Chapter 9: For Sale – One Ranger
Joe Riley groaned miserably as his head swirled like someone was stirring his brains with a spoon. His equilibrium was off, but he could have sworn that he was upright rather than lying down like he felt he should be. He attempted to move and became violently aware that he was indeed standing when his whole body lurched forward, only to be caught by his shoulder sockets. He grunted in agony before feeling a rising fear in his chest when he realized he had been suspended by his arms from the ceiling, his considerable weight pulling against the bonds that held him there. He scrambled to get his feet under him properly and was relieved that he could get some of the pressure off his shoulders.
Once that was accomplished, he tried to get a glimpse of his surroundings, and for a brief but terrifying moment, he thought he was blind. He could see nothing but complete darkness pressing in on him, but out of the corner of one eye, he spotted a line of light. This line grew as the door to the top of the stairs eased open. Joe turned his head away from the beam that scorched his eyeballs. A man and a woman, judging from the sounds of their steps on the staircase, approached him with a lantern.
Joe buried his face into one of his arms, his eyes screwed shut against the light. The man and woman stood a few steps away silently for several minutes. Finally, one of them spoke.
"This was a mistake," the man said, but Joe got the feeling the statement wasn't directed at him.
"I don't think so," came a calm response.
Joe recognized the voice as the woman that had, well, captured him. A chill went down his spine while at the same time he could hear his pards' laughter. "You got caught by a woman?" Chad's drawl was so real in his head that Joe in his confused state almost believed that his friend was there. He defended himself to the imaginary specter. "She drugged me…with sweet tea!"
The two strangers laughed at him, and Joe's mind snapped back to reality. "He's a little slow, don't you think?" the man asked.
"He is a ranger, so he can't be too incompetent," she answered.
"True…but still. He fell into your trap easily enough." The man sighed. "A Ranger. This is asking for trouble, Maddie."
"Yes, but just look at him, Cliff. Daddy's going to be so pleased."
Joe felt a hand run over his abdomen, and he jerked away as best he could. "Hey, this bear's got some fight in him," Cliff hooted. A rough hand buried itself into Joe's hair and forced his face out from the protection of his arm. He squinted into light, but he was becoming used to it. He wished he wasn't. Maddie and Cliff, apparently brother and sister, were staring at him like a hunk of meat on a hook, which is exactly what he felt like right now. Maddie was holding the lantern, lifting it up while Cliff forced Joe's head back.
"He does have a nice face," Maddie commented, and Joe felt sick.
Cliff snorted. "You throw yourself after every single one we bring through here. I can see why you like this one, though. He does have a nice physique." Once again, Cliff's intrusive hand ran over Joe's chest and shoulders. Joe threw himself against the ropes and Cliff's hand in his hair, but both proved too much for him in his weakened state. Desperation fueled him and he struck out with his knee. Cliff fell away, nearly ripping out some of Joe's dark hair, making a sort of gagging sound.
"Dear brother, you are a fool," Maddie said, but she sounded pleased. Her eyes dragged over Joe's body with such longing that Joe felt himself transported to a similar situation not too long ago…only the woman was eating black licorice and wearing a funny hat. "Yes, I think I got us a real prize this time." She gave Joe one last look that sent heat climbing to his cheeks before grabbing her brother's collar to drag him up the stairs, him moaning and wining the whole way. The door slammed shut, but Maddie had left the lantern on the bottom of the stairs, either out of forgetfulness or kindness…but Joe couldn't imagine it being the latter. Either way, he was grateful for the light. He glanced around his prison and noticed that he was indeed in some sort of cellar. Looking above, he could see that he was tethered to the beams of the floor above by thick ropes, once again reminding him of Linda Littletrees. At least this time he still had his shirt. The memory gave him such a sickening feeling that he forced his mind to think of something else, like escaping.
