A Ranger Redeemed (Lone Star Ranger Book 7)

by James J. Griffin

“It’s Nathaniel…Nate.”

  “All right, Nate. I’m gonna take a looksee at this head of yours, then patch you up. You’re gonna be just fine. Take a drink before I get started.”

  He opened his canteen and handed it to Nathaniel. Nathaniel took it and drank greedily.

  “Not too much,” Jim cautioned. “Don’t want you gettin’ a bellyache from drinkin’ too much. Course, it won’t be as bad a bellyache as the one your brother gave that hombre lyin’ over there. Lead bellyaches are the worst kind. Reckon your brother must’ve been a man to ride the river with. I’d wager he’d have made a fine Ranger.” He grinned. Nathaniel managed a thin smile of his own.

  “There, that’s better,” Jim said. He parted Nathaniel’s hair to examine the bullet slash across his scalp. He poured some water from his canteen onto a scrap of cloth and used that to wash away dirt, dried blood, and bits of flesh.

  “I hate to do this to you, Nate, but you’re gonna need a few stitches to pull your skin back together so it can heal. You’re a real lucky kid. Fraction of an inch lower and you’d be dead.”

  “That means he must have an even thicker skull than you, Jim,” Jeb said, chuckling.

  “See if I take the bullet out of your hide next time you catch a slug, Jeb,” Jim retorted. “Nate, this is gonna hurt somethin’ fierce. You think you’ll be able to handle it?”

  Nathaniel swallowed hard. “Do I have a choice?”

  “I’m afraid not, son.”

  “Then I’ll have to.”

  “Good. You’re a brave lad. I reckon you’d do to ride the river with, too.”

  Jim took a razor from his bag, along with a scalpel, thick needle and thread, and a small flask of whiskey. “This whiskey is strictly for medicinal purposes, Nate. I use it to clean and sterilize my instruments.” He doused the bullet crease with some of the whiskey, poured some more over the razor, then shaved off a strip of Nathaniel’s hair from around the wound. Nathaniel flinched.

  “You’re gonna scalp me like those wild Indians I’ve heard about,” he protested.

  “No, I’m not, Nate. I promise you that. You do need to keep still while I’m workin’ on you, though. I know it’s not easy, but try’n not move as best you can, so I don’t accidentally take off another chunk of your scalp. All right?”

  “All right, sir.”

  “Sir? Who’s ‘sir’? My name’s Jim. Don’t you forget it, you hear?”

  “Yessir, sir… I mean, Jim.”

  “That’s better. I’ll get through this quick as I can. Here, take this bandanna. There’s a knot in it. Put it in your mouth. If the pain gets to be too much, bite down on it, hard as you can. That’ll help some.”

  Nathaniel took the piece of cloth and did as told. He clamped his teeth down hard. Jim picked up his scalpel, doused it with whiskey, then the wound again. He used the scalpel to trim the slash’s ragged edges. Nathaniel bit down so hard on the cloth he was certain his jaw would bust or his teeth would shatter. His eyes watered with the pain.

  “You’re doin’ just fine, Nate,” Jim assured him. “That was the worst of it.” He picked up the needle and thread, soaked them with whiskey, and efficiently sewed up the wound. Once done, he coated it thickly with salve, placed a clean strip of cloth over it, and tied another strip of cloth over that and around Nathaniel’s head to hold it in place.

  “I’m all done, Nate,” Jim said. “You can let go of the bandanna now. That wasn’t all that bad, was it?”

  Nathaniel pulled the cloth from his mouth.

  “No, not too bad,” he half-whispered.

  “You don’t need to lie, Nate,” Jeb said. “I know that hurt like the devil. But you took it like a grown man, son. You can be proud of yourself.”

  “Thanks, sir,” Nathaniel said.

  “Whoa. Enough of that ‘sir’ stuff. Like Jim said, none of us in this outfit are named sir. My name’s Jeb. Reckon I’d better introduce you to the rest of the boys. This here’s Lieutenant Robert Berkeley, although everyone generally calls him Bob. We’re pretty informal in the Rangers, not like the Army. Next to him’s Henry Harrison, better known as Hoot. Alongside him’s Ed Jennings, then we have Dan Morton, and finally those two ugly look-alike hombres are Tom and Tim Tomlinson. We branded Tim with that scar on his cheek so we can tell which is which. Boys, any of you didn’t catch his name this here’s Nathaniel Stewart… only we’re gonna call him Nate.”

