Ranger's Trail

by Darlene Franklin

“Buck, Drew!” Ma stood at the kitchen door, hands on her hips. The two men went over to her. She fussed over Buck’s shirt, fiddling with the studs. “It seems like only yesterday when I sent you off to school.” She dropped her hands. “But I know you do not like me to reminisce. You are a grown man.” She stood on tiptoes. “Don’t wait so long to come home the next time.” She patted his shirt and stepped back.

  “Let the man go.” Pa’s once-blond hair was now mostly gray, but he still stood tall, his back as straight as it was years ago when he had first put Buck on a horse and taught him the Word of God. “We’re sending two of our most precious possessions with you, so take care of them.”

  Buck’s mouth went dry. So many things could happen on the road. “I will do my best.”

  His parents exchanged a look. Ma lowered her voice. “We’re letting Stella go free like a bird, but we hope she will choose to fly home. She has a wandering spirit, that one. We’d rather she go with you than to take off to pan for gold on her own.”

  “You’re saying she’s too much like me.” Buck chuckled, then turned serious. “She might be safer in Alaska than in Mason. Things there are still unsettled.”

  “But she’ll be with family. A girl shouldn’t go on a trip alone.” Ma shook her head. After Ma’s family had made the long trip from Germany to Texas, she settled in Victoria. She only ventured out of south Texas one time, to visit Onkel Georg and Tante Ertha. She was a homebody.

  Stella chose that moment to descend on them. “Are you going to stand there jabbering all day or are we going to get going?”

  Buck clamped his hat on his head. “Let’s head out.”

  Leta sat in front of the cabin, churning butter. Boyish laughter tickled her ears and she glanced at the sky. The sun hadn’t yet reached its zenith; it lacked at least an hour until noon. Andy was taking his break early again. After Ricky started school, maybe he would settle down.

  School. Buck had used that word to describe training Shadow. They had to finish the job soon. Ricky would need the mount when he started school. The livery owner had agreed to spend some time with boy and horse on Saturday, for a price.

  At least they had their cattle back. For now, she kept them in pens close to the house. Until she had people to stay with the herd day and night, she wouldn’t leave them in the open.

  Leta had to find a way to hire extra hands, although she didn’t see how. Where was God’s promise to provide all her needs? He sent me rain when I needed it, she thought suddenly. Too little, too late. She suppressed the ungrateful response. The rain had done the garden good. Maybe she’d grow enough to sell at the town market. Next year, after this year’s heifers birthed their first calves, she’d have extra milk and butter.

  Next year … if they survived until then.

  The boys’ laughter grew loud, and she smiled—until she heard a sound that chilled her under the sunbonnet.

  A horse’s cry.

  She jumped up and raced to the corral. Shadow ran in circles, Ricky on his back.

  “Look, Ma, I’m riding!” he shouted.

  Shadow snorted at the noise and kicked up his back legs.

  Ricky grabbed the saddle horn, but his right leg fell out of the stirrup and slipped toward the ground. His left leg followed. He fell in a heap on the ground. The colt’s hooves crashed into Ricky’s soft body before he ran off.

  “Ricky!”

  Andy ducked under the fence and grabbed Ricky by the shoulders. One of Shadow’s hooves clipped her brother’s side. He stumbled, but he got Ricky to safety.

  Leta bent over her son, who lay still, eyes closed. When she took him in her arms, her hands came away bloody. She shot a prayer to heaven. Forget all my other complaints. Just spare my son. I can’t lose him too. Tears streamed down her face, but she swallowed them. “Ricky, Ricky.” She spoke in loud, clear tones, willing him to wake up. His eyes remained closed.

  Andy came out of the barn leading her mare—their fastest horse. “I’m going for the doctor.”

  She tried to stand with Ricky in her arms, but fell back to one knee. When had he grown so heavy? “Help me get him inside before you go.”

  Moments later, she was alone with a son who wouldn’t wake up. She made him comfortable on the bed and checked his back. She bit her lower lip. Parallel gashes split his skin. She sponged away the blood and discovered the cuts were thin but not deep. She probed around the hoof print with gentle fingers, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn’t discover any broken bones. Time would show how badly his back was bruised. Ricky stayed deathly still. She leaned over and felt his precious breath on her cheek.

