Justice

"Doc told me you'd be wakin up this morning, so I moseyed over after my breakfast. Looks like I timed it about right. I'm Sheriff Rawlings. And you'd be?"

"Caleb Thomson, Sheriff."

Tom Rawlings didn't look like a sheriff. He was short and very husky. When he took off his hat as he entered the doctor's home, he showed a bald head. It was hard to tell his age because his face was tanned so deeply by the sun. Rawlings looked like someone's grandpa; except for the steely eyes and the 12 gauge coach gun he carried.

"Can you tell me why those two jumped you?"

Staring at the Sheriff for a few seconds, Caleb replied, "Wasn't like that Sheriff. I braced them."

"You confronted two armed men. Mind telling me why?"

"I have my reasons sir."

"Well let me tell you what I have, son. I have two dead men lying in my street. I have the man that admits killing them. And I have no idea why. So, boy, if you don't tell me, I'll charge you and hold you over for the Circuit Judge."

Caleb started to speak, hesitated, and sighed. "There was a Confederate Cavalry squad, five men it was, stopped by my ranch just after the war. Guess they were on their way west. They abused my wife and then killed her. Sloan and Riley were part of that squad."

He paused and asked, "That reason enough for you Sheriff." Caleb's voice was hard, cold, and defensive. "Those two were numbers three and four. There's one more and I aim to get him."

Tom Rawlings frowned as he listened to Caleb's story and thought back to the time he almost lost his own wife; in a way, he knew how the young man felt. In spite of Caleb's bluster and bravado, Tom could see the pain in the boy's eyes. That pain will be there for some time, Tom thought.

"Well, you won't get him for quite a spell. Doc Sorenson says it's gonna be at least a month fore your fit to ride; and then you won't be able to travel far," Tom smiled at Caleb. "We'll talk more; reckon we're gonna get to know each other pretty well." Turning he waved at Mrs. Sorenson. "See y'all tomorrow Molly."

The next morning, Sheriff Rawlings came calling carrying a coffee pot. Caleb was propped up against the headboard of the bed. "Molly is a wonderful person and helps the Doc a lot. But she can't make coffee for beans, so I brought you some. Here give me your cup." Tom took the offered cup, walked to the window, and emptied the cup out the window. Then he refilled the cup from his coffee pot and handed it to Caleb.

Caleb carefully sipped the hot coffee, nodded, and said, "Much better. Thank you Sheriff."

"Not sayin you don't have cause to go after them gray backs but why didn't you go to the law," Tom asked.

"Wasn't really time if I was going to catch them," Caleb answered. "Our place is about a half day's ride out of San Antonio. By the time I finished burying Elle, got to the Marshal and back to my place, they would have had more a week's head start. Sides they would have been out of the town marshal's jurisdiction by then."

Caleb pause, took a drink of coffee, and stared out the window for a bit. "I reckoned if there was gonna be justice for Ellie, it'd be up to me." He gave a sad little smile and added, "So here I am."

"I could telegraph Sheriff Emery in Stockton and have him hold this Fueget; Emery is a friend of mine."

"Friend or not, he couldn't make charges from back home or from Langtry stick. Fueget would just walk away." Caleb looked Tom in the eye and said, "No it's up to me and by God I'll see that man in Hell; or he'll send me there. One way or another, it'll be all over with when I catch up to him."

"You're not ready for the rigors of that ride," Doctor Sorenson said to Caleb as his patient dressed himself and got ready for the trail.

It had been six weeks since he'd been shot. Caleb had settled his bill and saddled Gris after packing his saddlebags. "Doc, I appreciate all the care you and Molly have given me; I wouldn't have made it without you." He shook the doctor's hand. "But Fueget is still out there and I've got to go after him."

"Don't bother trying to talk him out of it Doc," Tom said. "Been trying for six weeks now; boy's as stubborn as a mule and just as ornery." He shook Caleb's hand. "I telegraphed Sheriff Emery last week; asked about Fueget. Told him why I was interested and to keep it to himself. Emery said Fueget is working at a freight company. Said for you to check in with him when you get to Fort Stockton."

"Thanks Tom. You're a good man and a good friend. But I reckon I have to meet Fueget on my own." Caleb mounted and as he turned Gris northwest he said, "God bless you folks."