  “Don’t listen to one word this ring-tailed liar says,” Tim said. “Jeb’s always tellin’ whoppers. I got this scar from a Comanche’s arrow.”

  Tim and his brother were identical twins, with blonde hair and blue eyes.

  “Don’t believe my brother, either,” Tom said. “He gave himself that scar when his razor slipped while he was shavin’.”

  “Way I heard it, a senorita at Rosa’s Cantina in El Paso give it to you, Tim,” Hoot said, laughing.

  “That’s enough out of all of you,” Bob ordered. “Start settin’ up camp. Nate,” he continued. “Before we realized there was anyone left alive we decided to spend the night here, then start after those renegades first thing in the morning. It’s almost dusk, so it’ll be too late to keep after ’em tonight. Since we’ve found you still in one piece, I reckon I need to ask your permission to use your place.”

  “Sure,” Nathaniel agreed. “I guess it’ll be okay, but shouldn’t you ask…” He stopped short, his voice cracking and his eyes filling with tears.

  The lieutenant put a comforting hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder.

  “It’s all right, Nate. Go ahead and cry if you need to. Won’t be any of us here think any less of you. We’ve all lost loved ones or friends. Unless you’d like things done different, we’d planned on buryin’ your folks at sunup.”

  Nathaniel sniffled and ran an arm under his nose.

  “No. I think I’m all right,” he said. “And I know my pa’d sure like to stay right here. I guess my ma and Jonathan would like that too. We’ll… we’ll bury them here, on the ranch.”

  “Good. Mind if I ask you another question?”

  “What’s that?”

  “The reason Jeb opened that root cellar is to find any food which might be in there that we could use. We’ve been on the trail for weeks now, and bacon, beans, and biscuits every day sure gets tiresome. We were hopin’ to find some vegetables or maybe even some preserves your ma might’ve put up. Is it all right if we still do that? I’d imagine you’re gettin’ mighty hungry yourself.”

  “Sure, sure, that’d be okay.”

  “We’re much obliged. Tim, you and Tom round up any grub you can find. Tim, you’ll be cook tonight. I reckon we’d better set up a guard overnight, just in case those renegades send a couple of men back to see if they missed anything. I’ll set the watches after supper. Nate, what happened to your shirt? You’re gonna need it.”

  “My brother and I were washin’ up for supper when those men attacked us. I think it must’ve burned up with the cabin. Might still be by the wash bench, though.”

  “Good. Hoot, you see if you can rustle up Nate’s shirt. If not, get him your spare. It’ll be a mite too big for him, but you’re the closest to his size.”

  “Right away, Bob.”

  “Dan, Ed, take care of the dead. Make sure you cover ’em good so the scavengers can’t get at ’em.”

  “Um, Bob?” Morton said.

  “Yeah, Dan?”

  “What about the dead outlaw? Doesn’t seem fittin’ he should be planted here with the folks he helped murder.”

  “You’re right,” Bob agreed. “Take him off somewhere and dig a shallow grave for him, or leave him for the buzzards and coyotes. Far as I’m concerned, that’s all he deserves. Jim, get the horses settled. Nate, if you feel you’re up to it, I’d like to ask you a few questions. That’ll help us when we catch up to the men who did this.”

  “I’ll try to answer them, if I can,” Nathaniel said.

  “Good. Jeb, you stay here with me. The rest of you, get busy.”


  While the other Rangers went about setting up camp for the night, Bob and Jeb questioned Nathaniel about the attack on the Stewart ranch earlier that day.

  “Nate, just tell me as best you can what exactly happened,” Bob requested.

  “Sure,” Nate answered. “Like I said before, Jonathan and I were just washin’ up for supper. We heard a bunch of men ridin’ real fast. Jonathan spotted ’em first and pulled out his gun. My dad must’ve heard ’em too, because he came outside holdin’ his shotgun. They killed him, first thing. Then Jonathan pushed me behind the trough. He shot one of the outlaws, then he got shot. I knew he was dead, the way he fell. So I crawled over to him, got his gun, and managed to get off a shot. Didn’t knock anyone off his horse like Jonathan did, though. I’m not much good with a gun or horse. Jonathan certainly was. He loved bein’ a cowboy.”

  “I’m sure he did,” Bob said. “Nate, do you recollect how you got in the root cellar?”

  “No, I surely don’t.” Nathaniel shook his head. “All I remember is firin’ Jonathan’s gun, then everything went black. I guess I must have come to, then crawled into the cellar. I figure I was lucky those men didn’t see I was still alive.”

