Alvin Fog, Texas Ranger Read online

  So Alvin and Branch were waiting on the southern side of a blind curve on a dirt road leading through the wood-covered hills to the border and something over three miles from San Antonio. Along with the other Rangers, working in two-man teams, they had been dispatched to points on the ways out of the city so as to block the escape of such members of the Machine Gun Gang who might escape from the trap which was to be sprung by the deputies and police officers when the hold-up was attempted.

  Like Alvin’s father, Major Tragg was always interested in any developments which could improve the operational efficiency of the men under his command. So, knowing enough about the sheriff of Bexar County’s aspirations to have suspected that the request for aid would probably offer Company “Z” no more than a marginal participation, he had decided to ensure the affair should be made to serve some useful purpose. Since the end of the war, he had been hearing from colleagues in London, England, and various major cities throughout the United States about the way in which their respective law enforcement agencies were making use of the radio. [34] As yet, two- and three-way communication [35] was not possible because of the bulky equipment required for transmission. However, receiving sets installed in vehicles were proving effective when it was a matter of dispensing information hurriedly to large numbers of widely scattered men who could not be reached by telephone.

  Wanting to experiment with the potential offered by such a means of communication, the Major had obtained sufficient sets to equip each of the teams he was sending to act as what would become known as road blocks. While they were taking up their allocated positions, he had established himself at the local radio station. Having acquired the use of a different wavelength to which their sets were timed, he was in touch by telephone with the sheriff at the location of the hold up and hoped to be able to keep them informed about whatever might develop. As a precaution against being overheard by somebody other than members of his Company, he had devised code names and words to cover various eventualities. He had not believed the gang would be monitoring the calls, but he knew such eavesdropping might occur in the future should the use of radio by peace officers become the standard practice as he believed would be the case.

  ‘So you-all reckon the local badges will take them all without needing us?’ Alvin wanted to know.

  ‘There’s a fair chance of it,’ Branch replied. ‘Sheriff Heath might be more politician than peace officer, but he’s got just enough good sense to listen to somebody’s knows what he’s talking about and, way things’ve been set up for him, a mouse couldn’t get out of what’s waiting for ‘em, much less a gang six-strong and full-growed. No, sir, we’n’s’re going to be sat here all quiet and peaceable until the Major sends somebody out to fetch us back ’cause that danged wirey-less can’t do it for him.’

  ‘Well I’ll be damned, Cran!’ Bengie Woodwedge hissed in tones of admiration, staring from among the trees at the top of the rim that he and his companion had reached on the southern side of the bend in the road which had previously been concealed from their view. Two men were sitting by the side of an apparently hard-used Ford Model T four-seater sedan and a big hunting dog was sprawled sleeping in front of the larger. Although they were a good two hundred yards away, clad in cowhand style clothing and there was no sign of either wearing a badge of office, the Winchesters across their laps implied they could be peace officers. ‘You were right when you said we should come and look before driving around here. They have got somebody waiting for us.’

  ‘Those two are going to wish they weren’t,’ Cranston Scargill replied, glancing at the B.A.R. he was carrying and starting to kneel down. ‘Not that they’ll be alive long enough to do any wishing.’

  While the arrangements for trapping the Machine Gun Gang were sufficiently thorough to have achieved their purpose, having been thought out by the experienced deputy sheriff whose long standing friendship with Jubal Branch had caused him to pass on information which his superior would have preferred to remain confidential, events had transpired to render them unnecessary.

  Scargill’s assumption that he was the leader of the gang had never sat well with any of the other members. Like most of their kind, they were self-centered, avaricious and, even when it was being exercised for their own good by one of their number, resentful of any kind of authority. Nor had his repeated assertions that he alone stood between them and failure, or capture, when committing the robberies, and his demands for a proportionately greater share of the spoils on that account done anything to increase their liking for him.

  One member of the gang in particular had concluded that the state of affairs produced by Scargill was becoming intolerable. Having been more thrifty than the others, Jeremy Bessel had contrived to build up a sizeable bank balance while they were squandering their respective shares of the loot. With the attainment of affluence, he had found his zeal for ‘anarchism’ was waning and, suspecting that the hazards involved would be far greater than on previous occasions, he had not relished the thought of attempting the proposed robbery in San Antonio. Nor was he any more enamored by the prospect of going into Mexico to continue their depredations. He was aware that, being employed by a less democratic form of government than their contemporaries in his homeland, the law enforcement agencies of that country tended to inflict summary punishment up to and including executions against malefactors who fell into their hands. So he had no desire to be a party to either of Scargill's latest schemes.

