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Show 10 SALT FLAT NEWS, MARCH, 1975 my world possessions, consisting of a couple of changes of soon proved to him I could hold up my end with the best of them in riding , shooting, wenching, drinking, and brawling. He soon found me to be a good fighting man, one who asked no quarters. NEWS photo by R. Manziai Dear Readers: After many months of absence, it gives me great pleasure to once more be able to serve your reading pleasure. Heretofore , I shall throw the old saddle upon my faithful clatterbox (typewriter) and take you for another interpages of the diary esting tour through the adventure-fille- d while Set back, relax, of my memory. your imagination takes you south of the border into .that beautiful enchanted and romantic land, of manana as we once again take a familiar ride down trails of memory. Thank you for your most welcome and appreciated company . Your most obedient servant. Ye Ole Ranger, Floyd D. Eaton . Picture yourself miles into hostile ' territory with instant death lurking in every 'shadow. You are a cop bound for a mission that a sane man would have thought about twice before taking. You have all the time you need to accomplish the impossible, as long as it isnt over hours. twenty-fou- r Suddenly you are no longer the hunter, but the hunted like a vicious animal, but one with strength and special skill. You were trained over the years in a hard and bitter school, but so were your enemies. Suddenly you are faced with the realization that you may have only minutes to live. What would be your decision? WHEN OUTLAWS RIDES with that moisture was still hanging on the saddle of my dead bronc yonder. And to make me more miserable, I was craving a smoke, but, my pipe was somewhere in the neighborhood of the horse. Id been embracing that rock for at least three hours, and in all that time I hadnt caught a glimpse of a target. Maybe if I had, there would be one less rifle to worry about, but the rock had my view blocked. Yet it worked also in my favor, my' good friends could not see me either, nor could they maneuver for a clear field of tire without exposing themselves to my own. Those hijos were too shrewd to pull such a stupid stunt as that. They would occasionally fire a round or two, the slugs kicking sand in my face, just to let me know that they were still the entertainers furnishing the music. Gunmusic to dance by, but I had no pardner nor the room to do any dancing if I cared to do so. Besides, I had little taste for their style of music or the tune that searching lead sang. It reminded me of a funeral dirge. And unless I could come up with a plan to get out of this mess with part of a skin, that funeral was going to be my life-savi- ng ful rock til dark fell, then surround me and finish the job they had started to do. I vowed Id do my best to try and take a few of them along with me before old Katie angrily slammed that door. It all had started three days ago. I had been in the act of taking off on my vacation. My plan was to spend it quietly doing some fishing off La Isle Of Tumeffe, off the southern coast of Guatemala in the Caribbean, and I had already made arrangements with a friend for the use of his schooner. Just as I were sliding beneath the steering wheel of the big Kissler roadster, a kid on a motorcycle roared into the driveway and came to a halt beside me and tire-squeali- ng You be senor El' asked, Cougar? The one and only in person, I answered. Reaching into one of the saddlebags, he withdrew a green envelope I recognized as the type used by the telegraph service. He handed it to me saying, Its stamped arguence. It may require an answer, senor. I took it and handed him a ten peso note saying wait. I slit the envelope and removed the form. It contained no printed words just a jumble of arabic and roman numerals with a sprinkling of the letters of the alphabet. To anyone else it would have appeared to be a lot of nonsense, but it told me several things. The message was meant only for I to understand; the sender was . under observation and needed help that only I could administrate. As I decoded the message, I wondered whom it could be that still remembered the secret code of the old Broken Diamond Rangers. I had sent many such messages in those old days when I had been a range policeman for that old ranch, before accepting my present position as the presidents personal ace trouble-- ' own. shooter. Old memories came I was positive those caroons flooding back. I recalled those knew exactly who I was. Los old days from start to finish, bebanditos have a code they live ginning with the ad in the paper in by: theyll secretly observe the for men with the know-homovements of any strangers, but the use of firearms, men who they will not go shooting at could score a bullseye with every them just for the pleasure of shot. It stated no creed nor color it it least not until they find would be barred. Then the long, out in which direction their in- wheezing, creeping and jolting tentions are pointing. I was sure ride from Reynosa to Durango on the Republic of Mexicos first they already knew in which direction mine were aimed. motorized stage. else I knew Chingal! That had been thirty Something those caroons ' were going to years ago. I had only been a kid of fifteen when I lefti Texas with keep me hugging my big beauti . . Caramba! It was hot as the furnace of hell. The sun beat down unmercifully, the heat reflecting off the boulder that I were cuddled up to as if it was the beautiful, soft, and yielding