A Ranger Redeemed (Lone Star Ranger Book 7)

by James J. Griffin

  Return fire from the train soon shot most of them out of their saddles. Three survivors turned their horses and made a mad dash for safety. Two of those died with bullets in their backs. The third threw down his rifle, reined in, and raised his hands. He rode slowly back to the train.

  Jeb was in the now-open door of the express car. He signaled the engineer to stop. The engineer shoved the throttle forward, and the train rolled to a stop. Jeb jumped from the car, and looked up at Nate.

  “You all right, Nate?” he asked. “It seems like we got ’em all,”

  “Yeah,” Nate answered. “But I’m pretty certain Carl’s dead. He got shot by one of those robbers, back on the trestle. He took the hombre with him, though. Shoved him right off the train. He got two more of ’em, too. Appears to me they were attemptin’ to uncouple the cars from the locomotive. Dunno why they didn’t try to unhook the express car, though.”

  “I can answer that,” Harry said, from where he stood inside the car. “The two guards we had were part of the outfit. They’re in here, tied up good and tight. They’ll most likely face a noose.”

  He glared at the mounted robber, who had just ridden up.

  “Hop in this car and I’ll get you tied up,” he ordered. Wordlessly, the man complied.

  “We’d better see how the rest of the boys are,” Jeb said. “Get down here, Nate.”

  “Sure thing.” While Nate lowered himself off the car, the other Rangers began making their appearances.

  ****

  Austin and Caden popped up from where they’d taken cover, behind the crates on the flat car. The sides of the crates were splintered, and filled with bullet holes. The body of an outlaw was draped over a stack of ties.

  “You boys all right?” Jeb asked.

  “We’re fine,” Austin answered. “Nary a scratch.”

  “Who shot that hombre?” Jeb asked.

  “I did,” Caden answered. “There’s another one, on the other side of that pile of rails. Austin got that one.”

  Sean and George descended from the caboose, shoving two prisoners along in front of them.

  “I see you boys did all right, too,” Jeb said.

  “We sure did,” Sean answered. “These here hombres didn’t put up much of a fight.”

  Hoot, Colin, Gavin, and Eli also came outside, and joined the others. None of them appeared the worse for wear.

  “Everythin’ under control in your cars?” Jeb asked.

  “Yup,” Gavin said. “Me’n Colin tried to get our men to surrender, but they wouldn’t give up. We had to plug ’em.”

  “Same in the car Carl’n me were in,” Eli added. “’Course, Carl did chase one outta the car. The other two tried goin’ over the roof. He told me to stay inside, in case any other of the robbers came into the car.” Eli shook his head. “I saw what happened to him. I reckon he saved a few lives. Too bad he lost his.”

  “How about you, Hoot? And where’s Eddy?” Jeb asked.

  “There’s a couple dead outlaws inside my car, and a prisoner. Eddy’s watchin’ him,” Hoot answered. He indicated Father Vitali, who was praying over the body of the outlaw Caden had shot. “You see that padre over there?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Jeb said. “What about him?”

  “His name’s Father Vitali, from St. Louis. He’s the one who started the ball rollin’,” Hoot explained. “Two of the robbers happened to be sittin’ right in front of me’n him. One of ’em stuck his gun right up against his forehead. The padre didn’t even blink an eye. He kicked that hombre right in the shin, which allowed me to get the drop on him, bend my gun over his head, then also get his pardner before he could shoot me. Eddy nailed the third one.”

  “Seems like there were more’n nine of ’em,” Smith noted.

  “Seems like,” Jeb agreed, with a shrug. He looked at the passengers and crewmen, who were exiting the train. “George, take a couple of men and get all those folks back inside,” he said. “Nate, Hoot, grab five of those outlaws’ horses. No point in unloadin’ ours. We’ll go back and recover Carl’s body, and the man he took with him, if we can. The rest of you, take the bodies out of the coaches, pick up what’s left of the dead men who fell under the train, and put ’em in the express car. Once that’s done, we’ll get rollin’ for Abilene.”

  “We’ll need six,” Nate said. “Carl shoved two men into that arroyo.”

  Nate and Hoot got six of the outlaws’ horses, and led them back to where Jeb waited. They mounted, and while the other men started to move the dead outlaws into the express car, rode back along the tracks to the arroyo.

