“All right. I’d appreciate that.”
“You think you can stand up, Nate?” Jim asked.
“Maybe. With a little help.”
“All right.”
Jim pulled Nate to his feet. Jeb and Andy draped his arms around their shoulders.
“Take him to my tent, just so I can check him over. I don’t think he’s hurt bad, but let’s make sure.”
“All right.”
Hoot came over, along with Captain Quincy.
“Good fight, Nate. You almost had me,” Hoot said. “Next time I’d put my money on you.”
“Yeah. You did a fine job, Nate,” Quincy added.
“Thanks, Hoot, Thanks, Cap’n.”
The other men patted Nate on the back as he was helped toward Jim’s tent, congratulating him on a fight well fought.
“Couple of years and that kid’ll be someone to reckon with,” Shorty said.
“You just said a mouthful,” Joe answered.
10
Two days after their fight, Nate and Hoot were stiff and sore from the beating each had taken, but had suffered no serious injuries. Their faces were battered and bruised, Nate’s smile was kind of lopsided, but all in all they were feeling all right. They were sitting on the edge of their bunks playing cards, a pastime which Nate’s mother had never allowed. Her belief was that card playing, even just for amusement, led to gambling, and all gambling was evil. She had come home one time to find Jonathan and Nate with a deck of cards. She immediately grabbed the cards, threw them in the stove, and watched them burn. She confined her sons to their rooms for three days. However, in his short time with the Rangers, Nate had come to realize gambling was a part of their way of life. Card playing, dice, or betting on fights, horse races, or just about anything else, even something as simple as which of two beetles would cross a patch of dirt first, provided welcome diversion from the dangers of a Ranger’s life, or the boredom of hanging around camp, far from town, for days. And Nate also found he enjoyed playing cards. It helped him relax and clear his mind. If he wanted to fit in with the Rangers, he’d have to learn how to gamble as much as use his gun, fists, and knife.
“That’s an inside straight,” Hoot said as he laid down his cards. He was teaching Nate the finer points of poker. “I win again. But at least you gave me more of a run this time, Nate.”
Whatever Nate started to reply was cut off by the clamor of George beating the spoon on that iron pot.
“What’s that all about?” Nate asked. “We already had dinner, and it’s too early for supper.”
“Somethin’s up, and it’s gotta be trouble,” Hoot answered. “Only reason for George to be soundin’ the alarm this time of day is if somethin’s wrong. We’d better find out what. Let’s go.”
He and Nate hurried to the area in front of Captain Quincy’s tent, where the other Rangers were gathering. Captain Quincy was there, waiting until all the men were assembled. Alongside him was a man wearing a deputy sheriff’s badge. He had a bloody bandage wrapped around his head and held the reins of an exhausted horse. Once everyone was gathered, Quincy signaled for quiet.
“Men,” he said, “This is Deputy Sheriff Morgan Fredericks of McCulloch County. He’s just ridden thirty miles to inform us a large gang has raided three ranches in his county. We’ll be saddling up and riding after them immediately. All of us will ride except a few men left behind to guard this camp, and also be available if anyone else should happen to ride in looking for Ranger assistance. George, you’ll stay behind of course, since you’re supposed to be retired from active service.”
George snorted.
“Try’n tell the outlaws that, Cap’n.”
“I will when I see ’em. Shorty, you stay here too, since you’re the most senior man. You’ll be in charge.”
“Right, Cap’n.”
“Andy, Hoot, Tim, you stay.”
Tim started to object.
“Before you say anythin’, Tim, I’m leavin’ you behind and takin’ Tom for a reason. If we should happen to get ambushed and wiped out, at least one of you’ll still be alive to go home to your ma. You sabe?”
“Sabe, Cap’n.”
“Good. Nate, you’ll remain in camp also. I don’t think I need to remind any of you to stay alert. Shorty, you’ll be stretched thin, but make sure you keep one man on watch at all times.”
“Understood, Cap’n.”
“Good. Deputy Fredericks will remain here until he feels well enough to return home. George, feed him and take care of his horse. The rest of you men, get your horses. We move out in ten minutes.”
