Lone Star Ranger : A Ranger to Ride With (9781310568404)

by Griffin, James J.

  “Lemme guess. The leader was a skinny dude, with pale blue eyes and real light hair. Dressed real fancy, and wore matched pearl-handled Colts. One of the others was a half-breed,” Jeb said.

  “That’s right. How’d you know that?” Bob said.

  Jeb proceeded to tell him about the confrontation in the Dusty Trail.

  “Sounds like you did a fine job, Nate,” Bob praised once Jeb concluded his story.

  “Thanks, Bob.”

  “We’d better go see Cap’n Quincy now,” Jeb said. “Bob. We’ll talk some more later.”

  “All right. See you in a while.” Bob took the mare’s reins and led her away. Jeb and Nate rode up to the captain’s tent and dismounted.

  “I’ll take care of you soon as I’m finished talkin’ with Cap’n Dave, Dudley,” Jeb promised his horse. He dug a leftover biscuit out of his saddlebag and broke it in half. He gave one piece to Dudley, and the other to Nate for Red. They dropped their reins to ground-hitch the mounts.

  Captain Quincy’s tent flap was open to catch any vagrant breeze which might provide a bit of relief from the blistering mid-summer heat.

  “Cap’n Quincy?” Jeb called. “It’s Jeb Rollins.”

  “Been expectin’ you,” Quincy answered. “C’mon in, Jeb.”

  Jeb and Nate ducked inside the tent. Quincy was seated at a folding table, with several reports in front of him. He dipped his pen in an inkwell, then signed the last paper and set it aside.

  “Welcome back, Ranger. Who’s this you’ve got with you?”

  “Cap’n, this here’s Nate Stewart. I’m sure Lieutenant Bob’s already told you about the attack on his ranch and the murder of his family. Nate, Captain David Quincy.”

  Quincy stood up to shake Nate’s hand. He was tall and husky, in his late forties. Sun and wind wrinkles encircled his frosty blue eyes, and his sandy hair was tending to gray.

  “Pleased to meet you, Nate.”

  “Same here, sir.”

  “Just ‘Captain’, or ‘Captain Dave’. We’re don’t stand much on formality in the Rangers. Now, I was told you were headed to family back East, Nate, so why are you here instead?”

  “Let me explain that, Cap’n,” Jeb said. He proceeded to describe how Nate had decided to remain in Texas, and what had transpired during the confrontation and gunfight with the Stevenson gang in the Dusty Trail Saloon.

  “So I thought mebbe the Rangers could use another man,” Jeb concluded.

  “I see,” Quincy said. “Exactly how old are you, Nate?”

  “He’s sixteen,” Jeb answered, before Nate could reply.

  “Sixteen? That’s a mite too young to join the Rangers. Man has to be eighteen to sign on with the outfit.”

  “Heck, Cap’n, Hoot Harrison’s no more’n sixteen and we all know it,” Jeb protested. “He claims to be eighteen, but he dang for sure ain’t. And there’s been Rangers as young as fourteen, even younger.”

  “I know that. I don’t need a lesson in Ranger history,” Quincy answered. “But that was back in the early days, when the Rangers were a volunteer organization.”

  “Look, Nate’s not askin’ to be put on as a full Ranger right away,” Jeb answered. “He’s willin’ to prove himself first. All he wants is that chance. I thought mebbe he could be taken on as George’s assistant, helpin’ with the cookin’ and camp chores, and as a general all-around helper for the men. Meantime, he can be learnin’ everythin’ he needs to know about Rangerin’. What d’ya say?”

  Quincy looked at Nate.

  “You’d really like to be a Ranger, son?”

  “I believe I would, Cap’n.”

  “I see. Do you have any type of experience at all? How good a shot are you?”

  “I don’t know,” Nate admitted. “I haven’t really fired a gun.”

  “Hmm. What about close quarter fighting? Do you know how to use your fists?”

  “Only had a few fistfights with my brother and my friends back in Wilmington, and those weren’t much. More like shovin’ matches.”

  “So, it’s clear you wouldn’t know how to use a knife, either. What about tracking?”

  “Jeb’s been teaching me about that on our way here.”