  “It’s pretty steep, but we should be able to make it,” Jeb said.

  “I see a body on the other side of the trestle,” Hoot said. “What’re we gonna do about that one?”

  “There’s a couple bodies back there,” Nate said.

  “We’ll have the train back up so we can get ’em, then move on,” Jeb said. “Let’s go get Carl.”

  The horses snorted a protest when they were put over the edge of the arroyo, and struggled to maintain their balance while they half slid down its steep side, until they reached its floor. They dismounted when they reached Carl. His body was lying atop the man he’d taken with him. Jeb rolled Carl off the dead outlaw.

  “That hombre didn’t have a chance,” he said, shaking his head. “Carl landed right on top of him. Squashed him flatter’n a hot cake.”

  “Seems like Carl took two bullets, one right through his middle, but still managed to take care of all those hombres,” Hoot said. “Looks like he broke his neck when he fell, too.”

  “Yeah. I reckon Carl sure redeemed himself, after messin’ up last time,” Jeb said. “After all is said and done, he was a Ranger to be proud of. Let’s take him home.”

  9

  The money was safely deposited in the Abilene banks, the bodies of the outlaws left with the undertaker. Carl was given a brief burial service, then remembered afterward at the Cowboy’s Friend Saloon, with several rounds of whiskey. After that, the exhausted Rangers headed for the Ebony House, and some much needed sleep.

  ****

  Upon arrival in Abilene, Jeb had sent a telegram to Austin, reporting that the main gang of train robbers plaguing the Fort Worth, Abilene, and Denver had been put out of business for good, and asking for new orders. The reply came just after the Rangers finished their breakfast the next morning.

  “What’s it say, Jeb?” Hoot demanded, while Jeb slowly read the wire.

  “It says we’re to head back to Austin, and we’ll get new orders there,” Jeb answered. “We’ll take the first train east out of Abilene, here. That won’t be until tomorrow, so you’re all free until then. Just stay out of trouble.”

  “You hear that, Nate?” Hoot said. “You’ll finally get to see Austin, and Headquarters. We’re even takin’ the train. No bein’ in the saddle for days on end. Of course, you won’t be ridin’. You’ll be shovin’ wood into the locomotive.”

  Nate thumped him in the stomach.

  “Not on your life, Hoot. Not on your life.”

  As they shuffled up the street, a nagging question came into Nate’s head, one he couldn’t shake. What if Austin discovered he was really only fifteen? Well, all he could do was hope for the best. He sure didn’t want to give up his new life, the life he’d been leading for over a year now, the life he’d learned to love. The life of a Texas Ranger.

  Author’s note: Although Abilene was founded in 1881 as a stop on the Texas and Pacific Railroad, for the purposes of this story, I have moved back its founding date by several years, and fictionalized the name of the railroad. —JJG

  A Ranger to Ride With

  Book 1

  Excerpt

  1

  Nathaniel Stewart had just left his house and was walking down Linden Street in his hometown of Wilmington, Delaware. In a few moments, he’d arrive at his best friend Hugh Dickinson’s home. He and Hugh would meet up with a few other friends, then either head to the river for a s
wim, or more likely just laze around in one of the boys’ back yards.

  The day was pleasant for late July, the air warm with a gentle breeze blowing, not hot and sticky as it usually was this time of year. Nathaniel whistled as he walked along the tree lined street, fronted with its rows of neat brick houses with their well-kept yards and flower boxes filled with colorful blooms on the windowsills. He was fourteen years old, with unruly brown hair and eyes of the same hue. He’d recently grown a couple of inches, so had the typical thin build of most teenaged boys. He’d also recently realized that girls were beginning to interest him, and that when he walked by some of them smiled at him, then giggled for some reason. Truth be told, he had no idea why he was out of the blue interested in girls. All he knew was that the scrawny, dumb, silly females who’d always made pests of themselves were suddenly pretty and attractive. And one of the prettiest was Becky Palmer, with her pert turned up nose, blonde hair, and blue eyes the color of forget-me-nots. For some reason he felt he’d like to sit next to her on the front porch swing. He’d never admit that to Hugh or any of the other guys, though.

