BAD LANDS

BAD LANDS

I swear, I never met a braver or truer man than Ranger Seth Cooper and it was my honour to ride ‘longside o’ him. First time I saw him, he was facing down four liquored up, armed men whose bravery came from a bottle and I observed all o’ this from the first floor window of an Amarillo saloon and whorehouse where I looked down upon the faces o’ those four men with my rifle trained on the ringleader. Of course, one by one those fellas started to realise that, though they outnumbered Ranger Seth that day, it was highly likely that one, maybe two o’ them, would depart this life and I watched as their cockiness started to be replaced by fear; the fear of death itself. They handed their guns over to the boss man and I withdrew back into the grimy bedroom, prepared to continue my sordid interchange with the only whore in that there place o’ sin willing to take the coin from a man disfigured when an Apache injun took his knife to me at Plum Creek in 1840.

It weren’t me that told Ranger Cooper that I had his back that day. ’t was the whore, herself. He sought me out to thank me and, whether he was disgusted by my disfigurement or not, he did not show it. He shook my hand and asked simply: “Injuns?”

As I nodded, he gave me a look o’ genuine sympathy and told me that he was a Texas Ranger and could do with a man like me as his partner. That was 1843 and I rode with that man for seven straight years.

We went wherever the Rangers sent us. We travelled halfway ‘cross the great State of Texas, rounding up bad men of all sorts: cattle rustlers, bank robbers, stagecoach hold up men-you name it. Often there was a reward for what we done and Ranger Cooper did not hesitate to split that money with me. That’s the kind o’ man he was; honest, brave and a true friend. Of course, we had some rough set-tos and it was only thanks to the good Lord that one or both of us lived through those times. We had some real ol’ shoot outs, fist fights too many to mention and even had ourselves some knife fights. I was a dab hand with a knife; always had been ever since I was a young boy and I always carried my Bowie knife at all times. Through it all, old Seth and me developed a natural camaraderie and he knew that, no matter what, I had his back.

Came to pass that a number o’ people had been disappearing after leaving the main towns of Texas on their way due west to California. It was a harsh journey that involved crossing a vast desert region afore striking the greener, hill country. There were only one town along that route -Sonora-population just 243 hardy souls and, with no telegraph set up back then, it took several months afore word started filtering back that those people who had left Texas mounted on horseback or in a covered wagon had not arrived in California. There was very little injun trouble at that time with most of the tribes having been moved onto reservations. So it was something of a mystery as to what could have happened to those folks. Course, none o’ this were Ranger Cooper’s problem. At least, not until a Ranger, name o’ Big John Winthrop was dispatched from San Antonio to investigate -and promptly disappeared himself!

Big John was known to just ‘bout ever’body. He was, as his name suggested, a huge man-close on six feet tall and strong as a bull. I seen him wrestle one time, took on all comers, one after t’other at the Dallas Country Fair; squashed ‘em all like water melons. He was kinda partial to water melons, too, as it happens. Used to eat ‘em, skin, seeds an’ all. Big John was a hard drinking, mean son of a bitch as well. Thing is, what I’m trying to say is -it’s hard to imagine how somebody could make a man like Big John Winthrop just disappear into thin air and when I was told that the Texas Rangers wanted Seth Cooper to get to the bottom o’ this mystery, I felt kinda sick to my stomach on account o’ I had a real bad feeling that this was not gonna end up right. Ranger Seth was no friend o’ Winthrop, no sir, but the Rangers had a kinda code and, if’n you came at one o’ them, you better be prepared for what was coming after you.

Anyhow, we headed out, carrying enough water to get us through the Sonora desert. Old Seth had a real thing about water. Where most Rangers would carry a canteen, maybe two, Ranger Seth carried four. He believed that water was the most important thing in life and he were constantly on at me to drink more. Seth never touched liquor; it were always water for him and, I have to admit, that, following his advice, I sure felt better; fitter and healthier. Ever’ time we’d hit a river or stream, old Seth would bathe and fill up them canteens. Back then, bathing regular was not normal but I can attest to the fact that Seth’s way was the best way.  

I had travelled this route myself, but in the opposite direction, many years afore, and it was all a blur but Seth Cooper had never been that far west. Yet, somehow, he had a bloodhound’s instinct for directions and led the way without hesitation. Out there, there ain’t no twilight. The sun disappears behind a mountain top and, suddenly, it’s black as pitch. It’s kinda a relief when that blazing sun, that has been burning you up all day, first disappears. But that don’t last too long. Soon enough, the chill sets in and it turns real cold. Coyotes that, during the daylight, have kept their distance, start to feel a bit braver and a good fire is essential to keep both the cold and the critters at bay. That first night, I tried to tell Ranger Seth that I had a real bad feeling ‘bout this journey and that, maybe, we should turn back come morning but old Seth never knew what fear was and he weren’t about to leave a fellow Ranger unaccounted for.

Second day, we were riding high. That were another of Seth’s ways; if there were hills or dunes, he’d insist that we climb up and ride high. It meant that we couldn’t be surprised by an attack from above and it allowed us a clear view o’ the country for miles around. Course, it added to our travel time as we climbed up and down. That morning, we spotted the braves; three of 'em. They were renegades, Commanches, off a reservation and just looking for trouble. This was nothing new to us and, as usual, Ranger Cooper had a way to deter direct confrontation. He drew his rifle and held it aloft and I followed suit. Normally, the sight of two men, rifles showing distinctly, would be enough to make most fellows think twice but those young bucks were out to make a name for themselves and spurred their horses on in our direction. We had the high ground but, in another of his strange ways, old Seth spurned this advantage, preferring to meet trouble head on and, he turned his horse down from the hill on which we had been riding and charged straight at the injuns-me right with him. Back then, ‘fore the Winchester repeater rifle, our single shot rifles were not a good choice o’ weapon in a situation like that, so we both drew our pistols and fired as we charged. I hit one and Ranger Seth hit two; all three dead-and for what?

