Assignment
Assignment: Brownsville
Harvey Stanbrough
Novel 1 in the Wes Crowley Gap Series
StoneThread Publishing
http://stonethreadpublishing.com
To give the reader more of a sample, the front matter appears at the end.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Assignment: Brownsville (Wes Crowley Gap, #1)
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Assignment: Brownsville
Harvey Stanbrough
Prologue
Seated at the head of the conference table in Ranger headquarters in Amarillo, Captain James Henry Wilson prepared to address his men. Fatigue draped heavily over his features. He’d just returned by train from Austin, where he’d met with Governor Davis.
Company D was severely undermanned. The others at the table numbered only nine men:
Corporal Jim Connolly sat to the captain’s right. As the senior corporal, he had accompanied the captain to Austin. His deep-set brown eyes, above a prominent nose that someone had set to one side, focused on the captain. He knew what was coming.
Corporal Court Edwards, blond haired, blue eyed, and around 5’10, sat to the captain’s left. He sensed from the look on the captain’s face that all had not gone as planned. Small lines furrowed his brow as he looked from his friend and fellow corporal Jim Connolly to the captain and anxiously awaited the pronouncement.
To Corporal Connolly’s right sat Rangers Stilson, Stanton, and Crowley.
Across the table, to Corporal Edwards’ left, sat Rangers McFadden, Mendoza, Lawson and Pinchot.
Jack Stilson, at 5’9” and clean-shaven with brown hair and eyes, was his usual competent but quiet, reserved self.
Blake Stanton, who’d joined the Rangers only a week or so before Wes and Mac had joined, watched the captain tentatively from under a shock of bright red hair. He was around 5’11”, lean and wiry and looked more confident than he was in his own abilities.
Wes Crowley, his blond hair tousled as usual, stood 5’8” on a good day, but he had all the confidence Stanton lacked. If anything he was too confident, but thus far he’d been lucky.
Otis "Mac" McFadden watched the captain from under a thick mop of dark brown hair and an off-white hat that looked more like a sombrero. At 6'2", he was stocky, around 200 pounds, and the least-likely suspect to be Wes’ friend, but that’s what he was.
Chris Mendoza, a recent join from Laredo, was stocky and about 5'6", with a round, happy face complete with dimples in his cheeks and a thick mop of coal black hair beneath a black hat.
Slate Lawson, another recent join from Kansas City, was blond-haired, blue-eyed, and about 6’4” but thin. His adam’s apple bobbed whenever he spoke.
And finally there was Jeremy Pinchot, the last of the three recent joins. He stood around 5”10” and like Mendoza, he had coal-black hair. But he was rail-thin, with a thin, pinched face and a timid disposition.
Tall and lean at 6'2" and around 180 pounds, the captain was clean shaven aside from a well-trimmed moustache that drooped over either side of his mouth to his jawline. A scar ran from high on his left cheekbone to just below his ear. There was also a gouge cut through the outside of his left ear.
In a deep southern voice, which was rendered more pronounced by his weariness, he said, “Gentlemen, unfortunately the governor has saddled us with a burden. I went to Austin expecting help in our fight against Four Crows. Suffice it to say I was severely disappointed. Instead, I am to dispatch two men to Brownsville to aid in the hunt for and apprehension of one Rincón Sandoval.”
He paused. His hands, which had been laying on the table palms down, curled into tight fists, then flexed open again. Quietly, he said, “I suppose Mr. Sandoval sees himself as dangerous. His primary problem is that he has not yet met up with any of my Rangers.”
All the men smiled. A couple chuckled and nodded.
The captain looked at Corporals Edwards and Connolly. “I originally planned to ask you gentlemen to select two men for this assignment, but it’s my responsibility.” He took a breath, then looked at Wes. “I want to send you, Ranger Crowley. And if you don’t mind, I’ll ask you to select whom you want to go with you. The corporals are exempt, and you know the threat we’re facing up here better than anyone. I hope you will take that into consideration.”