  Nathaniel meandered along, not being in any particular hurry. Unexpectedly, Becky appeared at the end of the block. When she spotted Nathaniel, she waved to him and called his name.

  “Nathaniel! Nathaniel Stewart!”

  Nathaniel raised a hand to wave in response.

  “Nathaniel! Get back to hoeing, right this minute. Those weeds aren’t going to pull themselves out of the ground!”

  Nathaniel was roused from his daydream by the shouting of his mother, who stood in the door of the three-room dogtrot cabin the Stewart family now occupied. The voice he’d heard calling was not Becky’s, but his ma’s.

  “Do you hear me, Nathaniel?”

  “Yes, Ma.” Nathaniel sighed and lifted the hoe he’d been leaning against. He again began chopping at the tough weeds between the rows of turnips. He and his family no longer lived in their former pleasant neighborhood in Wilmington, but now on a small ranch several miles west of San Saba, Texas.

  “And once you’ve finished weeding it will be time to milk the cow,” Mrs. Stewart added.

  “Can’t Pa do that?” Nathaniel asked.

  “He could, but he’s chopping wood for me. So you need to handle that chore. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Ma.” Nathaniel sighed again. How he hated Texas, and this ranch in particular! His father, Marcus, an accountant by trade, had inexplicably developed a sense of adventure and determined to join the many others heading to post-Reconstruction Texas. Within a matter of weeks, he’d bought a piece of land complete with cabin and barn, sight unseen. He’d uprooted his family, wife Adele, Nathaniel, and Nathaniel’s older brother, eighteen-year-old Jonathan, and moved them all to Texas.

  Nathaniel’s first sight of their new home came as a shock. Instead of the tree-lined streets, neat homes, and green yards he’d grown up with in Delaware, this part of Texas was mainly flat, hot, dry, and dusty. Even the San Saba River, as it was called, was barely more than a trickle compared to the streams back home. It would hardly be a drop in the mighty Delaware River. The vegetation, what there was of it, was mostly brush, and much of it thorny. The only trees of any size grew in scattered spots along the San Saba.

  Even more of an unpleasant surprise was the house; or more properly, the cabin. Back home in Wilmington, in their spacious two-story, six-room brick house, Nathaniel had his own bedroom. Here the entire family was crammed into that three room dogtrot cabin, so named because it had two sections with a covered area in the middle called a “dogtrot”, since it resembled nothing so much as a chained dog’s run, connecting the two. One side was a single room used as kitchen and living room, the other was divided into two small bedrooms. Nathaniel and Jonathan shared the smaller of the two rooms. Not only had Nathaniel lost his own room, he also lost his own bed. Now, he and Jonathan had to crowd into one bed—an arrangement which was cramped, to say the least. Nathaniel soon found out that Jonathan was a cover snatcher, pulling the sheets and blankets off Nathaniel and wrapping himself in them. Not that it mattered all that much once the short Texas winter and spring were over and the sweltering heat and humidity of summer set in. Covers were the last thing you needed when trying to sleep. Nathaniel and his brother wore as little as possible when crawling into bed. Actually, given their choice, both boys would have slept buck-naked, but their mother forbade any such thing. What annoyed Nathaniel was not so much Jonathan’s stealing the covers as his trying to hog the whole bed. More than once, he’d been rudely awakened in the middle of the night by his brother’s elbow jabbing into his ribs.

  Nathaniel’s friends had all been envious when they’d learned he was moving to Texas. They’d all heard tales of cattle drives, cowboys, gunfighters, and wild Indians. They were convinced Nathaniel would soon be one of their number, riding a horse, chasing cattle across the prairie, and fighting outlaws and desperadoes, downing them in a blaze of gunfire. If only they knew the truth. Nathaniel and his family had been in Texas for just shy of a year now, and he had yet to see any Indians at all, let alone any wild ones. The few cowboys he had seen were not handsome, riding-high-in-the-saddle men, but were usually dusty, dirty, and smelly from trailing cattle. True, they all wore guns, but he’d never seen a cowboy actually use one. As far as Nathaniel himself went, the only varmints he’d ever rounded up were the jackrabbits and rodents which were determined to eat every vegetable his mother planted.