  She put ointment on the cuts and strapped rags around his chest. His ribs would be sore, if not broken. She didn’t think they were broken, but she couldn’t be sure. The immediate problems solved, she once again said, “Ricky? Ricky?”

  He didn’t respond. She hadn’t expected him to. If his mind was awake at all, he would have screamed at her to stop poking his ribs. She lifted his head enough to slip her fingers underneath. She felt hair and grit, but no blood. There was a bump the size of a walnut at the nape of the neck, probably caused when he hit the ground after falling off Shadow’s back.

  That might be what made him unconscious. She went for her medical guide and read the passages on head and chest injuries. She read no guarantees that he would wake up, nor did it offer a prescribed treatment. She blinked back tears. Hadn’t she lost enough already?

  It did say to keep his feet elevated. She tugged off his boots. She didn’t want to take the pillow from under his head, so she grabbed the pillows from her bed and plumped them under his feet.

  Keep him warm. The August sun heated the inside of the cabin to oven-hot temperatures, and they slept with as few covers as possible. But … just in case … she tucked an extra quilt around him.

  She checked his forehead—slightly warm. The cuts posed a danger for infection, or perhaps being knocked unconscious brought on a fever. She dipped a cloth in cool water and wiped it across his forehead. She took his hand and kissed it. “Your pa and I were so happy the day you were born. He took you in his arms and announced, ‘Now he looks like a junior!’ So you became Derrick Denning Jr.” She wiped at her eyes. “He loved you so much.”

  She stopped speaking, unable to continue. Her thoughts became a tumbled prayer. Derrick used to say everyone prayed on the battlefield; he had joined the Confederate Army a year before the war ended. He had said God was more real to him during those awful months than at any other time in his life.

  Like those soldiers on the battlefield, Leta cried out. “God, help. Don’t punish my son for things I did. Let Andy find the doctor quickly.” The town of Mason was so far away, and the doctor could be anywhere. Alone, without anyone to assume strength for, she allowed the tears to fall.

  Horse hooves hit the ground outside, and she stood. God had answered her prayer speedily. Thank You, God. Surely the doctor had a better idea of how to help Ricky.

  “Help is here, Ricky. I’ll be right back.”

  She rushed to the door and flung it open.

  Tears jumped into her eyes again. God hadn’t sent her help in the form of a doctor.

  He had sent her Ranger Buck instead.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SAN ANTONIO DAILY HERALD

  May 25, 1875

  Indians and Mexicans are making a fearful raid in our part of the country, just at this time, stealing our property and killing our citizens.

  Buck’s lips lifted in a smile as he approached Leta’s cabin with his sister. Unease quickly replaced the smile. Aside from the animals, he saw no evidence of life.

  A saddle straddled the fence, untended. Buck shook his head. Leta knew better. Maybe Andy had left it out, but still … Shadow scampered across the corral toward him and snorted in greeting. Buck could guess his thoughts—I’ve missed you.

  “Is she the reason you’ve been sighing ever since we left Faith with her family?” Stella nodded in the direction of th
e cabin.

  Buck ignored her question. Arms crossed and face flat, Leta looked as forbidding as she did the day they had met. He strode across the yard and stopped a few feet away from her. “Leta—Mrs. Denning—are you all right?”

  She clamped her mouth shut and then opened it. “I didn’t think we’d see you again.” She made the words sound like an accusation. “I see you have company.”

  Could Leta be jealous? Pleasure tickled Buck at the thought. “That’s my sister, Stella. She’s come up to—” He stopped in midsentence. As far as he knew, Leta didn’t know of his kinship with the Fletchers, and he wanted to keep it that way as long as possible. “She’s staying with friends for a short time.”

  “She picked a strange time to visit Mason County.” Leta tapped her fingers on the sleeve of her dress. “Maybe this is best after all. Come inside.” Without further explanation, she whirled around and went inside.