“Yes sir. With your permission, I’ll leave Rangers Stilson, Stanton, McFadden and the others here with you.” He grinned. “With any luck, by the time I get back they’ll have Lawson and Mendoza up to full Rangerin’ capabilities.” He paused. “I’d like to take Ranger Pinchot with me.”
Pinchot jerked his head around and stared at Wes. “Me? Really?”
The captain frowned. “Not Mac? Or Mendoza?” He glanced at Chris Mendoza. “Forgive me, but I assume you know the language?”
Mendoza nodded. “Yes sir, I do.”
Wes said, “All due respect, Captain, Mac’s an experienced Ranger. You’ll need him more than I will. And as far as languages go, my Colt talks across borders and cultures. And no offense to anyone else at the table, but I believe Pinchot’s the only man here who might be faster and more accurate than I am, Colt or Winchester.”
Pinchot looked at the captain. Timidly, he said, “That much is true, sir.”
Wes busted out laughing and the others joined him.
The captain only grinned and shook his head. Then he nodded and stood up. As he moved around the table, he said, “Very well, Ranger Crowley. You’re to report to Corporal Ringley as soon as you get down there. I’ve arranged for two tickets to Brownsville on the next southbound train. The station master has them.”
Wes frowned. “The train, sir?”
The captain nodded. “You have to be there within a week, and even you can’t pull that off. But you’ll take your mounts with you. The company at Brownsville probably doesn’t have many extras, if any.”
“Yes sir.”
“But you two don’t get lost down there. I want you both back here as soon as you can arrange it. Is that understood?”
Wes grinned. “Nowhere I’d rather be, Captain. We’ll head back as soon as we wrap it up.” He paused. “If you’ll excuse us, sir, I go check to see when the next southbound leaves.”
The captain checked his pocket watch. “No need. It leaves in just over two hours.”
“Yes sir. We’ll be on it.” He glanced over at Pinchot and gestured. “Let’s go, Ranger.”
Chapter 1
Outside, Pinchot only looked at Wes as they walked across the street toward the Amarillo Inn.
Finally Wes glanced at him. “What? Somethin’ on your mind?”
“No sir.” He paused, then said, “Well, yes sir. Why me?”
“You don’t wanna go?”
“Oh, sure I do. But between me, Lawson and Mendoza—”
“And Mac and Stilson and Stanton—don’t forget them.”
Pinchot nodded. “And them, why’d you choose me?”
As they stepped up on the boardwalk, Wes stopped and said, “Simple, like I said in the meeting. The captain might need those other Rangers. Four Crows is still out there. And of the first three you named, you’re the most ready. Mendoza’s okay, but you’re a little faster and more accurate with your gun. Lawson’ll probably make a good Ranger, but he needs a little more polishin’, and a trip like this ain’t the place to get it.”
As Wes turned and walked through the front door of the Inn, Pinchot followed him.
As Wes put his first boot on the bottom step of the stairs, Pinchot said, “Well, I’m glad you think I’m ready.”
Wes stopped and looked back at him. “Well, what put that stupid idea in your head?” Then he glanced up the stairs, then at Pinchot again. “C’mon. We don’t have a lot of time. I’ll talk while we’re walkin’.”
As they started up the stairs side by side, Wes said, “You’re a long way from bein’ ‘ready,’ whatever that means. Get that idea out of your head. About the time you think you know it all, you’ll collect an arrow in the chest.” They stepped on the landing. “Which way’s your room?”
Pinchot pointed to the right.
“Good. Mine too.” They started in that direction. “I just said you’re faster and a little more accurate with your gun. But there’s always more to learn about stayin’ alive.”
Pinchot stopped and pointed. “This is my room.”
Wes nodded. “Okay. You know what’s goin’ on so I’ll leave it up to you what to pack. When you’re done, meet me at the livery stable.”