After about an hour of yanking on the ropes, Joe was about ready to give up. He had even gone as far to try and climb the ropes to reach the knots on the ceiling, but his hands were pulled too far apart for that to work. He could almost reach one wrist with his other hand, but evidently his captors were too clever…or too experienced…for that to work. Smugglers! He should have known.
His arms were starting to go numb, all the blood running out of them. He gave one last yank, but that only caused pins and needles to shoot into his fingers. Finally he gave it a rest. His head sagged until his chin rested against his chest. "Oh Chad," he breathed. "Reese…where are you?"
"It's been three days, Chad."
"I know, Reese."
"Three days since he went off alone after losing that stupid bet." Reese glared at his partner suspiciously. "I don't suppose you had anything to do with him loosing that bet, did you?"
Chad's eyes were full of innocence. "Who, me? Certainly not!" Still, a bit of guilt swept over him under Reese's scrutiny. "Well…"
Reese waved his hands dismissively. "It don't matter now. What matters now is finding that ornery critter before it's too late."
"Right."
"So let's go!"
"Right!"
Joe slouched against the dirt wall, feeling pretty sorry for himself. Sometime close to his first encounter with the brother and sister duo, a couple vaqueros with guns came down into the dark abyss. One took out a huge knife and approached the ranger, a toothy grin on his face. Joe shifted lightly on his feet, ready to fight, but the Mexican only cut the ropes. Joe wondered about rushing them, but when his arms fell to his sides, they were completely numb and useless. He resigned himself to glaring at them. They just smiled and left, taking the lantern with them, leaving Joe alone in utter darkness.
How long had it been since he had seen the sunlight? It was impossible to tell how fast time went by down in the hole. It felt like days, but who could know? Time seemed to stand still, even after he slept…or was he even sleeping or just closing his eyes for a while? It was impossible to tell.
Every once in a while the door would open and one of the Mexicans would appear holding a shotgun. The show of force was unnecessary; Joe couldn't stand to look at the glaring light, let alone try to attack someone standing in it. Another person would set down a clay plate and cup on the bottom step. Then they would stand there until he ate and drank whatever they contained. The food wasn't that bad, actually, and typically consisted of fried beef and biscuits. The drink seemed to be just water, but it was spiked with something. He would finish his meal and the door would close, but it seemed like only moments later when the door would open again with more of the same fare. Strangely enough, his belly would feel empty like he hadn't eaten in hours. Each time this happened, he had a bitter taste in his mouth and a slight headache. He tried just taking a few sips of the drink, but it didn't seem to matter. Just a little bit was all it took and he would wake up sprawled awkwardly on the stairs, stiffness adding to the usual headache. The routine was terribly confusing on the ranger's mind, for it felt as though he were constantly eating without ever becoming full.
After waking up again after the meal routine, he decided he'd had enough of their game. He crawled up the steps as quietly as a panther and put his eyes to the crack under the door. The bright light hurt a little, but he grew accustomed fairly quickly. Through the inch under the door, he could see people's feet walking around. He smelled food cooking, so he probably only had a few moments until they would be coming down with his dinner…or breakfast…or whatever.
"You ready to get that Ranger's food to him?" Maddie's voice asked, and Joe couldn't keep from gritting his teeth in repulsion.
"Sí, señorita."
"Alright, here it is. And make sure he drinks all of this. The patrón will be here soon, and I want that beast ready and waiting."
Two sets of Mexican-style boots jingling his way, Joe stood up quickly. He heard the bar slide back on the other side and was forced to do the only thing he could: he put both hands on the door and pushed as hard as he could. A cry rang out as Joe fell into the kitchen, the door crashing into one of the Mexicans holding the food while the other scrambled for his weapon. Joe got to his feet quickly and tackled one of the Mexicans. His hand went to the man's waist, finding the knife that the man had used to cut Joe down earlier. The man was small and slight, and Joe easily over powered him and finished the fight permanently. He whipped around, the knife dripping blood. The second vaquero had recovered and was holding a pistol in one hand.
