“All right. I’ll remember that, Jeb.”
They turned off the trail. When they reached the spot where the buzzards had landed the ugly black birds scattered, squawking in protest as they rose into the sky, their wings flapping.
“Well, that’s not a man anyway, Nate,” Jeb said. “It’s a wild boar. You don’t want to tangle with one of those. They’ve got bad eyesight, a nasty temper, and those tusks are razor sharp. They’ll tear you to shreds. A wild boar ain’t afraid of anythin’, either. They’ll charge a horse as quick as they’ll charge a man. Sometimes you can empty your gun into one and it’ll still keep a-comin’. Looks like this one ain’t been dead all that long, so the meat ain’t spoiled. I reckon it’s time for dinner. You hungry?”
“My belly’s been rumblin’ for the past hour. But are you certain that pig’s safe to eat?”
“Nate, think of that hog as manna from Heaven,” Jeb answered. “Out here we’ve gotta rely on game for most of our meat, except for the bacon we carry. Least we didn’t have to hunt for this meal. Tell you what. There’s a small spring just over there. Why don’t you take care of the horses while I cut some pork chops from that boar? Loosen their cinches so they’re more comfortable, let ’em drink, then tie ’em to that mesquite. Leave ’em enough rope so they can reach the grass. Fill our canteens while you’re there. I’ll show you how to tie a horse so he can’t break loose, but you can get him untied right quick.”
“All right.”
They dismounted. Jed unwrapped the end of Dudley‘s lead rope from his saddlehorn. Like most cowboys, he rode with a halter always on his horse’s head, rope attached, in addition to the bridle. That made securing a horse much faster and easier, and the bridle could easily be slipped off for the horse’s comfort.
“You take your rope like this,” he said. “Loop it around the hitch rail, tree, fence, whatever you’re tyin’ your horse to. Then, you make a knot, like so.” Jeb looped the rope around again. “It’s almost like tyin’ your cinch, only you bring the rope up and through, leavin’ a loop in it. Now, if your horse decides to try’n break free, he can’t. Pullin’ back won’t get him anywhere. But if you need to untie him in a hurry, you just tug on the end of the rope and it’s untied. See?”
Jeb jerked the free end of the rope and the knot fell open.
“Sure. But what if your horse figures out by pullin’ on the rope he can get loose?” Nate asked.
“Then you’ve got a mighty smart cayuse,” Jeb answered, with a laugh. “And I’ve seen more’n one who’s figured that out. In fact, my Dudley’s one of ’em. In that case you can’t use the slip knot. You just have to tie a good tight knot, or wrap the reins around whatever you’re tyin’ him to a couple of times. Think you’ve got the idea?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty easy.”
“Good. Take ’em for a drink.”
Nate led the horses to the waterhole. By the time he finished letting them drink and tying them, Jeb had cut several chops from the boar, as well as a half dozen long strips from its belly.
“This here belly meat’s where bacon comes from,” he explained. “Now, this ain’t been cured, so it’s not exactly bacon, but it’ll still be mighty tasty. Help me gather some wood and we’ll start a fire.”
There were plenty of dead mesquite twigs and branches lying around, so it didn’t take long to gather enough for a fire. Once the wood was stacked, Jeb took a bundle of lucifers from his vest pocket, broke one off, and scratched it to life on his belt. He touched the match to some shavings, which quickly caught.
“I’m gonna show you how to start a fire with just a flint, Nate, but not today,” he said. Soon the meat was sizzling in the pan, with coffee boiling in the pot alongside.
“Smells good, don’t it, Nate?”
“My mouth’s waterin’ already. Sure hope it tastes as good as it smells.”
“It will.”
Once the meat was done, Jeb piled it high on the tin plates, and filled the tin mugs with thick, black coffee. He passed a plate and mug to Nate.
“Eat up, kid.”
“Thanks, Jeb.”
Nate dug into his food with relish. He downed two pork chops and tossed away the bones before he stopped. He started laughing.
“What’s so funny, Nate?” Jeb asked. “Sure hope it ain’t my cookin’.”
“No, it’s not that at all. I was just thinkin’ what my ma would say if she saw me sittin’ here eatin’ with my fingers. She never allowed that. Said it was uncivilized, and we weren’t barbarians, so we always had to use a knife and fork. I think the food tastes even better, eatin’ it like this.”