body of a gorgeous redhead aiid ' provided just as much shade. e WinThe old chester lay close at hand, its metal parts blistering hot to the touch. I yearned for the old J.B. that lay ten feet out of my reach, to protect my stupid head before those furious rays baked the brain that I seemed not to have as done as a Christmas turkey. But for all the good that old hat was doing, it had just as well been back in Mexico City. For i saw no way of retrieving it without getting my hide ventilated by a dozen rifles that kept persisting on keeping me from being lonesome. I was so thirsty that my throat felt as parched as the Sahara Desert, but the canteen four-oh-on- w clothes, a razor, strap and brush, a pair of old Colt frontier revolvers their barrels sawed off to a two and a half inch length and triggerless to boot. Also there was the Winchester, an old beat up guitar, and less than fifty dollars in the pocket of my jeans. At that, it was quite a lot just for a kid to own. Then there was the buggy ride out to the ranch that left me twenty-fiv- e pesos poorer, and the long talk ..with Phil Wilnette, its owner. I was a little tall ' for my age, standing six foot, so I could easily pass for eighteen, but the old man almost refused to hire me upon learning I was so young. After a little more persuading, though, he finally agreed to give me a tryout. I soon proved to him I could hold up my end with the best of them in riding, shooting, wenching, drinking, and brawling. He soon found me to be a good fighting man, one who asked no quarters. I recalled the chases and the fighting with los banditos. The time that I had been challenged to prove my courage by playing on horseback the old conquistadors Sport called el muerte del duelo. Of the hell for leather ride as we rode to meet each other, the whispering kiss of the bullets wind caressing my g click as cheek, that fell hammer carbines upon my. an empty chamber. The time later when I captured my opponent by the. use of my rope, only to find it to be merely a slip of a heart-rendin- girl. . your invitation accepted. Then I handed it back to the kid with another ten note and told him to have it rushed. I sent that big roadster round that circled driveway on two wheels, roared out on the street and headed out of town, the siren screaming. Once out on I silenced highway fifty-seveate siren and the up the paven, ment at a hundred ten per. Those sixteen cylinders were straining for power, and I still had several inches left to go on the accelerator. Hell, that big Kissler could grab, chew up, swallow, and spit the road back out at her maximum of one-sixt- y per. At Irapuate, I changed over' to highwhy forty-fivthe road leading straight to Durango. The small towns. Id siren right through. Chingal! Those local cops wouldnt bother when they could plainly see the big glittering gold seal that said it was an official vehicle of the government. Roaring along the road, I thought about Graciss murder yes, it certainly was murder . there wasnt any doubt about that. rOf course, the old exranger had made a few enemies in his time as a policeman in those old days, but that had been years ago. Hell, who hadn't made enemies? I had made a few myself and a lot more since, yet I also had made a lot of friends. I had always been broadminded and considerate; and by being so I found I was always welcome in los banditos camps just as if I had been a long lost brother at last returned to the fold. They knew that if I carried no warrant for any of them, I wouldnt bother them by trying to arrest them. And if I had a warrant, whomever it had been issued for would meekly surrender his gun without a fight and go along peaceful. They knew it was going to happen someday; they were always looking to be arrested. . But chingal, old Gracis had almost been eighty, or was it eighty-five- ? I'd forgotten which it was. His old foes were too old fbr such activity, or else they were already dead. My vacation was going to be spoiled, but vacation or not, an old comparte had been murdered in cold blood, and I was going to do everything in my power to find and bring to jus-tic- e his killer or else. e, . I thought of those wet and cold, miserable, solitary night patrols, of the time I and Jess Cottoneram, the huge African, followed and redeemed a herd of cattle without having a fight. And the time he and I fought our way out of an ambush without receiving as much as a single scratch. Of the time I and Captain Grads stood lado a lado in the streets of Durango and played the sweetest tune a couple of braces of six guns could provide against six foes. I remembered the sad day I bid my old compartes farewell to take my present position, and the gift e to Capof tiie old tain Gracis, the best and most thoughtful leader a man could ever ride under. He never endangered the lives of his men by taking unnecessary chances. I truely did hate to leave the old ranch and the best friends that I would ever have. When I had finished decoding the message, it turned out to be. a short one. It read: Dad was shot and killed this morning on the streets while opening his chile shop. Badly in need of your assistance. Viejo amor mio, come quickly. Yours, Bumble four-oh-on- -- Bee. Caramba! Why would anyone ' wish to kill old Gracis? He was just an old and harmless man who enjoyed life and servicing his fellowman. The message was from his daughter; hell, I hadnt thought of her in years. Twas I who had tagged that name on her. I scribbled on the back of the message just three words: . - (to be continued) |