Took us best part o’ five days to cross that damned desert and another day’s riding through the hills and grasslands afore we hit Sonora. As we rode into that godforsaken place, the few people about barely gave us a glance as they shuffled along the duckboards that passed for a boardwalk. Seth Cooper did not waste any time and headed straight for the general store, which doubled as an assayer’s office, where we tethered our horses and stepped into the gloom o’ that building. After the brightness o’ the sun, it took us a few seconds to adjust our eyes to the dimness inside, lit only by two kerosene lamps hanging from the low ceiling. As we had entered, a little bell above the doorway had tinkled alerting the store owner who came hustling from the back room. All around us were various goods: sacks o’ feed, saddles, guns, ammunition, mining tools etc. 

“Well, good afternoon, gentlemen. You sure don’t look like miners,” he said, as he stared at us in the gloom. Ranger Cooper stepped forwards as I stayed by the door, my hat pulled down low so’s the assayer could not properly see my scarred face.

“You, sir, have the look of a man of the law. Am I right?’

“My name is Seth Cooper. I’m a Texas Ranger and I am looking for one of our men who was supposed to have passed this way some weeks back. Big giant of a fella; hard to miss”.

That’s one o’ the things I liked about Ranger Seth. He always got straight to the point.

“I’ve been here fifteen years-ever since the opal rush -but I ain’t never seen anybody fits that description. We don’t get many visitors these days”.

The assayer was peering at me, his eyes squinting, trying to get a real good look at my face as I stood silently in the shadows..

“Are there any homesteads here about?”

“In the hills, there’s a dozen or so miners but they all work and live solitary lives. They come down when they need supplies or have a small strike. Apart from them, there is only one place that could possibly be described as anything like a homestead. That’s the Clayton place, back aways, the way you came; husband and wife. They had a son but he left these parts years ago.”.

“Can you direct me to their place?’

“Surely, you don’t intend to ride out there now? Why it’ll be dark soon. We have a saloon right here in town that you could spend the night at and refresh yourselves, both you and your, eh, companion, Mr. eh?”

“Directions, if you will”.

I listened as this man gave Ranger Seth very vague directions and I knew that Ranger Cooper had no intention of staying in town overnight and was set on heading out to the Clayton place right now even though dark would be upon us pretty soon. That’s just the way the man was and you had to admire his determination, I guess. But, deep down, my guts were churning and my original foreboding returned.

Off we headed, back the way we had come. About two miles outside o’ town, with the sun starting to disappear behind the hills, Ranger Seth took a turn to the right. Ain’t no way, that there assayer coulda described this exact spot but, like I said afore, my man was like a bloodhound when it came to directions. We started to climb gradually passing brush and sage, rocks and occasional grasses. Just afore the sun disappeared from view entirely, we came to the top of a ridge and, down below us, were a house o’ sorts and what looked like a barn and a stockade. My insides was all knotted up but old Seth just headed straight on down. I thought to grab him and indicate that, maybe, this wasn’t such a good idea but I knew in my heart that it was useless. 

Down below, we tied up our horses and I followed as Ranger Cooper headed straight for the front o’ the house and, without knocking and waiting for an answer, just pushed open the rickety door and entered. Only the light from one kerosene lamp upon a timber mantlepiece cast light into that room. The figure of a man could be vaguely made out leaning against a stone fireplace. The ceiling of this home was so low that Ranger Cooper had to stoop and the floor was earthen. The man, a smallish figure, grinned impishly displaying his one, solitary tooth, chipped and stained in the front o’ his mouth.

“Thought you’d be along. Saw you passing on the way to town and figured: ‘they be lawmen and they’ll be back. Yessir, they’ll be back, sure as my name’s Jeremiah Clayton”.

I saw Ranger Cooper sniff the air and place his fingers instinctively upon the handle o’ his holstered pistol. Silently, I drew my Bowie knife from its sheath. I could smell what his nose had detected-the pervasive stink o’ rotten flesh. As our eyes slowly adjusted to the dark interior, I could see, sticking out from the earthen floor, barely covered over at all, bones that surely belonged to no animal. The man, still grinning, took an object from his pocket and deliberately held it up towards the kerosene lamp-a silver star -the star of the Texas Rangers.  

Ranger Cooper knew, instinctively, that the man was deliberately flaunting the fact that he had killed Big John Winthrop but Seth was looking past the star. He was looking into the far corner o’ the room and had espied what I, following his gaze, had also just spotted: a dozen or so human skulls jutting out from the earthen floor. I knew I should never have let Seth Cooper bring us here but now it was too late. Ranger Cooper pulled his gun but out of the darkness, a woman, clothed in black, leapt forward, raising what we could see clearly was a hatchet, and made to strike.

But Ranger Cooper was fast on the draw and he had his pistol cocked and ready to fire afore she could land a fatal blow. Ranger Cooper knew that I had his back and I surely did. Afore he could get off a shot, I raised my Bowie knife and plunged it -straight between Seth Cooper’s shoulder blades. I tried to retrieve the knife but he spun upon me open-mouthed and aghast. I don’t think I will ever forget the agonised look of betrayal on that man’s face afore my momma swung her axe down upon his head splintering it into two. 

I truly did admire and love that man but, as they say, when all’s said and done, blood is thicker than water!