Caleb had been riding for four days; he thought he'd be on the trail for another two or three. He could have made the 125 mile journey to Fort Stockton in four or five days riding hard, but he saw no need to push Gris. The country he rode through was high chaparral; an almost desert like area. It wasn't as arid and dry as most of the country in the southwest but there wasn't an over abundance of water.

"Gris, Fueget will be waitin, living high on the hog, while he works at the freight company, Caleb told his horse. He and Gris had stopped at one of the few water holes on the trail. "And he don't know I'm comin for him; but he'll find out soon enough." He reached over and patted Gris' neck. "Won't he Gris?"

Suddenly a rifle shot rang out. Turning, Caleb cocked his head and listened. Two shots, a pause, and then two more echoed off a small rock butte to the northeast. Mounting Gris, He put the horse into a slow, ground eating lope and headed toward the butte.

Caleb carefully rounded a stand of Mesquite trees and pulled his horse up short. At the base of the butte was a wagon wedged between two large boulders that years ago had fallen from the face of the butte. Behind the wagon, some horses were picketed close to the rock wall. Hiding behind the wagon he saw three people. From where he sat on Gris, it looked like a man, a woman, and a young boy. Every few seconds the man would stand, look over the rocky area in front of the wagon, and then duck back down.

Turning Gris, Caleb rode back around the stand of trees and down into a small arroyo. Following it, he quietly cut across in front of the wagon about two hundred feet away. He wanted to get a look at what the man was shooting at before he made himself known.

He got off Gris and slowly on foot climbed out of the arroyo. There were six Indian ponies ground tied about 20 feet in front of him. On the other side of the horses, in a depression, facing the wagon were five Indians. Reckon they're Comanche, Caleb thought. A sixth Indian lay out in the open with the top of his head shot off. Reckon the others will keep their heads down now.

Two of the Comanche had old smooth bore muzzle loading rifles, one had a more modern Sharps breech loader, and the other three had bows and lances. They'd already lost one of their band and pride made them stay to finish their attack on the wagon; but they didn't seem to be too interested in charging.

From his vantage point Caleb could see that Indians were very young. Probably on their first raiding party, he thought. Shaking his head he told himself, older braves would have sense enough to ride on. There are times that all pride gets you is dead.

Caleb had pulled his Winchester from its scabbard when he dismounted. He took aim at a rock near the Comanche closest to the wagon. He fired, chipping pieces of rock next to the young brave. Caleb quickly worked the action on the rifle and fired several more times, coming closer to his target with each shot.

The Indians looked around in confusion, then ran for their horses, mounted and rode away at a high gallop. Caleb laughed as they rode away. Reckon they'll think twice about attacking another wagon, he thought. Walking back to Gris, he mounted and rode toward the wagon.

"Hello, the camp," he yelled before he climbed out of the arroyo. "I'm comin in. Don't shoot please."

"C'mon in," the man said as he stood up. He held his rifle at the ready.

Caleb rode closer to the wagon and stopped Gris. "Howdy, I'm Caleb Thompson. Sorry to spoil your party."

The man shook his head and smiled. "Always room for one more at a party. I'm Ed Reeves; this is my wife Jane and our son, John." Then the man's face got a serious look. "Thanks for the help. I don't know how long we could have held out; we're a little low on water."

"There's a good water hole over that way about a mile, Mr. Reeves," Caleb said pointing back to the northwest. "Just filled my canteen and watered my horse there."

To Caleb, Ed Reeves looked to be about 40 years old. In addition to having been taught to respect his elders, Caleb also admired the man, and his family, for the way they fought off the Comanche; that's the reason he addressed Reeves as Mister.

"I think you can call me Ed, especially after what you did for us."

"Where're you headed Ed?"

"Going to Fort Stockton; inherited a general store from my uncle." Ed turned and nodded toward his family. "We thought we could make a good life for ourselves."

"I'm goin to Fort Stockton myself," Caleb said. "Think I'll ride along with y'all, if you don't mind."

The next few days were routine. The Reeves and Caleb would break camp at first light, drive the wagon team until just past midday, and stop for a meal. They would let the horses rest until late afternoon and get back on the trail.

There was a full moon, known in Texas as a Comanche moon and back east as a hunter's moon, which gave plenty of light in this mostly flat land so they could travel late into the night. After three or four hours the wagon would stop again until first light. Traveling during the early part of the day and after the sun set meant they missed most of the heat and hot sun that was a constant problem this time of the year.

