Alvin Fog, Texas Ranger Page 6

  Opening the passenger door of Sergeant Jubal Branch’s swiftly moving 1920 Ford Model T four-seater sedan, Alvin Dustine Fog eased himself carefully on to the running board and contrived to close it again. Moving forward, the spare tire having been removed, he hooked his left arm through the lowered forward window and the raised upper section of the two-piece windshield. Holding himself in place, he turned his attention to the first of a line of seven Olympic man pattern targets. Six were positioned at intervals of about twenty yards, the seventh being nearly twice that distance, and some thirty feet from the edge of the narrow dirt road along which the vehicle was traveling.

  Although the small Texan had a Colt Government Model automatic pistol tucked into the front of his Levi’s pants’ waist band, its butt pointing forward to be accessible to either hand, he drew its mate from the spring shoulder holster under the left flap of his brown leather jacket. As he approached the first target, he raised the weapon and, extending it to arm’s length at shoulder height, began to take aim with all the skill he could muster. He had already passed along the same stretch of road twice, but the uneven surface was causing the vehicle’s motions to be unpredictable. So he knew he must remain constantly alert if he was to counter their effects and improve upon his previous scores of four and five hits on the six targets while going by. The seventh had to be dealt with in a different manner and he had already scored the maximum number of hits on each occasion.

  It was almost three o’clock on the afternoon of the third day following the arrest of Hubert Blitzer and the Holstein brothers. The previous evening, the other ten Texas Rangers who had been selected as members of Company “Z” had congregated in Austin, arriving separately and meeting in the privacy of Major Benson Tragg’s home. While they had been amiable enough when Alvin was introduced to them, he had sensed they had some reservations about his inclusion in their number and was aware of what was creating their misgivings. Not only was he a newcomer to their organization, he was junior by four years to the youngest of them.

  As Company “Z” still existed only in name and its members had had no duties to carry out, Branch had suggested they spent the following day in target practice. Wanting to avoid arousing speculation by having them seen together, Major Tragg had stated this must be done at a place where there would be no witnesses. So, having borrowed the equipment they would require from the National Guard’s ranges, Branch had taken them to a little used side road in the rolling, open country about ten miles to the west of Austin.

  From the start, it had been apparent to Alvin that his partner’s main reason for proposing the target practice was to give him an opportunity to exhibit his prowess in handling firearms. Although he had no liking for the feeling that he was being put on display, he realized it was essential for him to win the confidence of the men with whom he would be working, and he was determined to present a creditable performance.

  After Alvin had shown himself to be competent with his Winchester Model of 1894 carbine and a Model of 1912 pump action riot gun manufactured by the same company, he had demonstrated his ability at drawing and shooting a Colt Government Model automatic. Despite believing he had impressed his audience, he had found he was being subjected to another test and in competition with a man who was clearly an expert at it. Fortunately, it was a variation of one which he had engaged upon often enough in Rio Hondo County to have acquired a creditable proficiency.

  Being progressive in all matters pertaining to law enforcement, Sheriff Jackson Fog had appreciated that even in the Texas range country pursuit of criminals was becoming increasingly mechanized. So, as other forward-thinking peace officers throughout the United States had been doing, he and his deputies had devoted much thought to the matter of shooting from a vehicle while it was in motion. They had soon discarded the idea of leaning out of the passenger window, along with firing over the bottom portion of the windshield, having reached the conclusion that standing on the running board offered a greater scope and potential for accuracy.

  Like all the members of the Rio Hondo County Sheriff’s Office, Alvin had expended time and effort on developing the technique. Nor, under the prevailing conditions, did he regret having done so. While making three runs past the line of targets, Sergeant Colin Breda had scored five, four and six hits upon the first half a dozen and only missed once on the seventh. If the small Texan could go clean on his third run, he would have beaten his opponent by one hit.