  “And he’s picked up on that real quick, Cap’n,” Jeb said. “I’d wager he’ll be one of the best trackers in the Rangers, given a little time. He’s good at readin’ sign, too.”

  “Still, he’s awfully green. It appears he isn’t all that used to riding, either. Rangers spend most of their time in the saddle. You know that.”

  Nate was standing spraddle-legged, trying to lessen the aches in his back, butt, legs, and groin from two days of hard riding.

  “Sure he is, Cap’n. I’ll admit that, and so will Nate. But all of us were, at one time. And don’t forget—Nate, here, saved me from a bullet in my guts when he took on that outlaw. He never flinched when that horse thief we brought in took a shot at us, and his bullet barely missed Nate’s head. And he never once complained about the steady ridin’. He’s a man to ride the river with.”

  “I’d do my best to be a good Ranger,” Nate added. “All I’m asking is the chance to prove myself.”

  Quincy rubbed his jaw. He pulled his pipe from his vest pocket, filled it with tobacco, tamped that down, and lit it. He took a long draw on the pipe, then blew a ring of smoke toward the tent’s ceiling before answering.

  “Nate, I believe I can take a chance on you. You’ll have to work hard, but if you’re as good a man as Jeb claims, that’s good enough for me.”

  “I won’t let you down, Cap’n.”

  “And you’ll let us know when he’s ready to be a full-time Ranger, right, Cap’n?” Jeb asked. “I know that’ll be some time down the road, mebbe a year or more.”

  “No, you’ll let me know when he’s ready, Jeb. Lieutenant Berkeley’s patrol just rode in yesterday. They’ve had a tough ride, so I’m giving them a week’s rest before they head out again, you with them, of course. In fact, all the men have been out for longer than usual, so unless somethin’ comes up, I’m gonna keep everyone in camp for a few days. The men and horses are plumb worn out, in no shape to take on a bunch of renegades or Comanch’. Rest and a chance to lick our wounds will do everyone some good, includin’ me. In that time, I want you to give Nate, here, as much training as possible. Before you leave, I expect you to report that Nate is well on the way to becomin’ a Ranger. I don’t expect him to be ready to go out on patrol for at least a month, probably longer’n that, but I want him to get as much learning as possible before you ride out with Bob again. That’ll be your job. Nate, are you ready to be sworn in as a probationary Ranger?”

  “I sure am, yessir..”

  “Just ‘Captain’, Nate. Remember, this is the Texas Rangers, not the United States Army,” Quincy scolded. He smiled to take the sting out of his words.

  “Yes sir, I mean, Cap’n. I’m sorry. Jeb told me that too. I keep forgettin’.”

  “That’s better. Now, I’ll swear you in and prepare your enlistment papers. Don’t worry about your age. I’ll just put down ‘Birth Date Unknown’. That’s bendin’ the rules a bit, but the Rangers are notorious for bending rules until they almost break. Once we’re finished you can care for your horse, then head for your tent. There’s an extra bunk in Jim Kelly’s tent, so you’ll take that one. You’ll be bunkin’ with Jim, Dan Morton, and Hoot Harrison. I’d suggest you get some rest, mebbe clean up a bit in the river. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the men at supper.”

  “Thanks, Cap’n. I won’t let you down.”

  “I’m countin’ on that, son.”

  Nate’s papers were signed and he was sworn in. After accepting congratulations from Captain Quincy, he and Jeb headed for their tents.

  “Jeb, I ain’t sixteen, and you know it,” Nate whispered. “And that horse thief’s bullet didn’t come all that close to me.”

  “Shush. Never say a word about that again. Far as anyone around here knows, you’re sixteen.”

>   “What about Bob and the others?”

  “They’ll keep our secret,” Jeb promised. “Now let’s go see if anyone knew who that horse thief was, then grab some shut-eye before supper.”

  ***

  No one recognized the horse thief, so he was buried in an unmarked grave just outside the camp, with a brief prayer said for the salvation of his soul by Captain Quincy. After caring for their horses and washing up a bit, Jeb and Nate spent the next hour catching up on some much needed sleep. They were jolted from their rest by the clanging of an iron spoon on a cast iron pot and the cook’s yell.

  “Come and get it before I toss it in the river for the fishes!”

