red Flume, ter kill, slay, slaughter, an' assassinate without benefit o'mercy Bart Grattan! Grattan now lies, a puddled muss o'ripped flesh an' bleedin' organs out thar in the dust. Job done! Now I sees fine why both o'yer thinks yer has first takin's on the corpse, what there is left o'same; but I also thinks Sheriff Donaldson h'yar has somethin' t'say on thet score. Charlie?"

Pushed into the limelight so thoroughly Donaldson gave his Deputy a mean glance, then stood firm in his own authority.

"Boys, we has h'yar what I believe's called a Gordian Knot, a'ways. Now thar's multitudinous ways o'untyin' knots intricate an' many; but I has allus favored Alexander's method, the which I now plays, promiscus. Simmons, ye wants what remains o'Grattan ter yer own purposes. Wharton, ye too seem ter think thet life in the short term without bein' photy'graphed with yer friends in attendance pattin' ye on yer back beside the sad sack o'oozin' sh-t thet's all remainin' o'Grattan would be a lifelong loss t'yer yet t'be published reminiscences! Waal, I got the perfect answer to all our worries in thet area! I takes the corpse, or remains, or bits an' pieces, o'Grattan back ter Red Flume; there, outside MacMurdo's Undertakers we all—me, you Simmons, you Wharton, Depities Knappe an' Nichols h'yar, all gets our portraits took t'gether, by Farraday, photographer t'Royalty as he advertises his'self as bein', whether truly or no bein' no business o'mine; copies of same t'all of us. After which the body, as I may describe the remains, they gettin' mighty smelly by then, I bets, is interned in Red Flume's Overton Cemetery whar he can be comfortably forgotten about fer the rest o'Time unendin'! OK?"

This diatribe didn't sit well with either the Marshal or Ranger; Henrietta and Sally not being over enthused by the idea either but, after a few minutes further disagreement, during which Donaldson stood firm like a Titan, his opponents lost the will to continue the useless argument and caved in together.

"OK-OK! Dam'mit!" From a highly displeased Marshal.

"Bummer!" from an equally unhappy but also defeated Ranger.

"OK, glad thet's settled. OK, let's get this sity'atin cleared up, a'fore Robinson comes back t'reclaim his ranch an' starts askin' mighty unhelpful questions about jes' what occurred h'yar t'day. Let's move it, lads an' lasses!"

—O—

A week later, in Red Flume, most of the dust surrounding events at the Double T ranch had subsided; the Public having had their interest, and bloodthirsty natures, assuaged by viewing in his coffin the mortal remains of the famous outlaw—John MacMurdo, Undertaker, having done the best work of his career making Grattan look as if he was still more or less in one piece.

Back in the Sheriff's Office the trio of Lawmakers were holding a late inquest on the event.

"Nastiest piece o'work I've ever bin involved in, without havin' fired a single dam' shot!" Sally making plain both her general concern and personal disappointment over her wasted time as she obviously viewed matters.

"Cain't have everythin' we wishes in Life!" Donaldson being unsupportive as by nature bound.

"Very funny!"

"Glad t'see the back o'both Ranger an' Marshal." Henrietta making plain her disapproval of both men. "Both bums, both bloated with their supposed authority, both would still be chasin' Grattan across the prairies of at least four separate States if'n it weren't fer our intervention; both no loss ter my pes'nal Society, far's I'm concerned."

"Life moves in mysterious ways, leddies!"

"Charlie?"

"Yeah, Sal?"

"Give us a break, will ya? Ye ain't no philosopher, an' it shows, I got'ta say!" Sally utilizing this barb with delight and malice aforethought.

"Huh! Depities! Gettin' less'n less practical nor useful each yar thet passes these days, I finds!" Donaldson calmly getting the last word in, like a professional.

The End

—O—

Another 'Red Flume' story will arrive shortly.