“It probably does,” Jeb agreed. “I’ve always thought food tastes better out in the wide open. Eat up so we can hit the trail.”
The meal was finished, the plates, mugs, frying pan and coffee pot washed out in the spring and tucked back into Jeb’s saddlebags. When they remounted and started off once again, Jeb pointed out a disturbed patch in the wall of vegetation lining the sides of the trail.
“Nate, remember what I said about a Ranger needs to observe everything? See those broken branches over there?”
“Yeah.”
“Take a closer look. Tell me what you see.”
Nate studied the opening carefully.
“There’s some long black hairs hangin’ from one of the branches. Also a small scrap of red cloth.”
“You’ve got good eyes,” Jake praised. “Those hairs are from a bay or black horse’s tail, or mebbe a blue roan or dark gray, even a buckskin or dun. And the cloth was torn from a shirt. A man rode outta the brush here. You can tell he came out rather’n went in by the direction the branches are bent and broken.”
“A rustler?”
“Possibly, but more likely a brush-poppin’ cowboy chasin’ a stray longhorn or some mavericks.”
“Brush-poppin’?”
“It’s an expression that comes from the sound a horse makes when it crashes through the scrub chasin’ a cow. Kind of a poppin’ sound. Anyway, it don’t make no nevermind to us. Those broken branches are already wilted, so whoever was here is long gone.”
Jeb spurred Dudley into motion.
***
Jeb and Nate rode until just before sunset, when Jeb called a halt alongside a shallow creek which fed into the San Saba.
“We’ll stop here for the night,” he said. “Plenty of grass and water for the horses, and sundown’s not that far off. It’ll be dark soon.”
They dismounted.
“Now I’m gonna show you how to care for your horse the right way,” Jeb said. “Get your brushes and the hoof pick out of your saddlebags. And remember, you always care for your horse before yourself. Always.”
“Okay, Jeb.”
Nate dug the currycomb, dandy brush, and hoof pick out of his saddlebags.
“Put those down for now and unsaddle your horse.”
“Okay.”
Nate took the saddle and blanket from Big Red’s back.
“You stand your saddle on end, like so, so it’ll dry out underneath,” Jeb explained. “Hang the blanket from a branch of that oak. If there wasn’t a tree handy, you’d spread it on the ground, damp side up, to dry. A wet saddle blanket’ll irritate your horse’s back and make him unfit to ride. And you want the saddle to dry out so the leather and linin’ won’t mold or rot. Besides, you’ll be usin’ it for your pillow. Then, take his bridle off.”
Nate did as told, while Jeb stripped the gear from Dudley.
“Good. Now, take your currycomb and get as much sweat and dirt out of your horse’s hide as possible. Use it in a circular motion, but not on his legs. Then take the brush and brush him out, includin’ his legs. Long smooth strokes with that. Get him as dry as you can.”
Jeb groomed his own horse and watched with approval while Nate rubbed down Red.
“You did just fine,” he said. “Now I’m gonna show you how to clean out his feet. I don’t need to tell you how important that is.”
; “I reckon not.”
“Good. Stand alongside his leg, like so. Stay in close so even if he does kick you it won’t hurt all that much.”
Nate stood alongside Red’s left fore hoof, holding the pick.
“Pick up his foot. If he won’t lift it, pinch the back of his leg, just above the fetlock. There’s nerves and tendons there. That’ll make him pick it up.”
Nate bent down to pick up Red’s foot. The horse gave it to him readily.
“Good. You’re doin’ fine, Nate. Now dig all the dirt out of his hoof. Work from the heel to toe. Make certain you get any grit or pebbles out of the grooves between the frog and sole.”
“The frog?” Nate said. “You mean Red’s hoof is gonna croak?”
“That’s as bad of one of my jokes. No, the frog is the wedge of soft tissue that runs down the middle of the hoof, from the heel almost to the toe. It absorbs a lot of pressure, so you don’t want it bruised.”
