Texas Ranger Creek & Tombstone's Bloody Bucket by Ash Lingam & Dave Walton

Author:Ash Lingam & Dave Walton [Lingam, Ash & Walton, Dave]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781985803213
Google: BzN_tAEACAAJ
Barnesnoble:
Publisher: CreateSpace Publishing
Published: 2018-02-22T00:00:00+00:00

Captain Goodblood’s Soldiers

Indian Army Scouts

“Humphrey, go over to the bar and bring us back a few bottles of whiskey. It will be good to wash some of the foul taste that Tombstone left in my mouth,” I said to my cook. “Looking back on the course of events, it would appear that things did get somewhat out of hand back there.”

“It took you long enough to realize it, Ridge,” Captain Goodblood said. “When I arrived, it looked like Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“Just like I said to you when it started,” Rowdy jumped in to say. “Such goings-on can’t be good for a man’s luck.”

“It ain’t about luck. It is about maintaining some amount of civilization in our actions. I realize we are called to deal with the dredges of the West. Every damned shit-bag thief and killer, so a man tends to lose sight of what is acceptable or not,” I said. “One of the reasons why Scorpion Jack wandered over the line and became an outlaw himself.”

“There you go again. That fine line between a lawman and an outlaw,” Wild Bill said.

“In the Army, there is no grey area. We toe the line in the military,” Victor stated. “Do whatever it is we are ordered to do and to our best ability, never leaving us in a dubious situation. Most business is very clear-cut. Not like working as a Texas Ranger on the border or even as a gunfighter like Mr. Hickok.”

As we talked amongst ourselves a few of Victor’s soldiers filed in to have a sit-down meal. A refreshing break from the usual campfire grub from whatever they can scrape together on the trail. These little treats were making the laborious task of riding these dry lands more bearable.

Men that ride for weeks on end chasing an opponent that knows every crack and cranny in the Territory. Having little chance of even getting a glimpse of him not alone, capture an Apache war party. The men’s uniforms were covered in reddish dust. Their faces were brown from weeks of riding in the hot sun.

The Mexican server brought each of us a smallish armadillo that lay on their back with the belly cracked open. Baked on hot coals directly on their shells. The flesh was dark like that of game meat, but the taste was twice as good as chicken.

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