"Señor, I think maybe you should give me that knife, and we'll forget what you just did, huh?"
Joe's eyes narrowed. "Sure, I'll give it to you." Faster than the eye could track, he flung the knife across the room where it sunk to the hilt into the man's arm. He cursed in agony, but Joe didn't wait around to listen. He was out the door in seconds, the first Mexican's gun in his hand. However, the sight that greeted him outside made him skid to a stop on the bare dirt. At least ten mounted men waited outside in a semicircle, and all were armed to the teeth. Most of the men were Mexicans, but a few were gringos. One in particular sat tall in the saddle; Joe got the immediate impression that he was the patrón of which he had heard Maddie speak.
The woman stepped through the door behind him, but kept a safe distance. "Howdy, Daddy," she greeted, her voice strained. "He's a trouble maker, but prime merchandise, so I thought I would keep him around until you got back."
Her father shifted, leather creaking. "He kill anyone?"
"Just one of the vaqueros, but he deserved it for being stupid."
"Hmm…" The man's eyes were colder and more calculating than any of the other crazies Joe had encountered so far. They took in every aspect of the ranger to the degree that Joe bet that his weight, height, and age were perfectly determined.
A man five or so years older than Joe came forward, his face ugly in the sunlight. Joe recognized him from his wining voice. "Pa, he ain't worth the trouble. He's a Ranger," Cliff informed while smiling devilishly at Joe.
Maddie shoved her brother. "Shut up, Cliff. You're just sore because he beat you even when he was tied up."
"Silence, both of you," their father barked, and even Joe's heart skipped a beat at that commanding tone. The man turned his ghostly-grey eyes upon the ranger again. "Put down that weapon, boy."
During the distraction, Joe had brought the pistol up to bear on the boss. "I don't think so. I could drop you before your men could get off a shot."
The man shook his head slowly. "I bet you could." Then, he jerked his head a little to the side, and Joe realized too late that it was a signal. A bullwhip snaked out and wrapped around Joe's wrist and yanked his arm to the side. Several men were on the ranger in a blink, striking him in the legs and forcing him to the ground. Someone stomped on wrist while prying his fingers open, taking the gun. Joe felt his anger multiply tenfold. It took a lot to get him mad, but once somebody did…there would be trouble. He bucked as hard as any bronco and threw off one of the men. He rabbit-punched the nearest throat while grabbing the same person's shirt to yank him head first into the face of another cowboy. They collided but fell on top of Joe, adding to the weight already across his legs. More men came from all sides, adding to the fray. Finally, somebody had the mental capacity to do the simple thing: a gun barrel clipped Joe across the jaw, and immediately, his movements slowed. The men clambered off of him and hauled him to his feet. Joe could hardly do anything as someone grabbed his hands and tied them behind him. After this was accomplished, two men stood at his side, holding his arms tightly.
Randall Jamison slowly dismounted and walked over to the ranger. He stopped a couple steps away and studied the man. He was a prize catch: good looking,—not like that had much to do with where he was going—tall, muscular, and then some! The man's body was built like a prime bull, all brawn and hardly a gram of fat.
The ranger had recovered from the blow he sustained and was breathing like the bull Randall had mentally compared him to. Great puffs of air came from his nostrils, none being able to escape through his tightly clenched teeth. His eyes were very dark, but even more so since his pupils were dilated in rage. Physical characteristics aside, the young man reminded Randall of a certain recent acquisition. "What's your name, boy?"
The ranger lowered his head like a beast about to charge and said through his teeth, "Private Joe Riley, Company B, Texas Rangers."
"Hmm…," Randall nodded and jabbed the ranger under the chin with the handle of his quirt, forcing him to tilt his head back. "Not too mouthy, but plenty of spirit. I like that."
Cliff sidled up next to his father. "He is at that, but just take a look at his physique. He'll be worth more for that, not his spunk."