  Bracing himself as securely as possible against the side of the car, Alvin made ready to put his training into use. Centering the blade of the foresight in the V-shaped notch of the rear sight, he directed it at the middle of the target’s chest and squeezed the trigger. The automatic cracked and the cocking slide was thrust backwards to eject the spent cartridge case. Before it had been driven forwards again, feeding the next round from the magazine into the chamber, he had gone by. For all that, he knew he had made a hit. Nor did he have any greater difficulty in delivering the next four bullets to their intended marks.

  One more hit and I’ve done it! the small Texan thought and, considering the seventh target was the easiest in spite of the way in which he must shoot at it, he was confident he would achieve his purpose.

  Even as Alvin was taking aim and tightening his forefinger on the trigger, the car struck a bump it had missed on the previous runs. While he was able to prevent himself from completing the pressure and discharging the weapon, which was jolted out of alignment, he could not control an instinctive reaction to tighten his arm’s grip on the side of the vehicle for a moment. When he had done so, fighting down a desire to rush, he twisted his torso and pointed the Colt to his rear. Sighting was not easy as the target was falling behind him, but he forced himself to make sure of his aim before firing. As the bullet was leaving the muzzle, he felt the Ford’s pace slowing and knew the delay was creating an unanticipated difficulty. There was a need for haste, but he realized that—particularly with Sergeant Benny Goldberg, second in length of service to Branch, occupying the rear seat—he must not permit himself to become flustered because of it.

  One glance ahead as he was turning to the front warned Alvin that, as he had feared, he was much closer to the seventh target than on either of his earlier approaches. The proximity was increasing rather than diminishing his problem. He had to jump from the vehicle while it was still in motion and run towards the target, shooting as he went, to complete the sequence. On each prior occasion, he had been able to employ the first three or four steps to establish his equilibrium before opening fire. Being so near would prevent himself from gaining this advantage. Nor could he leap from the running board immediately. Under normal conditions, he would have been carrying his automatics with one round in the chamber and seven in the magazine. However, as his opponent was using a pair of revolvers, he had only been allowed to load each with six bullets and would have to exchange them before he could continue.

  In addition to being conscious of Goldberg—who looked more like a chubby, jovial storekeeper than a tough and competent peace officer—subjecting him to a very close scrutiny, Alvin was equally aware that the other members of the Company were paying just as much attention to his actions from where they were standing a short distance away. So he had no desire to make any mistakes in front of such a discriminating and knowledgeable audience. With that thought in mind, he tossed the empty Colt on to the Ford’s front passenger seat and drew its mate from his waist band. The action was cocked and the manual safety catch applied, but he neither pressed the latter down into the firing position nor put his forefinger inside the trigger guard once the muzzle was directed away from him as he would have done on completing a normal draw. He refrained without the need for conscious thought, but was sure the precaution had not been overlooked by the nearest of the spectators.

  Having exchanged his empty automatic for a loaded weapon, the small Texan sprang from his perch to land on the verge of the road. He came down running, but still refrained from altering the position of
the manual safety catch. As he was taking his second step, with the Colt lifting into alignment and his thumb reaching for the catch’s spur, his advancing foot descended on a tuft of grass which tilted over beneath it. Feeling his forward impetus causing him to lose his balance, reactions conditioned by a lifetime of horse riding took control. He realized that he could not prevent himself from going down and sought not only to break his fall, but to prevent it from ruining his attempt to shoot at the target.

  Alighting in the prone position without suffering any injury or discomfort, Alvin did not offer to rise. Instead, he commenced another aspect of training at which he had attained competence. Almost as soon as he landed, he thrust the Colt ahead and, thumbing down the safety catch while taking aim, squeezed the trigger. Although the target jerked as the bullet passed through its chest, he had no intention of continuing to fire from that position. Rolling swiftly on to his right side, he cut loose the second shot from there. Still in motion, the third bullet sped away while he was on his back and the fourth was discharged when he lay on his left side. Then, transferring the weapon to his other hand, he completed the roll on his stomach and sent the remaining pair of bullets to join their predecessors in a group no more than three inches in diameter. Letting out a sigh of relief, he stood up and glanced to where the Ford had stopped, then swung his gaze to where the other Rangers were advancing.