With years of experience in moving quickly, none of the Rangers wasted any time in roping out their mounts, saddling and bridling them, and mounting up. Eight minutes after they’d assembled, a column of men rode out of the camp.
“C’mon, Deputy, I’ll show you where to get some grain for your horse,” George said. “Then, I’ll fill your belly. Gonna be plenty of food tonight, since I made enough for the whole company. No sense lettin’ it go to waste.”
“I’m obliged,” Fredericks answered. He picked up his reins and followed George to the supply wagon. Shorty stared after them. He thumbed back his Stetson and scratched his head.
“Somethin’ don’t seem right about that deputy, boys.”
“Why? You think he’s up to something’? Mebbe in cahoots with the outlaws who’ve been plaguin’ these parts?” Tim asked.
“I dunno. Just a gut feelin’ I got. A hunch. Well, mebbe it’s nothin’. Let’s keep an eye on him, just to be certain.”
“Couldn’t hurt,” Andy said.
“I’ll take first watch,” Shorty said. “Andy, you’ll take second. Nate, I know you’re not supposed to be on full duty yet, but seein’ as we’re short-handed, you’ll take third. All right with you?”
“That’s fine, Shorty.”
“Good. Hoot, you’ll take fourth, Tim the watch after him, and I’ll tell George to take last, since he’ll be gettin’ up to start breakfast anyway.”
“Even with most of the men gone?” Nate asked.
“You still wanna eat, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I reckon.”
“Then George’ll be up to make breakfast for us. I could put two men on each watch, but I figure doin’ six turns rather’n four will cut back the time each man has to stay alert, so we’ll all get more sleep. Well, nothin’ to do now but take it easy, once the horses are fed. Soon’s the sun’s down we’ll start the watches.”
***
Andy shook Nate’s shoulders at the end of his watch.
“Nate? Nate, time to get up.”
“All right, Andy. Any sign of trouble out there?”
“None at all. It’s quiet as a tomb.”
“Dunno if that’s a good choice of words, pardner.”
Andy chuckled.
“I reckon you’re right.”
Nate quickly dressed, buckled his gunbelt around his waist and picked up his Winchester, then headed for the spot where Shorty had been standing guard when he and Jeb rode into camp. That sentry point offered the best view of the camp and surrounding territory. Nate scanned all around, then sat down, his back against a low boulder.
Had it really been only a few days since his arrival here? he thought. Really such a short time since his parents and brother had been murdered and his life turned upside down. Those days seemed so far away now. Already there were times when his memories of his mother, father, and Jonathan seemed hazy, like in a dream. Well, no matter what, he’d never forget them. He wouldn’t allow that to happen.
Nate had been afraid he would fall asleep during his turn as sentry. However, all his nerves were on edge. Every shadow seemed to be hiding a man, every tree seemed an outlaw waiting to sneak up on him, every rustle in the brush an Indian crawling toward him, ready to take his life. The hooting of an owl set the back of his neck prickling, the hairs standing on end. When a distant coyote howled at the setting moon, he nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Sure hope no one is out there,” he whispered to himself. “I still ain’t practiced with this rifle all that much. Dunno if I could hit someone usin’ it or not, and I sure don’t want to let ’em get close enough for my six-gun.”
What seemed a short while later Nate whipped around when someone called his name. He leveled his rifle in the direction from which the voice had come.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s only me, Nate. Hoot. Watch where you’re pointin’ that thing, will ya? I’d hate to get shot by one of my own pards.”
“Sorry, Hoot. I’m a bit jumpy.”
“I’ll say.”
“What’re you doin’ here already?”
“What d’ya mean, already? I’m here to take over for you. Your time’s up. Go back and get some sleep.”
“So soon? My watch hardly started.”
Hoot laughed softly.
“Trust me, Nate, your watch is over. Go get that sleep. Any sign of trouble out here?”
“Just you, Hoot. Just you.”
***
Nate went back to his bunk, but didn’t really ever fall back to sleep. He dozed fitfully, but finally gave it up as a bad effort. He got up, pulled his boots back on, jammed his black Stetson on his head, buckled his gunbelt around his waist and picked up his Winchester. He left the tent, figuring he’d keep whoever was still on watch some company. An extra pair of eyes couldn’t hurt. He glanced at the sky. The gray light of the false dawn was just glimmering in the eastern sky. That meant Tim was probably still on watch, but George would be taking over soon.