Pinchot nodded and turned away to open his door.
Wes said, “Pinchot.”
Pinchot turned back, his eyebrows arched with a question.
“Look, if you ask questions when you have ‘em and watch what me and the others who’ve been here awhi
le do, you might survive. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
“I understand. Thanks, Ranger Crowley.”
“Yeah, well, call me Wes, all right?”
Pinchot grinned. “Yes sir, Wes.”
Wes shook his head as he turned and headed for his room.
*
Dust flew, illuminated in tiny sparkles by the sunlight coming through the window, as Wes flopped each of the three blankets in his bedroll. Then he spread them on the bed, one atop the other, and rolled them tightly.
He should have told Pinchot to wait for him when he was finished. Since they were taking the train, the boy might not even remember to bring his bedroll, but he’d need it after they got to Brownsville.
Still, it was too late to do anything about it now. If need be, he’d just have to send Pinchot back for it, if there was time. If not, he’d have to pick up some new blankets in Brownsville.
He packed one extra set of long johns and two extra sets of jeans and shirts as well as other possibles in the right saddle bag, then checked the other one. It was empty except for a few slices of jerky he’d picked up somewhere. But they shouldn’t need much in the way of food until they got down there. Probably he’d have to switch from carrying biscuits to tortillas. Brownsville was right on the Mexican border if what he’d heard was true. Probably they wouldn’t recognize a biscuit down there if it bit them. They should have stores of jerky though. At least he hoped they would.
He checked both his Colts to be sure they were loaded. Of course, they both were loaded, but he’d gotten into the habit of double-checking them. He carried the older one—the one Mac’s dad had given him—in the right holster. In the left holster was the one he’d bought less than a month ago just before he and Blake Stanton rode north to figure out how Four Crows had disappeared. So far, he hadn’t fired it except in practice.
He opened the drawer in the washstand, picked up four spare cylinders, already loaded, into the empty left saddle bag. Then he slung his saddle bags over his right shoulder, picked up his Winchester with his left hand, trapped his bedroll under his left arm, and grasped the doorknob.
He turned it.
*
“Ready to go, Wes.”
Wes flinched, his eyes went wide and his Colt was in his right hand. He almost shrugged his saddle bags off his shoulder.
Jeremy Pinchot was standing across the hall, a broad grin rapidly disappearing from his face. His eyes were wide too. “Dang, Wes, I never saw your hand move!” As they were the day he’d walked into the dining room downstairs, his saddle bags were draped over his right shoulder, and he carried his Winchester and his blanket roll on the left side.
Wes holstered his Colt and frowned as he released a breath. “Don’t do that, understand?”
Pinchot nodded. “Yes sir.” Then he frowned. “Do what?”
“Ambush a man right outside his door. That’s a good way to get dead.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Lesson number one: As a Ranger, you never know what’s gonna happen in the next second. Always be ready.” Wes gestured. “That’s why we carry our saddle bags over our right shoulder, right? So we can draw if we have to.”
“Oh. I just carry mine there ‘cause they feel better on that side.”
“No sir. Always leave your gun hand free.” Wes looked down the hall. There was nobody there to witness what had happened. He looked at Pinchot again. “When you visit the range again, it wouldn’t hurt to carry your saddle bags and practice pullin’ that hogleg while you’re wearin’ ‘em.”
“Yes sir. I’ll do that.”
“All right. Let’s get on down to the livery stable.”
As they walked, Wes asked a series of questions regarding what Pinchot had packed.
All the boy’s answers were satisfactory.
At the stable, they saddled their mounts, led them outside and rode to the train station.
The train arrived a few minutes later.
After they boarded the horses, Wes took his Winchester out of the saddle scabbard and turned away.
Pinchot said, “You’re taking your carbine too?”
As he came to the ramp, Wes stopped. Without looking back, he said, “Lesson number two: Always take your guns with you. They’re the primary tools of your trade. Would a carpenter choose between a saw and a hammer?”
