4

Several weeks later, the Rangers of Company D were speculating about what had happened to the new Ranger who had been riding with Bill Pierson to join them. Captain Daniel Moore had received a telegram informing him of Pierson’s death; however, no further word had been received about Ben Judwin. It was a chilly night where they were camped along the Rio Grande. A full moon brightly illuminated their campsite and the muddy river.

“I guess the kid lost his nerve after seeing Bill dying with those bullets in him,” Sergeant Jim Huggins theorized.

“I don’t know,” Bob Murphey mused. “I met Judwin up in Austin, when he was first thinking of joinin’ up. He didn’t seem like the type who’d turn yellow to me.”

“Rider comin’ in, Captain,” Lefty Hall, the sentry, announced.

Fifteen minutes later, a middle-aged Mexican, riding a wiry pinto, rode into the camp and dismounted.

“You are the capitan, Senor, si?” he questioned, looking straight at Moore.

“I’m the captain of this Ranger company, yes,” Moore confirmed. “What do you want, hombre?”

“Capitan, I am Don Jose de la Vega. I own a large rancho just outside of Guerrero, close to the Rio Bravo. Quite some time back, I heard the sounds of a horrific gun battle, not far from my hacienda. When the next morning came, I went to investigate. I found many men who had died from bullet wounds, twenty-two to be precise.”

“Yes, yes. And did you recognize any of those dead hombres?” Moore impatiently asked.

“Si, Capitan,” de la Vega replied. “Most of them were muy malo hombres, best avoided. They were the men who rode with Clete Hardisty.”

“You mean the Hardisty gang is wiped out?” Moore asked in disbelief.

“Si, Capitan,” the Mexican confirmed. “However, two of the dead men were off from the rest. One of them wore this.”

De la Vega handed Moore a half-finished star on circle badge.

“A Ranger badge?” Moore exclaimed. “What’d the man wearing this look like?”

“Blonde, very slim, light brown eyes,” de la Vega described. “He and his compadre must have been muy valeroso hombres, to take on the Hardisty gang with such odds against them.”

“Ben Judwin,” Moore half-whispered. “He didn’t run after all.”

“Senor, what did you do with the bodies?” he asked de la Vega.

“The bodies of Hardisty and his men I left for the coyotes and buzzards, for that is all they deserved. But I buried the man wearing this badge, and his compadre, in a small grove of cottonwoods. Such bravery must be respected.”

“Indeed,”, Moore assented. “Gracias, Senor de la Vega. Would you care to spend the rest of the night here with us, so you can rest? We still have hot coffee and warm beans on the fire.”

“Gracias, Capitan. I would appreciate that very much indeed,” de la Vega gratefully accepted.

Later, with most of the Rangers still awake, two horses’ whinnies, loud and insistent, drifted across the camp. Several of the Rangers’ mounts answered. The men looked toward the ridge from where the sound had come.

“I don’t believe what I’m seein’!” Captain Moore exclaimed.

“We haven’t been drinkin’, so it ain’t the red-eye,” Lefty Hall declared.

Up on the ridge the ghostly images of two men, one wearing a Ranger badge and riding a steeldust, the other riding a sorrel, were clearly visible under the light of the full moon.

“That’s Ben Judwin!” Bob Murphey shouted.

While the Rangers watched, the two men reared their horses, whirled them around, and galloped off.

“Those are the men I buried,” de la Vega stated, in awe. He dropped to his knees and made the Sign of the Cross.

The Rangers of Company D stood in stunned silence, until Captain Moore finally whispered, “Adios, Ranger Judwin and your pardner. Vaya con Dios!”