  No, the longer Nathaniel had been in Texas, the more he’d grown to despise his new life. It was dull and boring, mainly working in the daily struggle to keep the small vegetable garden him mother insisted on planting surviving. While the seventy head of long-horned cattle his father had purchased along with the ranch seemed to thrive on the tough vegetation and sparse grass, and cactus and mesquite grew in abundance, most plants wilted in the unforgiving Texas sun. Heck, Nathaniel even missed school. With their home being so far from town, the only book learning he now received was taught by his mother. The same thing went for church. Instead of going to church every Sunday, where Nathaniel could see his friends once services were over, the only clergyman the Stewarts ever saw was a circuit-riding Methodist preacher who stopped by once every few weeks. Even Reverend Pierce’s long and boring sermons would be welcome right now. In fact, Nathaniel even missed his Aunt Ida, a woman he’d never looked forward to visiting. She was one of those ladies who wore far too much perfume and smothered a kid with unwanted kisses. Right now, he’d welcome some of those kisses, perfume and all. Isolated here in the middle of nowhere, he missed having companions to pal around with. And he’d certainly never meet a girl like Becky Palmer way out here.

  As the afternoon wore on, Nathaniel kept hoeing half-heartedly at the weeds choking the garden. He looked up at the sound of an approaching horse and rider.

  “Howdy, little brother,” Jonathan shouted as he rode up and dismounted. “You keepin’ the weeds from takin’ over the place?”

  “I’m doin’ my best.”

  “Well, you keep at it.” Jonathan pulled Nathaniel’s straw hat off his head, tousled his brother’s hair and laughed. “Wrangle those pests right outta the ground. I’ve gotta take care of my horse.”

  “He’s gotta take care of his horse,” Nathaniel muttered under his breath once Jonathan headed for the barn. He felt a twinge of jealousy. Unlike Nathaniel, his brother had taken to Texas life like a merganser took to water in the Delaware Bay. Jonathan had easily learned to rope and ride and was on his way to becoming a top hand. He had bought a horse, a sorrel gelding he named Big Red, and sat in the saddle as if he’d been born there. He’d laughed himself silly when he came home with the horse and Nathaniel asked if a gelding was a boy or girl horse. He’d also bought a six-gun, one of the new and still rare Smith and Wesson American cartridge pistols. He’d explained to Nathaniel a cartridge gun was a lot more efficient than the old-fashioned cap and ball pistols, such as the Navy Colt, that most men still carried.
It didn’t take long for Jonathan to become a crack shot with that pistol, as well as the Winchester rifle he bought. Jonathan had a natural ability with firearms. Besides taking charge of the Stewarts’ herd, he also found work on a neighboring ranch, helping with branding and doctoring their cattle.

  Nathaniel finally gave up on yanking more weeds out of the hard, sun-baked ground. He went into the barn, got a bucket and the milking stool, and started for the small pen which held the milk cow. By the time he finished milking Bess, Jonathan had groomed, fed, and watered Big Red, along with Buck, the plow and wagon horse. He tossed some hay to the cow.

  “Figured I’d save you a bit of work, Nathaniel,” he said.

  “I appreciate that, big brother. Man, I’m sure sick of weedin’ that garden. Nothin’ grows good in it anyway.”

  “Don’t let Ma hear you say that. She’s determined to have a garden just like back in Delaware.”

  “Wish we were back in Delaware.”

  “You just gotta learn to be a cowboy like me, that’s all.” Jonathan gave Nathaniel a playful backhanded slap to his stomach. Nathaniel responded with a shove to his brother’s ribs.

  “You just asked for it,” Jonathan said, with a grin. “And you’re sure gonna get it.” He shoved Nathaniel in the chest, pushing him to the ground.

  Jonathan being four years older was more heavily muscled, but Nathaniel was quicker. When Jonathan dove at him, Nathaniel easily rolled out of the way. Jonathan hit the ground with a thud. Before he could recover, Nathaniel jumped on his back, pinning him. The stronger Jonathan tossed Nathaniel off, then wrapped his arms around him. The brothers rolled over and over, raising a cloud of dust as they struggled.

  Marcus stepped out of the cabin.

  “Jonathan! Nathaniel! Both of you stop that fighting, right now!” When the boys failed to respond, he grabbed a pail of old dishwater from where it sat next to the door, walked up to the brothers, and dumped it over them.