  Being all too cognizant with the vindictive natures of his associates, Bessel had considered it was inadvisable for him to disclose his objections and intentions. They would never let him quit the gang of their own accord. Nor did he wish to break away unless he could be sure they would be unable to betray him out of spite before they left the country, or at some later date when he had established himself in a safe and lucrative occupation. He had no doubt that the peace officers involved, knowing against whom they were in contention, would be disinclined to take chances and were likely to start shooting at the slightest suggestion of resistance, which would almost certainly be given. Knowing this he had seen a way out of his dilemma if they came into contact with the gang. He had also appreciated that any information he should lay must be supplied in such a way as to prevent himself from being present when the knowledge was used. So the letter he had sent to the sheriff of Bexar County told when and where the robbery was to be committed, but avoided supplying any clue as to where they could be located before it took place. With that done, he awaited the appropriate moment at which to take his departure. When the time came, he was confident that he had made the way clear for him to set off for the new life he planned for himself. He felt sure he need not be afraid of repercussions at the hands of his former companions.

  Possessing a mistrustful nature, however, Scargill had been suspicious when Bessel announced he was suffering from severe diarrhea on the morning of the robbery and would not be able to accompany the rest of the gang. Scargill had pretended to accept the excuse and had even gone to the extent of warning Bessel that there would have to be a reduction in the absentee’s share of the loot as he was not participating. Bessel’s concurrence to this without argument or complaint had increased Scargill’s misgivings. So, instead of following the plan he had outlined earlier in the week, he and the other four men had waited in their two cars where a watch could be kept on the ways out of the hotel which had served as their headquarters since their arrival in San Antonio.

  Seeing Bessel emerging through the rear entrance carrying a suitcase, Scargill had not needed to ponder over what he might have done and what harm he was up to. Sharing the belief that they had been betrayed, the rest of the gang had informed their self-appointed leader—as soon as the second pair had learned of the development—that they would not continue with the intended robbery. The declaration was unnecessary as he had already decided against going through with it. So, having agreed, he had joined in the brief debate about how much information the deserter had given to the
authorities and what was their best course of action. Having devoted some thought as to how he would carry out a similar desertion if the need arose—although he did not mention that aspect to his companions—he had stated that Bessel would have avoided divulging any details which, by leading the peace officers to them before he had left their company, could also bring about his own capture or death while they were resisting arrest. It was obvious he was hoping for the latter result.

  There had been no argument when Scargill suggested that the most prudent course was to take an immediate departure from San Antonio. Nor had his proposal that they split into two parties and made for the small border town of Chuckville by different routes produced any objections. He had stated that, even if Bessel had supplied their descriptions to the authorities, the cars would not have been included in the information as that might have led to a premature discovery of the gang’s whereabouts. So, as the peace officers would be watching for five men in a group, they would have a better chance of passing unnoticed by traveling separately and, once across the Rio Grande, they would be safe from pursuit.

  Taking Woodwedge and Toby Minehead with him, as he considered them to be the bravest and most easily controlled members of the gang, Scargill had set out along what he knew from an earlier study of a map to be the less frequented of the routes which would eventually bring the two parties together at the rendezvous.

  While Scargill had never been in such a position before, he possessed a low cunning which caused him to do the right things instinctively. He might have professed a deep contempt for the forces of law and order at other times, but he was aware that in the past the gang had only been in contention with the peace officers of the small towns they had raided. Nor had evading pursuit proved too difficult in the past. A set of wire cutters with which to sever the few telephone wires which existed had been sufficient to ensure that no word of their activities could be sent ahead until it was too late to endanger them.

  San Antonio was a fair sized city. Not only did it have too many telephone wires leading from it for the gang to be able to cut them all, but there was a radio station which could not be silenced and would spread the news of what was happening even more quickly and over a far wider area. What was more, there was a much larger police department than had been available in any other town that had suffered from the gang’s depredations. In addition, considering the notoriety their robberies—in which at least nine people had been killed—had attained, the aid of the county sheriff’s office and even the Texas Rangers was almost certain to have been procured. So, having deduced that men might have been placed on the roads out of town to cut off their escape, he had insisted upon halting and making a reconnaissance when they found themselves approaching a corner and could not see what was on the other side.

  Although his companions had protested over the delay, Scargill had insisted upon taking the precaution. As soon as he had seen the two men sitting by the car, he had not needed Woodwedge’s comment to suggest what their status might be. Although they had neither uniforms nor badges, the weapons on their knees implied they were either peace officers of some kind or private citizens who had been temporarily deputized by the local sheriff to carry out what was hoped to be an unnecessary task. Scargill did not care which it might be. Nor did he envisage any difficulty in removing them.

  Supporting the weight of the B.A.R. with his left elbow on his bent right knee, the self-appointed leader of the Machine Gun Gang found the unaccustomed posture far from comfortable. Nor, as all his previous killings had taken place at much closer quarters and he had never taken the trouble to practice, had he fired over such a long distance. However, he was confident that, as on every other occasion the weapon’s capability for automatic fire would compensate for any lack of skill. After a moment’s thought, he decided to shoot the older man first—as looking the more dangerous of them—then swing the barrel so that the remainder of the bullets encompassed the younger and, although he doubted there was any need, the sleeping dog.

  With the sights aligned as well as the inexperienced user could manage, the trigger was squeezed and the B. A.R. fired.

  But only once!