  ‘How’s about that for gun handling, Benny?’ Branch inquired, hoping the perturbation he had felt when he saw his young partner stumble had not been noticed by his passenger and, although nothing showed on his leathery face, delighted at the way the small Texan had utilized the mishap to such good advantage.

  ‘He’s better’n fair with weapons,’ Goldberg conceded. ‘Which, seeing’s who his daddy and granddaddy are, isn’t a whole heap surprising.’

  ‘Being ambidextrical same’s Colonel Dusty helps some, I’d reckon,’ Branch remarked, but he could tell the other sergeant was more impressed than had been suggested by the laconic comment. ‘And he sure got out of that fall real well.’

  ‘I’m not gainsaying he’s a regular snake with a handgun, or he’s not a smart young feller who’s had good training as a peace officer,’ Goldberg pointed out. ‘But has he ever had to use his gun?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ Branch admitted, being aware of what the question implied.

  ‘Thing being,’ the stocky sergeant said soberly. ‘Can he pull the trigger on a man should he have to?’

  ‘That’s something none of us knows until the first time comes,’ Branch answered, just as solemnly although nothing in his demeanor showed he had had the same thoughts on the subject. ‘Anyways, let’s go and see how well he’s scored.’

  Before the suggestion could be put into effect, a Buick came into view traveling at a good speed. Identifying it as belonging to their new commanding officer, the Rangers decided to postpone checking the small Texan’s score until they had learned what was bringing him out with such obvious haste to join them. However, catching Alvin’s eye, Colin Breda gave a wry grin and shrugged his shoulders in a way which implied he had already counted the holes in the seventh target and, adding them to those in the other six, was resigned to conceding a very close defeat.

  ‘Howdy, you-all,’ Tragg greeted, stepping from the vehicle as his subordinates gathered around the driver’s door and, despite their attempts to conceal it, sensing their interest in the reason for his arrival. ‘I’ve brought some good news and some bad news. The good news is we’ve got that ranch down along the Colorado River as our headquarters.’

  ‘Bueno,’ Branch enthused, appointing himself spokesman for his companions, as his big blue-tick coonhound—summoned by a whistle from where it had been lying apparently asleep and paying not the slightest attention to the shooting—loped up to collapse at his feet as if exhausted by such unaccustomed exertion. ‘How soon can we figure on setting up down there, Major?’

  ‘Not as soon as I’d like,’ Tragg confessed, making no attempt to conceal his annoyance over the delay. ‘Which’s where the bad news comes in. There’s been a call for help from the Rangers arrived at the State Attorney General’s office and, as we’re the closest to hand, we’ve been told to go ’tend to it.’

  ‘That’s bad news?’ Breda inquired, his voice having a timbre in its Texas drawl which was suggestive of origins in the Highlands of Scotland. [32]

  ‘It’s not the special kind of chore Company “Z’s” been formed to handle,’ the Major replied. ‘And, happen I’m guessing right about what we’ll be asked to do, there’s a better than fair chance we’ll just be wasting our time by going.’

  ‘Yes, sir, Sergeant Fog,’ Jubal Branch asserted in tones of contentment, lounging at his ease on a saddle blanket and with his back supported by a pillow on the left side running board of his Ford. He had his Winchester Model 1873 rifle resting across his lap and Lightning was sprawled with the appearance of being asleep by his feet. ‘There’s one right good thing about being a Texas Ranger. You-all can for sure get straddled with some mighty soothing chores.’

  ‘You-all won’t get any argument from me on that, Sergeant Branch,’ Alvin Fog declared, being seated so he was propped up just as comfortably against the front wheel of the vehicle and nursing his Winchester Model 1894 carbine. ‘Was we deputies working as deputies out of the Bexar County Sheriff’s Office, or serving with the San Antonio Police Department, we wouldn’t be out here in the back country taking things easy in all this good, fresh Texas air.’

  ‘Like I allus say,’ Branch drawled. ‘There’s most times something good comes out of bad happen you-all leads an upright ’n’ blameless life.’