“No sir.”
Wes nodded and stepped out on the ramp.
The conductor, a heavy-set balding man who looked to be in his late 40s, saw Wes coming. “You’re going south with us today, Ranger?”
Wes nodded and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Me and my friend here. For a few days in fact. All the way to Brownsville.”
The conductor grinned. “That’s an almost 5-day trip. I’ll set aside a sleeping compartment for the two of you. You’ll have only the best of everything.”
Wes stopped. “Well, thanks for that. Much appreciated, Mr. ...?” He extended his right hand.
The conductor smiled. As they shook, he said, “Hutchings. Sam Hutchings. Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks, Mr. Hutchings.” Wes gestured as Pinchot came up beside him. “And this is Ranger Pinchot.” Wes grinned. “We ain’t got nearly enough to do up here, so we’re gonna go south to help out for a while.”
Mr. Hutchings shook Pinchot’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.” Then he looked at Wes again. “It’s truly an honor, sir. I hope I’ll get to see you both on the return trip too.”
Wes took his meaning. “So do we, Mr. Hutchings. So do we.”
Pinchot followed as Wes stepped up into the car.
Chapter 2
Other than Wes and Pinchot figuring out the finer points of train travel—mostly sleeping and eating arrangements—the trip south was uneventful. During most of the trip, they were seated across the aisle from each other in the back of their passenger car.
More than once, passersby in the aisle did a double-take when they noticed the Winchester carbine each man held, but none of them ever said anything. If they mentioned any concerns to the conductor, he kept the comments to himself. Company personnel aboard the train were only too happy to have the Rangers along.
As Mr. Hutchings had predicted, they pulled into the station at Brownsville several hours into day five of the trip.
As Wes and Pinchot stepped down onto the platform, each carrying his Winchester in his left hand, Corporal Jason Ringley was there to meet them.
Wes spotted him right away.
Dressed in brown boots, jeans, and a white shirt, Ringley looked to be in his late 20s. He stood just shy of six feet tall with dark brown hair and calm, steady brown eyes. He was lanky, though he had the square shoulders and narrow hips of a man who’d spent his life in the saddle. His badge was prominently displayed on the left breast of a brown leather vest. Like Wes, he wore twin Colts.
Ringley’s gaze went to the badge on Wes’ left breast. He smiled and nodded. “Welcome to Brownsville, guys.” He extended his right hand to Wes.
As they shook hands, Wes said, “I’m Wes Crowley. Pleased to meet you.”
“Jason Ringley, likewise.”
Wes said, “We’re down from Amarillo.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “This is Jeremy Pinchot.”
As Ringley and Pinchot shook hands, Wes said, “We brought our horses with us, so—”
Ringley said, “Sure. Captain Wilson sent us a telegram a few days ago. The livery stable’s just about a block from here.” He pointed. “Down that way. I’ll walk over with you. After that, we’ll walk down to the Cameron Hotel. We got you a room over there.”
As they walked back toward the car that carried Charley and Pinchot’s horse, Wes said, “Just one?”
Ringley nodded. “Two beds. I guess we’ll have a lot of folks comin’ in.” He grinned. “The hotel likes us, but not that much.”
Wes chuckled. “That’ll work. We shouldn’t be here that long anyway.”
He stepped up on the ramp to retrieve Charley from the stock car. Pinchot followed him.
Ringley said, “Well, I hope we can wrap it up quick, but I don’t know. I’ve—well, we’ve—been after Sandoval for three, four months. We seem to always be a little late. It’s almost like he knows we’re comin’.”
As he appeared at the open door of the stock car again, Charley’s reins in his hand, Wes only nodded. The whole thing reminded him too much of Four Crows and, lately, Paco Messina. Against the backdrop of Charley and then Pinchot and his horse clomping down the ramp behind him, he looked at Ringley. “You ever hear the name Messina down here? Francisco or Paco Messina?”