  “He means that too, Nate,” Hoot said from his bunk. “We’d better hurry.” He and the other members of Lieutenant Berkeley’s patrol had been happy to see Nate, and greeted him warmly. All were pleased at his decision to stay in Texas.

  Supper was the usual bacon, biscuits, and beans, along with strong black coffee. Nate was finally getting used to the bitter brew. Once everyone had their plates full and found seats on logs or sat cross-legged on the ground Captain Quincy called for silence.

  “Men, as usual I want to thank the Good Lord for our supper this evening. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  “Now, I’m sure you’ve all noticed there’s a new young man in our midst,” he continued.

  “We’re Rangers,” Ed Jennings said. “We’d better have noticed him.”

  The rest of the men laughed.

  “Besides, he eats so much you, can’t hardly miss him in the chuck line,” Dan Morton added, again to laughter. Nate blushed.

  “That’s enough. Men, the new man is Nate Stewart. He lost his home and family to outlaws outside San Saba a few days back. I know most of you have already heard that story. And since all of you in Bob’s patrol have already met him, there’s no need to introduce you men again. For the rest, Nate, our cook is George Bayfield. He’s a retired Ranger who can still put up a fight when he needs to. George, Nate’s gonna be your assistant while he’s being trained and we decide if he’ll cut it as a Ranger.”

  “Mebbe we’d get better chuck if we made Nate the cook and George his helper,” one of the men said.

  “Just try’n get a piece of apple pie tonight, Duffy,” George growled.

  “Apple pie? Quit tellin’ your tall tales, George. You don’t have any apple pie.”

  “Sure do. Bought some dried apples last time I got supplies, and was savin’ ’em up until today. Baked up those pies in my Dutch ovens. Nate, you’ll get Duffy’s piece. That’ll teach him to smart mouth the cook.”

  “That’s enough,” Quincy reiterated. “Others are Shorty Beach.”

  “Already met the youngster, Cap’n. Seems like a nice kid.”

  “Thanks for your opinion, Shorty. Now shut up and let me finish. Rest of the men are Joe Duffy, Dakota Stevens, Tex Carlson, Bill Tuttle, and Hank Glynn. Finally we have Percy Leaping Buck, our scout. Andy Pratt, Tad Cooper, Phil Knight, and Ken Demarest are on sentry duty. Nate, you’ll meet them later. We’re one man short. Mark Thornton died in a fight over to Junction. He got the man who shot him before he died, though. Men, let’s all welcome Nate to the Rangers.”

  The men let up a shout. Once they were done, Nate nodded.

  “I appreciate that, all of you. I know I’m mighty young, and mighty green, but I’m gonna try my hardest to be the best Ranger I can.”

  “That’s all any of us ask from you, Nate,” Quincy said. “Men, while he’s here, Nate’s gonna help out around the camp anywhere he can. But his main job is to learn to be a Ranger. I want all of you to help with that, and none of you to take advantage of him by pilin’ on work you should be doin’ yourselves. You all were rookies once and had to learn, just like Nate. I expect you to make that easier for him. All right?"

  "You can count on all of us, Cap'n," Bob answered.

  "Good. Now finish your supper, then y’all can palaver with Nate for awhile."

  ***

  After supper was finished some of the men retired early, while others sat around, smoking and talking or telling stories. Dakota Stevens pulled out a harmonica and began playing it softly. The camp fell silent as the men listened to him. Finally, after an hour, Jeb touched Nate's shoulder.

  "Time to turn in," he said. "You've got a long day ahead. High time you learned how to shoot."

  "Got a question for you, Jeb," Nate said as they walked over to their tents.

  "Go ahead."

  "Percy Leaping Buck. He's an Indian."

  "That's right. He's a Tonkawa. If you can get him to give you some lessons in trackin', consider yourself lucky. He's one of the best there is."

  "But I thought the Rangers and Indians were enemies, always at war with each other."

  "Not all Indians," Jeb explained. "Sure, the Comanches, Kiowas, and Apaches hate the white man, not without reason I might add, since we're pushin' them off their lands, but other tribes don't. There were friendly Cherokees forced over here from further East, then they got pushed outta Texas too. Shame what was done to ’em. And we've always gotten along with the Tonkawas. Now, the Karankawas, that's another story. They were a real warrior society. Cannibals, too. They'd eat their enemy after they killed him. And they preyed on the Tonkawas. That's one reason the Tonks and Rangers have always been friends, because we took on the Karankawas and whipped 'em."