Randall raised a brow, knowing exactly what his son was up to. He was trying to cover up his distaste for keeping the ranger now that he knew his father approved of the acquisition…and was trying to take credit for the capture. He tried to show some bravado to impress his father. Stepping forward, he grabbed the ranger's shirt collar on both sides and yanked it open, popping a few buttons. The ranger's eyes widened at the affront, but he remained rigidly still. Cliff sounded like an auctioneer. "Just take a look, Pa. He'll fetch a great price! He's the biggest one we've gotten in a long time."
Every muscle as tight as a bow string, the ranger twisted away from Cliff, only remaining where he was due to the men's hold on his arms. "I ain't no animal," he growled, "and I won't be poked and prodded like one."
Cliff looked to his father, silently asking permission to punish the man for his outburst. Randall shook his head. "Thank you for your demonstration, Cliff, but I'll take it from here."
Cliff walked away dejectedly while his sister smirked at his back. Randall turned around and walked toward a long, low building, and the men holding the ranger followed, pulling him along. Randall pulled out a big key and unlocked the padlock on the door. The men entered and the ranger was forced to lay face down next to the wall. While one of them kneeled on the base of the ranger's neck, effectively pinning him, the other took a shackle attached to the wall by a short chain. The ranger thrashed around a bit, but the moment the shackle snapped around his ankle, the ranger's tension evaporated with a sigh and he went still. The same man took a small knife out of his pocket. "Steady, big boy, I'm just gonna cut off them ropes." He did so, and at Randall's direction, the other carefully rose from his position and together they trooped out of the building, leaving the boss and captive alone.
The ranger slowly raised his body off the dirt floor and seated himself against the wall. He attempted to stretch out his long legs, but the chain was too short. He resigned himself to keep that leg bent at the knee, giving him a casual look. He stared up at Randall, a mixture of confusion and distaste on his handsome face. "You realize how much trouble you're gonna get yourself into if you keep me here? I'm a law officer."
Randall sat on a stool. "You're just a ranger. Most of you fellows were, or still are, thieves and murderers, with no family to care for them. You'll hardly be missed."
"The state might feel that way, but we rangers take care of our own." The ranger crossed his arms, which made contact with his bare chest. His face reddened and he tried to do up the buttons that hadn't been ripped off.
"A fine, strapping young man like you, blushing at his one of his finest features being shown off? I'm surprised at you," Randall chuckled.
"A man has a right to show his body to who he chooses," the ranger said, sounding a little preachy.
Randall leaned forward, his gaze pulling the ranger's upward. "You've got no rights anymore, boy, and no choices…except whether or not you're going to accept your fate. Now, most of the boys that come through here find their lives to be in a sorry state to begin with. Most are outlaws, ex-cons, drunken cowboys. Their lot in life was pretty bad to begin with. The places we send you off to, well, they might not seem like heaven, but you're fed and clothed and given a place to sleep at night. You might even say that I'm a good Samaritan, saving the down-on-his-luck traveler."
The ranger shook his head disbelievingly. "That what you tell yourself at night when you're tryin' to sleep?"
"I sleep like a baby, and you will too. That stuff my daughter's been fixing for you,"—this drew a reaction: the ranger's head flung back with a rebellious glint in his eyes— "you will keep drinking it every night. That little mixture keeps you safe and sound…"
"Makes me controllable?" the ranger interrupted.
"That is a good word to describe it, yes." Randall stood to leave. "You seem like a good man and are probably very talented at what you do. I'm sorry I have to trade you off across the river, but business is business. Who knows, maybe a ranger will get me a better price? Never mind. Get comfortable. It'll be a few days before I make another trip." He strode away, about to leave until a thought pulled him back. "Watch out for Jimmy. He's my, uh, nephew. He's a little out of his head. If he tries to talk to you, just ignore him. Good bye, ranger."