During the journey, Caleb would let Ed, John and sometimes Jane ride Gris. They had no riding stock and people got tired of bumping along in the wagon or walking beside it. It took five days and nights but the wagon reached Fort Stockton late on the fifth day. The Reeves invited Caleb to stay with them at their new home while he was in town. He did accept some trail supplies from them but then he said goodbye to his new friends and went on with the reason he'd come to Fort Stockton.

Stopping in front of a livery stable, Caleb asked the man where the Sheriff's office was. He'd decided to speak to Sheriff Emery before he went after Fueget.

"Sheriff Emery's office is down yonder," the man answered, pointing to a sign hanging out over the boardwalk about fifty yards away.

"Give my horse a bath," Caleb ordered. "We just came through a lot of rough country. Brush him after you wash him and feed him a warm mash." He tossed a $5 gold piece to the man. "That take care of it?" The stable hand nodded.

Caleb walked to the Sheriff's office and entered without knocking. Sitting behind the desk was a big man with a star on his vest.

"Sheriff Emery? I'm Caleb Thompson. I think Tom Rawlings sent you a wire about me."

Emery stood and shook hands. He was bigger than Caleb; not just in height but in build too. Emery's forearms, what Caleb could see sticking out of his sleeves were muscular and looked as hard as stone; his hands were large and show signs of working outside.

"Tom said you'd be heading this way," the Sheriff said. "Appreciate you comin to see me fore you meet up with Fueget. Really don't hold with gunfights or gunfighters, but in this case I'm willin to let things go their own way." Emery looked directly at Caleb. "Long as it's a fair fight, I won't get in the way."

"Thanks Sheriff. I'll give him the first move, but I aim to kill him."

"I can understand how you feel. Lost my wife when Sherman marched to Savanna back in '64; I wasn't home at the time." Emery paused as if remembering. "Well enough about that. When do you plan to see Fueget?"

"I'm goin down to the freight office right now," Caleb replied. "Might as well get it over with."

"It's six o'clock; freight office is probably closed for the day."

"I'll go anyway. If it is closed I'll meet him tomorrow morning when he comes in. Been waitin this long, another night won't matter."

"Don't rightly know where Fueget is now, but he won't be comin back anytime soon," the older man in the freight office told Caleb. It was early morning and Caleb had been waiting outside the office for Fueget. When the man opened the office, Caleb went in to question him.

"Damndest thing. Fueget came by my place late last night. Oh, I'm Samuel Turner; me and Fueget were partners in this freight business. Anyway, he came by my place last night and offered to sell me his share of the company." Turner had made coffee when he came in and now offered Caleb a cup as he poured his own. "Almost begged me to buy him out, he did. I gave him about a third of what his share is worth in cash and he signed it over to me."

"Why would he do that?" Caleb asked. He was disappointed that Fueget had gotten away.

"Ask him the same thing myself," Turner replied. "Said someone was after him, someone that planned on killing him. He said he had to get out of the country." Turner shook his head. "Normally I wouldn't take advantage of a man like that, but Fueget insisted."

Turner paused and gave Caleb a hard look. "You be the one after Fueget?"

Caleb nodded. "Fueget is right, I am after him. How'd he know I was comin?"

"Fueget said he has a friend at the telegraph office that told him about a message for Sheriff Emery. Said it was from a lawman named Rawlings over to Langtry. In the telegram Rawlings told about a young feller that had killed two men in a fair fight who was looking for Fueget." Turner shook his head, "anyway it sure spooked him and off he went."

"Thanks for the coffee," Caleb said and sat his cup down on the desk. "Got any idea where Fueget is headed?"

The freight man hesitated, took a deep breath and asked, "Why are you after him?"

Now it was Caleb's turn to hesitate, looking down for a few seconds. "Fueget and four of his men abused and killed my wife. Fueget is the only one left and I aim to bring him to justice."

"You know it was them for sure?"

"My wife wounded one of the men, a Sgt. Bill Wilson, with a butcher knife. I found him on the trail where he'd bleed to death. Fueget and the others took his horse and left him there to die. Wilson had written a letter naming the others and telling what they'd done." Caleb gave Turner an evil grin. "My wife made them pay and I aim to do the same."

The two men stared at each other for close to a minute. Finally Turner said, "Fueget said he was headed northwest to an old played out mining town called Owensville. Said he was going to gear up there, push on to Van Horn and then to California."