Nate started up the slope to the sentry post. He was almost there when he stopped short. Something was moving furtively, about a hundred yards ahead of him. No, it must be his imagination. He blinked his eyes and ran a hand across them to clear his vision. No, there was no one there. Get hold of yourself, Nate. He gazed at the spot again. Nothing. Wait. There was something moving silently through the brush. Not something, someone. Nate started to follow. The figure disappeared, then reappeared. Something flashed in the dim starlight, followed by a thud and a groan. A lantern flashed to life.
“Ambush!” The words escaped Nate’s lips. He pointed the rifle into the air and fired three times, then lowered it and aimed at the lantern. He levered the chamber and pulled the trigger. His bullet struck the lantern. It shattered, splashing hot coal oil over the man holding it. He let loose a string of curses. Nate recognized the voice.
“The deputy! Shorty was right. Tim!”
There was no response.
“Tim!” Nate called again. Once again, no response. Then Nate had no time for further thought, for a group of masked horsemen thundered down the rise.
“Ambush!” Nate shouted at the top of his lungs. “Rangers! Ambush!”
He fired several shots, slowing the raiders’ advance, then scrambled back to the camp, reaching it just before they regrouped.
Shorty grabbed him as he ran past Captain Quincy’s tent. George, Andy, and Hoot were with him, rifles at the ready.
“Nate. What in the blue blazes is goin’ on?”
“It’s an ambush. Nate gasped for breath. “Couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d keep Tim company. Saw someone slinkin’ through the scrub. It was that deputy from McCulloch County. I think he killed Tim. He lit a lantern. I shot at it, and hit it, and he cussed a blue streak. I recognized his voice. Then a whole bunch of horsemen busted out of the brush. I think I slowed ’em down some.”
“How many of ’em?”
“Couldn’t tell. Ten at least.”
“And here they come,” Hoot said. The raiders were galloping down toward the camp at top speed. “Take cover!”
Nate dove behind the firepit, Andy and Hoot behind one of the logs used as benches. George dropped flat on the ground next to the captain’s tent. Shorty went to one knee, aiming and firing at the oncoming riders.
Gunfire ripped through the predawn darkness. Two men fell from their saddles with Ranger bullets in their chests. The rest of the raiders turned and retreated.
“Guess that showed ’em!” Nate shouted.
“They won’t give up that easy,” Shorty said. “And we sure can’t hold ’em off sittin’ here like this. Scatter and take cover.”
“Mebbe Cap’n Dave also figured somethin’ was wrong about that deputy and is on the way back with the rest of the boys,” Hoot said.
“We can’t count on that,” Shorty answered. “I bet this whole scheme was planned to get the cap’n and most of the men out of here. In fact, I’d bet my sombrero they rode right into an ambush too. Now, scatter and take cover like I ordered. Make every shot count. Here they come again.”
He fell prone, leveling and firing his rifle as fast as he could. Another raider went down.
Andy jumped up and ran to join Nate behind the rock-ringed firepit, shooting as he ran. One of his shots hit a horseman. The man screamed and slumped over his horse’s neck, grabbed its mane in a futile effort to hang on, then slid to the ground. He rolled several times and lay still.
Andy had almost reached cover when a shot blasted. He grunted, stumbled, and fell.
“Andy!” Nate shouted.
“I’m hit!”
“I’m comin’ for you. Don’t try’n get up.”
“Don’t. Don’t, Nate. They’ll get you too, if you try.”
“I’m not gonna leave you there, Andy. Hang on.”
Nate crawled to the edge of the pit. Andy was lying just beyond his reach, face down.
“Gimme your hand, Andy!”
“Can’t. Can’t.”
“You gotta.”
Nate reached as far as he could. He lunged and grasped Andy’s outstretched hand.
“Hold on, Andy.” He dragged the wounded young Ranger behind the pit and rolled him onto his back.
“How bad you hit, Andy?”
“Bad. It’s bad, Nate. Real bad.”
“Where’d they get you?”