  “Leta, huh?” Stella leaned over the side of the wagon. “Sounds mighty friendly.”

  “She invited us inside.” Buck ignored her friendly jab. “Something’s wrong.” Wind whispered across his neck, stirring his hair, as if someone was watching. He surveyed their surroundings, but saw no one.

  “If you keep this up, you’ll be scaring me,” Stella said as he lifted her to the ground.

  He continued sweeping the horizon and noticed the full pen of cattle. He nodded in their direction. “That must have been what I heard.” So Leta had recovered her stolen cattle. He was glad for her sake—and a little sad he hadn’t done it for her. He escorted Stella to the door, knocked, and entered.

  “In here.” Leta’s voice sounded muffled. Stella looked at Buck with a question in her eyes, but he just shrugged and walked behind the curtain.

  Little Ricky Denning lay on the bed, as still as the dead. Buck took a step back, and Stella squeezed past him. She stopped as soon as she saw the boy.

  The quilt covering the boy rose a fraction of an inch, and Buck relaxed. Ricky was still alive. “What’s happened?”

  “Shadow.” The colt’s name came out raspy, and Leta cleared her throat. “Ricky tried to ride him today.”

  Guilt struggled to the surface. “It’s my fault,” said Buck.

  The look she shot his way screamed her agreement, but she didn’t say anything. “Andy’s gone to town for the doctor. Do either one of you know any doctoring?” She realized Stella stood there, and she pasted a smile on her face. “I apologize for my manners. I am Leta Denning.”

  “And I’m Stella Morgan. Buck’s sister.” She moved forward and took a seat opposite Leta.

  Leta arched her eyebrows, and a green glint flashed in her eyes, but she didn’t ask any more questions.

  “I see you’ve already consulted the book. My grannie swears by it. And I’ve learned a thing or two from my ma.” Stella pulled back Ricky’s eyelids and stared at his eyes, then clapped a single time and checked his forehead. “He’s not responding to stimuli, but he doesn’t have a fever, either.”

  “What do you think, Buck? Have you seen injuries like this with the Rangers?”

  Buck looked at the still form of the child who couldn’t stop moving when awake. “Closest thing to it was the time Drew conked out once when he fell off the barn roof. Scared Ma half to death.” He smiled. “He woke up about fifteen minutes later.”

  “It’s been two hours,” Leta said.

  He didn’t have an answer for that.

  Leta stood. “Don’t let me keep you any longer. I’m sure you want to get settled before night falls. The doctor will come when he can.”

  “Nonsense.” Stella shook her head. “We’re not going to leave you here, alone.” She glanced at Buck. “Do you need to report to your company?”

  Buck shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “Take my seat.” Stella stood. “Mrs. Denning, have you had dinner?”

  Leta shook her head.

  “I didn’t think so. I’ll go rustle up something to eat. You stay here and keep Mrs. Denning company.” Stella disappeared behind the curtain and soon they heard pans rattling.

  “Why did you bring your sister here to Mason County?”

  “She wanted to see the world. A true Morgan, Pa says.”

  A sad smile passed over Leta’s face. “Your family sounds nice.”

  Buck grunted. “I consider myself blessed. It must be hard for you, without family.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m used to it.”

  Buck shot a sharp glance at her, but she had bowed her head. Sometimes his family stifled him, but they were his foundation. He didn’t know how he’d feel without them. “I’m sorry.”

  She lifted her head and bared her teeth in a forced smile. “But God is always with me, so I’m never alone. Isn’t that what the Bible says?” A single tear slid down her cheek.

  Buck’s hand moved without volition and caught the tear with his finger. “You’re not alone now.”

  “But I will be again. The next time you go away. God takes away everyone I care about.” She sobbed without making a sound.

  “Food’s ready.” Stella’s cheerful voice interrupted. “I’ll bring you a plate.”

  Leta shook her head from side to side. “I’m not hungry.”

  She spoke too softly for Stella to hear, and his sister pulled back the curtain with her free hand. As soon as she spotted Leta’s distress, she set the plate on the nightstand and knelt beside Leta. “Oh, honey, go ahead and cry.” That sounded like something their grannie would say.