  ‘Hallelujah, brother!’ the small Texan intoned, like a member of the congregation exhorting a hot-gospel preacher. Then, becoming serious, he continued, ‘Do you-all reckon there’s anything to this story they’ve picked up about the Machine Gun Gang planning to raid the car taking the payroll to that big construction company in town?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t there be?’

  ‘If they’ve hit anywhere in Texas, we’ve never had word about it while I was working out of daddy’s office. Which, happen they had, the cold-blooded sons-of-bitches, I’d reckon we’d’ve been sure to have heard.’

  ‘It for sure wouldn’t’ve been kept secret,’ Branch admitted laconically, yet soberly. ‘Folks tend to talk up a storm and yell for the law to do something happen they’ve had a machine gun spraying off at ’em, which that bunch of bastards do promise-callous just about every time they pull a stick-up.’

  ‘So they’ve never hit in Texas up to now,’ Alvin repeated.

  ‘I ain’t gainsaying that’ the older sergeant answered. ‘Could be they’ve done got everybody so riled up north of the Oklahoma line they figure it’s come time they gave us good old Texas boys a whirl and picked on San Antone ’cause it’s handy for the border should they find us longhorns down here a mite tougher to chew on than the folks they’ve been hoorawing back to home.’

  ‘Which brings this meeting to another point of order,’ Alvin stated, without inquiring whether his partner had the necessary qualifications to use the words, ‘San Antone’. [33] Instead, he began to raise the same points Cranston Scargill had used to persuade the rest of the Machine Gun Gang to change their modus operandi. ‘They’ve never tackled anything this big before, going by all I’ve read about them, or made a hit in a town the size of San Antonio.’

  ‘Could be they conclude it’s time for them to make a change, or they’ve gotten tired of the chicken feed their other stick-ups’ve brought in,’ Branch suggested, just as unconsciously yet accurately duplicating the anarchism’s arguments. ‘What I heard, the feller’s passed the word about and told a story convincing enough to make the local John-Laws allow there’s something in it.’

  ‘I reckon the sheriff could be right with what he said about them being a bunch of anarchists instead of real criminals, although I’d say most folks would allow they’re real enough for them,’ Alvi
n remarked, wondering how his companion had learned so much. Despite having requested aid from the Texas Rangers, the heads of the county and municipal law enforcement agencies had not been forthcoming about their source of information. ‘That could explain why they’ve not been identified before now. Regular owlhoots would have used some of their kind’s hang-outs and been named by a stool-pigeon by this time, but anarchists might not even know where places like that can be found, much less go in them. They’ve only taken money, arms, ammunition or new stuff that couldn’t be identified and traced back to the owners so far in their hold ups. So they could sell it at a legitimate pawnshop and wouldn’t need to know or use a fence.’

  ‘That’s just about the way I see it,’ Branch affirmed. ‘Anyways, what we’ve been told to do, there’s not a whole heap we can make of it. Unless the local John-Laws get their ropes tangled so’s those bastards slip through the noose ’n’ run this way that is—’ There was a brief pause while he gestured languidly towards the rear of the car where—much to the big blue-tick’s obvious disapproval on boarding at San Antonio—a radio had replaced the saddle which usually occupied the back seat, then he went on, ‘And happen, which I for one wouldn’t want to count on any too much, they can get word to us about it on that blasted new-fangled wirey-less contraption.’

  In spite of being eager to acquire the acclaim which would accrue from bringing about the apprehension of the notorious Machine Gun Gang, the sheriff of Bexar County had nevertheless considered it would be tactful to ask for the assistance of the Texas Rangers. However, bearing in mind the thought of the credit he hoped to attain as the commander of the local law enforcement agencies involved, he had also been determined to prevent Major Tragg’s Company from playing too conspicuous a part in the capture. Although he had deduced what lay behind the invitation he had received even before setting out from Austin, the Major had not quibbled when informed of how little would be required of his men. As he had pointed out when some of them protested over the minor role they were compelled to play, it was important to try to maintain cordial relations with the local peace officers as this could be a means of ensuring a spirit of co-operation and make their own work easier.