Nate finished cleaning out Red’s feet, then, while Jeb started a fire, led the horses to the creek for a drink, then picketed them to graze. He and Jeb ate a quick supper of bacon, beans, and biscuits, then rolled in their blankets. Jeb was quickly asleep, snoring softly, while Nate, head pillowed on his saddle, lay on his back, gazing up at the myriad stars pinpricking the inky black of the night sky.
“Sure wish you were here with me, Jonathan,” he whispered. “You’d really love it out here. And I know you’d’ve been a great Texas Ranger. I miss you somethin’ fierce, big brother, even more than I miss mom and dad. Well, there’s nothin’ I can do except try and be a man to make all of you proud. And I’ll do my best to make that happen, I promise you.”
With that vow in his heart and a prayer on his lips, Nate drifted off to sleep.
***
Sometime later, Nate was awakened by a soft sound, the sound of Big Red nickering uneasily. He started to sit up.
“Shh, Nate. Don’t make a move,” Jeb hissed. He slid his Colt from under his blankets.
Big Red nickered again, more loudly, as did Dudley. Both horses were standing stock-still, their ears pricked sharply forward as they gazed into the dark. A figure emerged from the brush, edging toward the horses.
“Hold it right there, mister!” Jeb’s voice cut through the night like the crack of a whip. The intruder turned, and smoke and flame blasted from his gun. His bullet thudded into the dirt between Jeb and Nate. Jeb’s gun blazed in return, and the man screamed, staggered for a few feet, then pitched to his face.
“Stay still a few minutes, Nate, in case he had a pardner,” Jeb ordered. “You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. That bullet came close, but I’m fine.”
“Good. Keep down until I say so.”
They waited several minutes, until Jeb was fairly certain the man had been alone.
“All right. Let’s check on that hombre, but be careful,” Jeb said. “And keep your gun handy.”
Nate tossed off his blankets and stood up, his Smith and Wesson in his hand. He hadn’t even realized he’d picked up the gun. He and Jeb headed over to the downed man.
“Looks like he’s done for,” Jeb said. A large hole in the man’s shirt, surrounded by blood, showed where Jeb’s bullet had exited his back. Jeb rolled him onto his back. The man’s eyes were wide open in the unblinking stare of death.
“You got him in the stomach, Jeb,” Nate said. “Your bullet went clean through him. Think he was tryin’ to rob us?”
“It’s more likely he was after our horses.” Jeb muttered a curse. “I hate killin’ a man like that, but he gave me no choice. Let’s see if we can get an idea who he was.”
Jeb went through the man’s pockets, finding nothing which would reveal his identity. Their entire contents were a few yellowbacks, some coins, a sack of Bull Durham tobacco and packet of cigarette papers, and some matches.
“Nothin’ here to help,” he said. “This hombre must have a horse around here somewhere. Mebbe we can find somethin’ in his saddlebags.”
They headed in the direction from which the would-be horse thief had come. In a thicket of scrub they found his horse, an emaciated chestnut mare, tied to a stunted juniper. There was a bandanna knotted tightly around her muzzle so she couldn’t call out to their horses. Her hide was salt and sweat encrusted. Bloody spur gouges, still damp, marred her sides. When Jeb pulled the bandanna off her nose, she whickered pitifully. Jeb cursed.
“Can’t tolerate a man who’d treat a horse like this. There’s no call for it. Now I don’t feel so bad about pluggin’ him.” He stroked the mare’s nose. “Easy, girl. It’s all right now.”
“I’m sure glad he didn’t get our horses,” Nate said. “I can’t stand the thought of Red bein’ treated like that.”
“You’re right. I can’t either,” Jeb agreed. “Plus if he had gotten our horses that means you’n I’d most likely be dead right now, shot fulla lead. And some of those buzzards that were feedin’ on that hog this mornin’ would be chowin’ down on us instead.”
Jeb went through the saddlebags and gear, again finding no clue as to the man’s identity.
“Nothin’ here we can use, Nate,” he said. “Reckon we’ll haul this hombre to camp with us. We’ll be there tomorrow just before sundown. Mebbe one of the boys’ll recognize him. Why don’t you take care of his horse while I wrap and tie his body in some blankets? Then picket her with our broncs.”
“All right.”