  "I understand. Got another question."

  "You're just full of 'em, ain't ya, kid? Go ahead."

  "How come you wear a badge, but I ain't seen one on any of the other men?"

  "Oh, some of 'em have 'em. They just don't wear 'em around camp or out on the trail unless they need to. That badge makes a nice, shiny target. Only reason mine's still pinned to my vest is I didn't bother to take it off yet. But you're right, most of the men don't. More and more are startin' to, though. They either have 'em carved from Mexican five peso coins or even make one themselves.” He smiled as they reached the tents. “I guess you’ve got enough to think on tonight. Good night, Nate. I'll see you in the mornin'."

  "'Night, Jeb." Nate ducked into his tent, sat on his bunk, pulled off his boots and gunbelt, and lay back on the mattress. Ten minutes later he was snoring.

  7

  Nate was awakened by George roughly shaking his shoulder.

  "Huh?" he mumbled.

  "Time to rise and shine, sonny," George said.

  "What? It's still dark."

  "False dawn's already grayin' up in the east," George said. "That means it's time to get the fire started and breakfast cookin'. Time to get outta that cozy bunk and get to work. Later on, you'll gather some firewood. We go through plenty of that."

  "All right, all right." Nate sat up and pulled on his boots. The rest of his tentmates were still sleeping soundly. He followed George to the firepit, where the fire was already blazing.

  "Taters in that sack there. Knife next to that. Last of 'em until we get to town, and who knows when that'll be. Don't need to peel 'em, but cut 'em up, then toss 'em in that pot sittin' in the fire. Gonna boil 'em up to go with the bacon this mornin'. I'll show you how to mix up biscuit dough and make coffee, too. And this is for you for helpin' out." He handed Nate a peppermint stick. "Hid it from the rest of the men, so keep shut about it. If they knew I took the candy from the Arbuckle's and gave it to a rookie they'd have my hide for certain."

  Arbuckle's was the favored brand of coffee in the West. Every package contained a peppermint stick. Cowboys would fight over who got to be the one who received the treat. Nate’s eyes grew moist as he took the candy. It brought back memories of home, and how his ma saved out the peppermint for him. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

  "Thanks, George." Nate sat down, picked up the knife, and began cutting the potatoes. He would work at that for the next hour, then help George mix the biscuit dough and get that in the two Dutch ovens. By that time the sun was up and the men were emerging from their tents. They straggled over to get their brea
kfast, most of them still bleary-eyed. They mumbled their thanks when George and Nate handed them their plates. They ate mostly in silence, then when finished tossed the metal dishes and mugs in a wreck pan and drifted off to tend to their chores.

  "Take all these dishes down to the river and wash 'em, Nate," George ordered. "After that's done, you can gather some firewood. Bring back a whole mess of it."

  "You need more?" Nate asked. There was already a large stack of wood a few feet from the firepit.

  "We go through a lot of wood," George answered. "Be grateful you’ve got plenty around here. If we were up in the Panhandle or out on the Staked Plain, you'd be gatherin' buffalo or cow chips for fuel."

  "Buffalo or cow chips?"

  "Dung. Dried manure. About the only fuel you can find out on the plains."

  "Then I'm glad I'm gatherin' wood."

  "I thought you might be."

  Nate picked up the crate full of dishes and started for the river. Jeb met him halfway there.

  "See George has you workin' hard already," he said.

  "Yeah. After I wash these I've gotta get more firewood," Nate replied.

  "If you have time to do that," Jeb said. "More important you learn how to shoot. Even if you’re just stayin’ in camp, you still need to be able to defend yourself. Soon as you’re done with those dishes meet me at your tent. We'll get your pistol and rifle. We'll check on our horses, then I'll show you how to handle a gun."

  "What about the firewood?"

  "I'll square things with George. You're gonna learn to be a Texas Ranger, not a Lone Star dishwasher."

  "All right. Thanks, Jeb."

  ***

  After washing the dishes, Nate headed for his tent at a trot. Jeb was already waiting for him.

  "Take it easy, Nate," he chided. "You'll be plumb wore out before we even start."