“My… my belly. Down low. Bullet’s in… my guts… They’re all… tore up.”
“You just hang in there,” Nate urged. “Don’t give up, pard. Jim’ll be back and he’ll fix you up. You’ll see.”
“Sure… sure… Nate.”
The remaining horsemen raced into the camp yet again. One of them was a ghost-like figure was on a white horse. Hoot rose up and fired at him, emptying his rifle. The man grunted and twisted in his saddle, but uprighted himself and rode on to where Nate knelt behind the firepit. He pulled his horse to a halt and stared in disbelief.
“You!” he shouted. “The kid from the ranch back outside San Saba. I thought we killed all of you. Well, no matter. You’re a dead man now.”
“You’re the leader of the bunch that murdered my folks,” Nate yelled back. “I recognize that white horse. You made a big mistake leavin’ me alive, mister.”
He dropped his rifle and grabbed for the Colt on his hip. He and the ghostly rider fired at the same moment. Dust puffed from the rider’s shirt, just above his belt buckle. A bullet ripped through Nate’s right arm, halfway between elbow and shoulder. Nate dropped his gun and grabbed his arm. The rider fired again. His bullet slammed into Nate’s left breast, spinning him around to pitch face first in the dirt. The rider looked down at Nate, threw back his head, and laughed. A bullet from George’s rifle took the hat from his head. He whirled his horse, pressed his hand to his middle and hunched over, then galloped away, three of his men following. The rest lay dead, fallen to the accurate shooting of the Rangers.
11
A bedraggled column of Rangers rode back into camp late the next morning. Of the fourteen men who had ridden out, ten returned alive, six of them wounded. The other four were tied belly-down over their saddles.
“Cap’n! Cap’n Dave! Over here!” Shorty called. He had moved his men to the bank of the San Saba, underneath the cool shade of the cottonwoods. Tim Tomlinson’s body was with them, covered by a blanket. The eight outlaws who had been shot down by the Rangers lay where
they had fallen, flies feeding on the corpses.
“Hold up, men,” Quincy ordered. “Jeb, Tom, Jim, come with me. Bob, take the rest of the men and take care of our dead.”
“All right, Dave,” Bob said, his voice heavy with weariness.
Quincy and the three men headed for the river and dismounted.
Shorty and George stood up to meet them. Hoot was with Nate and Andy, who were stretched out side by side on the riverbank. A blood-soaked cloth lay across Andy’s middle, a bandage was wrapped around Nate’s arm. His shirt was open, and another bandage covered the left side of his chest, bound in place with strips of cloth.
“Shorty, what happened?” Quincy asked as he and the others dismounted. Jim headed for the wounded men. Tom let out a cry when he realized the body was that of his twin brother, Tim. He knelt at Tim’s side, burying his face in his hands and sobbing.
“Raiders hit the camp yesterday mornin’, just before dawn. That deputy was part of the outfit. Lucky for us Nate couldn’t sleep, or they would have wiped us clean out. He saw the deputy sneakin’ up on Tim and raised a ruckus to warn us. He was too late to save Tim, though. Deputy put a knife in him. But Tim did manage to finish that turncoat Fredericks off before he died. Even with Fredericks’s knife stuck in his chest, Tim was still able somehow to put a bullet right through his lyin’ mouth.”
“How bad are the wounded?”
“Nate’ll be all right. Took a bullet in his right arm, but it went clean through. Didn’t hit any bone, far as I can tell. He took another one square in the chest, but all he got from that was a bad bruise and a break in the skin. He was real lucky. The bullet that hit his chest struck at an angle, not straight on. And it seems he still had the packet with his stage and train tickets back to Delaware in his shirt pocket. They were just thick enough to stop the slug before it could do any real damage. Bullet’s still stuck in ’em. I reckon the boy’ll want to keep ’em for a souvenir.”
“What about Andy?”
Shorty shook his head.
“He ain’t gonna make it. He’s gut-shot. Dunno how he’s hung on this long. He did down at least two of those drygulchers. Reckon mebbe he wanted to see you before he died. You’d best go see him right now. He ain’t got much time.”
Lone Star Ranger : A Ranger to Ride With (9781310568404) Page 11