  Alarm ripped into Scargill when only a single shot left the weapon and he realized something must be radically wrong. He knew the change lever was set for automatic fire. Regardless of how potentially dangerous the practice might be, it was always left in that position. Yet, for some reason he could not understand, no further bullets emerged from the muzzle. However, the one which had been expelled appeared to have made a hit.

  The jamming of the B.A.R. had been caused by a combination of ignorance and neglect!

  When the weapon had come into his possession, Scargill had known only sufficient to be able to load and fire it. A chance meeting with an acquaintance of his Army days had enabled him to learn the basic maintenance such as stripping and cleaning, the informant having been rewarded by a bullet through the back of the head at the conclusion of the lessons. While the instructions Scargill had received had been enough to allow him to carry out ordinary servicing, there was much he had been too impatient to learn. Nor had he given the mechanism all the attention it required to ensure it continued to work properly. In fact, it was a tribute to the inventive genius of John Moses Browning rather than his own care that everything had functioned as intended for so long.

  The B.A.R. was operated by some of the gas from each detonated cartridge being vented through a small hole in the underside of the barrel a few inches from the muzzle into an expansion chamber. Once there, it forced back the piston which in turn caused the action to eject the spent case and, by having compressed the recoil spring, allowed the top round to be fed from the magazine into the chamber; whereby, when the change lever was on its automatic setting, the firing cycle would continue as long as the trigger was held back and rounds remained undischarged. To save the working parts from undue strain as the piston was being driven back, it was necessary for the bolt, bolt lock and link mechanism to start their rearwards movement comparatively slowly and avoid having them attain the speed of the slide itself until after the high breech pressure was over. This condition was achieved by means of a regulator attached to the end of the gas cylinder. It had three different settings known as ports, the one which was selected controlling the amount of gas so only sufficient was used to ensure the correct functioning.

  Under normal conditions, the weapon was set to operate on the smallest port. Having been told that the other two were for emergency use only, Scargill had never experimented or found the need to make any adjustment. Nor, due to his lack of knowledge, had he realized that the smaller vent was becoming fouled to such an extent that insufficient gas was entering the cylinder. The cumulative result was that at last the mechanism had not recoiled far enough to permit the complete ejection of the spent cartridge case. He was not given an opportunity to locate, much less deal with the stoppage.

  Scargill’s belief that he had made a hit was caused by his having seen the Stetson jerked from the head of the man at whom he was aiming. Despite his consternation over the B.A.R. having jammed, he soon discerned that he had been in error with regards to the effect of the shot.

  While he had lost his head-dress, Jubal Branch was uninjured. In spite of having been taken by surprise, neither he nor Alvin Fog were frozen into terrified immobility. Rather the narrow escape which the elderly sergeant had had, spurred them to react with alacrity. Two Winchesters were already rising as their owners were leaping up, the butts settling against right shoulders with the precision that told of considerable training. A glance up the slope from whence the bullet had come gave the small Texan and his partner all they required. Neither of them realized the weapon which had been fired was now jammed, so they behaved as they believed the situation demanded.

  With the sights aligned swiftly, the rifle and the carbine barked at almost the same instant. Nor was the shorter barrel of the latter any disadvantage under the circumstances. Powered by only thirty g
rains as opposed to the forty in the cartridges of the Model of 1873 rifle used by Branch, they were of the vastly more potent ‘smokeless’ powder. So the Model of 1894 carbine possessed a greater range and velocity, allowing Alvin’s .30 caliber bullet to reach their objective first. There was not much in it. Branch’s .44 ball passed beneath the barrel of the B.A.R. and into Scargill’s chest closely on its predecessor’s heels as, in a state of panic, he was trying to rise. Either of them would have been fatal.

  Seeing his companion jerked almost erect by the impact of the lead, spin around, throw aside the B.A.R. involuntarily, then sprawl face down, Woodwedge made no attempt to draw the revolver tucked into his waistband in order to try and take revenge. Nor did he give the slightest thought to ascertaining the extent of the other’s injuries. Instead, he twirled on his heels and dashed back in the direction from which they had come as fast as his legs would carry him. When no bullets came his way, he felt relieved and was confident that he could join Minehead, who was waiting at the wheel of their car, and make his escape before either of the peace officers could ascend the slope to endanger him.

  There was a snag to Woodwedge’s plan, but he had failed to notice it!

  Like its master and Alvin, the big blue-tick had responded instantly upon receiving the warning that there was at least one hostile presence in the vicinity. As the bullet passed through Branch’s Stetson and struck the side of the Ford, the dog leapt to its feet in a manner which justified the name Lightning more adequately than its usual apparently slothful behavior. Guided by the sound of the shot, it started to dart forward. Being at its back, the wind had prevented it from becoming aware of the anarchists’ arrival on the rim and it still gave no indication of where to go. So the dog made for the point from which the crack of the detonating powder had originated. [36] While sprinting up the slope, however, its keen ears detected the noise being made by Woodwedge’s headlong flight through the woodland. On reaching the top, it gave chase with no more than a glance in passing at the motionless figure which was sprawled there.