  Leta buried her face on Stella’s shoulder. Stella shooed away Buck with her hand. Nodding, he retired to the main room and fixed himself a plate.

  He forced the food down while he added his silent prayers to Leta’s cries. Comfort her, God. And heal Ricky.

  Stella joined Buck at the table. “She’s resting. I convinced her to lie down next to Ricky on the bed. Poor thing.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and stirred in a spoonful of sugar. “Does she live here all alone?”

  “She has Ricky, and her brother Andy lives with her here.”

  “Hard to imagine, isn’t it?” Two cabins this size could fit on the first floor of her family’s house. It was one big room, with sleeping quarters curtained off. To think she’d complained about sharing a bedroom with her two sisters until they got married.

  Stella inspected the interior, imaging life in the small space. Red-checked gingham curtains hung on the small window in the kitchen and a larger one looking out on the front yard. The quilts used for room curtains featured the Lone Star pattern, meticulously sewn in a hodgepodge of fabrics and colors that spoke to a cheerful spirit. A table with a kerosene lantern also held a couple of books, including what looked like a well-worn Bible. Pegs by the door held coats and hats. Not a speck of dirt rested on any surface, which was amazing given the constant traffic and wind. The kitchen pantry, though small, was well planned. Stella’s glance landed on a slim volume on the shelf behind Buck’s chair. “I bet she keeps household accounts in that.”

  Buck glanced behind him. “Maybe. She’s having a hard time of it.”

  “You care for her, don’t you?”

  His head snapped back, and he glanced at the curtain that hid Leta. Not seeing any movement, he relaxed. “Yes.” He spoke so low Stella could barely make out the words. “You wouldn’t dare tell Ma.”

  “Don’t worry.” Stella smiled. In spite of the difference in their ages, they had always been close. As a child, she had followed him around in trousers and did everything he did. Now they fell back into that easy camaraderie. “I want to keep you on my side. You’re the only member of the family who recognizes I’ve grown up.”

  Buck laughed. “I felt the same way, and I was the oldest. Ma says I’ll always be her baby boy. It’s just her way.”

  “Hah.” But Stella smiled. “Do you think Mrs. Denning will let us stay here? Tante Ertha will mother me just like Ma.”

  Buck shook his head. “Leta doesn’t need another person to look a
fter.”

  As his sister began to protest, horse hooves clattered outside and Buck rushed to the window. “It’s Leta’s brother, Andy.”

  Stella peeked over his shoulder, and saw a gangly youth ride around the wagon, staring into the bed, his face a study in concentration. He placed his hand on his rifle.

  Buck opened the door. “Andy, it’s Buck Morgan.”

  The boy whirled around. A mixture of relief and disappointment ran across his face. “I wondered if maybe someone else got word to the doctor.”

  “Unfortunately, no. You didn’t find him?”

  “There was an accident down in Loyal Valley. The doctor has been gone since last night.” The kid swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Is Ricky any better?”

  “He hasn’t regained consciousness.” Buck glanced at the corral. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it back sooner. Ricky might not have been hurt if I’d had a chance to finish training that colt.”

  Andy scowled. “Leta didn’t think you were coming back.”

  The tightening of the lines around Buck’s eyes told Stella those words stung. “I went home to help my family after the hurricane. They live down near the part of the coast that got the worst of it. I’m sorry for the delay, but I promised I’d be back.”

  “I guess Leta has learned she can’t believe every promise made to her.”

  Buck straightened, pulling himself to his full height of six feet three inches. They reminded Stella of two stallions challenging each other for control of the herd. If they were horses, she’d let them fight it out. But they were men—at least a man and a boy on the brink of manhood—who should know better.

  “Buck, where’s your manners?” Stella stepped between them. “I’m Buck’s sister Stella. And you must be Mrs. Denning’s brother. I bet you’re hungry after all that riding. Come on in and eat.”

  Andy relented, and he turned from man back to boy before her eyes. “I’d like that. Glad to meet you, ma’am.” He lavished a smile on her that made her feel all grown, and she decided Andy might not be so bad after all.