Caleb nodded his thanks and turned to leave. "Ain't much of nothing but a big bellied, no account drunk for sheriff in Owensville since the mine played out," Turner said. "How you plan to turn him over to the law?"

Another evil smile played over Caleb's face. "I said justice; never said anything about the law."

"You gonna be the judge and jury for Fueget?"

"And executioner," Caleb replied. "Or he'll be mine. Don't much matter anymore. But when I find him, one of us is going to die."

"Son, it's not my place to tell you what to do. I don't know you or your wife but from what you told me, she wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your time on this earth living in hate." Turner stood from behind his desk. "Let Fueget go boy, the good Lord will see he gets what's coming to him; either in this world or the next."

Caleb shook hands with the man. "Thanks for your help Mr. Turner and the advice. But I've come too far to stop now. I'll rest when all of those men are dead. Goodbye sir." He turned, walked out the door and mounted Gris.

"Reckon we're headed for Owensville Gris," he said and spurred the horse onto the trail.

"Mr. Turner was right Caleb," Mary said when he finished his story. "Your Ellie wouldn't want you to live this way. Let Fueget go; you and I can leave this town. We could go together if you like."

"Mary..." Caleb began.

"You're a good man Caleb," Mary interrupted. "And I find myself drawn to you. We could get a new start somewheres, together."

Caleb shook his head. "No Mary, I'm gonna kill Fueget. After that I don't know what I'll do but I'm not fit company for a good woman. No, I'll just keep riding until, Hell, I don't know what."

"When are you going to meet up with Fueget?" Mary asked, still hoping Caleb would give up his vengeance.

"I sent a message to him today. Told him either here or on the trail, we was gonna meet; might as well be here." Caleb gave Mary a small hard grin. "Told him at least here, one of us would get a decent burial. Fueget agreed to meet me tomorrow morning just after first light." He paused for a bit and said, "It'll be over before breakfast I reckon."

Caleb was leaning against the hitching rail in front of the Hanson House drinking a morning cup of coffee when Fueget came around the corner of a building about fifty feet further down the street. He walked toward Caleb like a man walking to his own funeral; slow and halting and looking around for nonexistent help.

Fueget was still wearing the gray pants with a yellow stripe of the Confederate Cavalry. He was bareheaded and his dark, long, dirty hair hung down in his face. Across one cheek was an almost healed cut. The kind made by a butcher knife, Caleb thought. He ain't much to look at, but I'm not here for looking; I'm here for justice.

"Just you and me Fueget," Caleb said, standing upright. When the man got close, Caleb said, "You and your squad killed my wife; you're the only one left. My wife cut up Wilson bad enough that he died and I took care of the other three. Now I'm gonna take care of you."

"I'll pay you anything, just let me be," Fueget pleaded.

"You'll pay with your life, you son of a bitch." Caleb shook out his right hand. "I promised a friend that I'd give you the first move. Fill your hand."

"Let's talk about th..." Fueget said but went for his pistol.

He was faster than the others and Caleb had to rush his shot a little. He hit Fueget high in the chest and the big .44 knocked him to the ground. Caleb walked to stand over his wife's killer. He pointed his Remington at a spot between Fueget eyes.

"My Ellie almost got you didn't she?" Caleb said pointing to the scar on Fueget's cheek. "Well I'm here to finish the job. Now you're goin to Hell Fueget," Caleb said and cocked the hammer of his pistol. Fueget was holding his wound and his breath, his eyes showed fear and pain. Caleb stared at the downed man for several seconds. "Hell, Mary's right. Ellie wouldn't want this," he said. Fueget looked puzzled.

"It's one thing to kill a man in a fair fight; it's another to murder him." Caleb let the hammer down slowly and holstered his gun. "We're done Fueget," he said, turned and walked toward the hotel.

Caleb had taken a few steps when he heard Mary yell, "Look out Caleb."

He turned back to Fueget and for the second time since he'd started hunting the men that killed his wife, Caleb felt the fire and pain of a gunshot wound. He pulled his weapon and snapped a shot at Fueget. Caleb's shot was true, hitting Fueget in the head. Caleb grabbed his shoulder, stumbled, and sank to the dusty street. He stayed awake just long enough to feel Mary pulling his head into her lap.

This time when he woke, Caleb felt someone holding his hand. "Hello Mary girl," he said and opened his eyes.