Nate untied the mare, then he and Jeb took her back to where her rider lay dead. The horse shied at the smell of blood, but Jeb soothed her with his soft voice. He pulled the saddle off her and while Nate groomed and then picketed her to graze, Jeb wrapped the body in the dead man’s blankets. Those chores done, and with it still several hours to sunrise, both lay back down to get back to sleep.
Despite the excitement and danger of the brief gunfight, Nate slept soundly, until Jeb roused him just before dawn. By the time the sun was just topping the eastern horizon, they were already back on the trail.
6
It was two hours before sunset the next day when they reached the Ranger encampment, which was situated in a hollow at a bend of the San Saba.
“There it is, Nate. Home, for the next couple of months, at least. Seems like everyone’s in from the field. Look it over.”
The camp consisted of a number of tents surrounding a firepit. Off to the left was a rope corral which contained the Rangers’ horses, along with several pack mules. Next to that was a canvas topped-wagon, which evidently held supplies. Four men were posted as sentries on high points around the camp. Since the river ran a bit deeper here, large cottonwood and towering cypress trees provided welcome shade. One of the men was emerging from the brush, buttoning his pants, apparently having just relieved himself. Four men were playing cards in front of one of the tents. Others were mending clothes or tack, while a few were stretched out on the ground, dozing. At the river two men were on the bank washing clothes, while three more were in the water, scrubbing themselves.
“What d’ya think, Nate?”
Nate grunted and arched his back to work out a kink.
“Does this mean we won’t have to do any more ridin’ for a while?”
“Most likely. But it’s the Rangers, so I can’t make any promises.”
“Then let’s get down there.” Nate urged his horse forward.
“Hold up a minute, pard,” Jeb called after him, spurring Dudley to keep up.
As they neared the camp, one of the sentries challenged them. He was a grizzled old man with a week’s worth of gray stubble coating his jaw.
“Hold it right there. Don’t make a move, or I’ll put bullets right through your gizzards. State your business.”
“Shorty, you know who I am. Can’t you see the badge I’m wearin’? It’s me, Jeb Rollins,” Jeb answered.
“Don’t know any such thing. And who’s the young whippersnapper with you?”
“Him? He’s Nate Stewart. Gonna be ridin’ with us for a s
pell, mebbe.”
“What about the hombre all wrapped up like a birthday present and tied belly-down over his horse? Who’s he?”
“Horse thief. I’m hopin’ mebbe someone here can tell us who he is. Cap’n Dave in camp?”
“He’s around somewhere.”
“Good. Now you gonna let us pass or what?”
“I reckon. Go on in.”
“Thanks, Shorty.”
“That hombre sure is a nasty old coot,” Nate said, once they were out of earshot.
“Shorty? He’s not so bad. Name’s Shorty Beach. Been a Ranger a long time, since before the War, in fact. Sure, he’s cantankerous, but you get in a fight and you want Shorty alongside you.”
As they rode through the camp, Jeb exchanged greetings and nods with his fellow Rangers. Lieutenant Bob Berkeley came out from his tent.
“Jeb. I wondered who was ridin’ in. ’Bout time you got back. But what’s Nate doin’ with you? I thought he was goin’ back East.”
“His plans changed,” Jeb answered. “Where’s Cap’n Dave? I need to talk to him. After that, I can explain things to you.”
“He’s in his tent, takin’ care of paperwork. Third one down on the left. He’ll be plumb glad to see you. He was worried about you.”
“Good. You mind takin’ this body off my hands? Hombre tried to steal our horses last night. I didn’t recognize him, and he had nothin’ on him with his name. I’m hopin’ mebbe one of you boys know who he is. Have everyone take a look at him, then we’ll plant him.”
“Bob, did you find the men who murdered my family?” Nate asked.
“No, we didn’t,” Bob admitted. “They gave us the slip. We did find your father’s cattle. They sold ’em to a rancher a few miles from your place. He had a bill of sale. Since your father hadn’t branded his cows, we had no way to prove they were his, and not the men who stole them. Same thing happened to Sam Maverick, who owned a large ranch. He refused to brand his herd and got rustled blind. His name’s now stuck to any unbranded cow, and range law says any unbranded cow belongs to the first man who brands it. They’re called mavericks. We did get a good description of those men from the rancher, though. Trailed ’em a bit further, but lost their tracks in the badlands. I’m sorry, son.”
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