  “You sure were, son,” Jeb agreed. “Dang lucky. Nate, we didn’t find any six-gun near you, nor your brother. My guess is one of those hombres must’ve picked up the gun while you were still unconscious. Can you tell us how many there were?”

  “I’m not sure. Nine or ten, maybe a couple more.”

  “Can you tell us what any of them looked like?” Bob asked.

  Again, Nathaniel shook his head. “I wish I could, but I can’t. Everything happened so fast.”

  “It’s all right,” Bob reassured him.

  “Nate, you don’t happen to know what kind of pistol your brother wore, do you?” Jeb asked.

  “I sure do. It was a Smith and Wesson American cartridge revolver. Jonathan was real proud of that gun. He even had his initials carved into the handle. He liked to talk about how much better his cartridge gun was than the old-fashioned cap and ball Colts.”

  Bob and Jeb exchanged glances. Jeb whistled.

  “That’s a mighty rare gun in these parts,” he said. “If we find the man carryin’ that Smith and Wesson, it’s more’n likely he’ll be one of the men who killed your folks.”

  “What about any horses?” Bob continued. “We didn’t find any around the place, so those raiders must’ve stolen them along with the cattle. What’s your horse look like?”

  “I didn’t have one,” Nathaniel said. “Never much liked horses. My brother had one, though. A sorrel he called Big Red. Red had a star on his forehead and one white foot.”

  “Which foot?”

  “The left front.”

  “So if we find your brother’s horse that will also help identify the raiders,” Bob said. “What about brands? What was your dad’s brand?”

  “My dad wouldn’t brand his cattle,” Nathaniel said. “He thought it was cruel. Jonathan’s horse wasn’t branded either. Neither was Buck, our plow horse.”

  “Just like Sam Maverick,” Jeb said. “Well, there goes any chance of provin’ the stolen cattle came from this place. Bob, I reckon it’s time we let Nate try’n get a little rest. He might want some time with his folks, too.”

  “That’s a good idea, Jeb. You go with him. Nate, it’s not gonna be easy for you, but you should probably take Jeb’s suggestion. Take as much time as you need with your family. Say some prayers for ’em and tell ’em you love ’em. Cry over ’em if you need to. There’s no shame in that. Jeb’ll stay with you long as you need. By the time you’re set, supper should be ready. We need to get settled what you’re gonna do next. We can talk about that while we eat.”

  Jeb put his arm around Nathaniel’s shoulders.

  “C’mon, Nate. It’s time you said goodbye to your folks.”

  He took Nathaniel to where his parents and brother lay side by side, covered with blankets.

  “Nate, you want me to stay with you, or would you rather be by yourself for a few minutes?”

  “I think I’d like the company,” Nate said. His voice quivered and his chin trembled as he struggled to keep him emotions in check.

  “All right. I’ll be here long as you need. Do you want to see their faces again, or just remember ’em the way you last saw ’em?”

  “I…I don’t rightly know.”

  Tears began streaming down Nathaniel’s cheeks, and he broke into sobs. He stood crying for a few moments, then uncovered his mother, father and brother. Luckily, none of their faces bore any wounds. They looked peaceful in death.

  “Jonathan,” Nathaniel said. “I’m sure gonna miss you, big brother. I guess you’ll never get the chance to teach me how to cowboy. Maybe that’s for the best. I’d probably just have made a fool of myself, or fallen off Big Red and broken my neck. I don’t have the knack for cowboyin’ that you did.”

  A sob wracked his body before he could continue.

  “Pa, I know making a go of it in Texas was your dream. If you can hear me, even though you might not believe this, I wanted it to come true for you. Yeah, I wanted to go back home, but I sure would never have left you and Ma. I hope God has a ranch for you up in Heaven.”

  “Ma, I love you so much. I don’t know what else to say, except that I’ll always try and make you proud of me. You’re the best mother anyone could ask for. I wish I could’ve done something to stop you from dying. There’s some Texas Rangers here who are after the men who did this. Once they catch them, they’ll take care of them. They promised me that. Guess there’s not much else to say, except I’ll pray to God for you every day, that you’re all with Him.”

  Nathaniel knelt alongside his mother and father and bent down to kiss them goodbye, then tousled Jonathan’s hair one last time. He pulled the blankets back over their faces.

  “I’m ready, Jeb.”

  His head bent in sorrow, Nathaniel started back for where the Rangers were gathering for supper, with Jeb at his side. They had gone perhaps a hundred feet when Nathaniel turned back to gaze at the bodies of his parents and brother. The sorrow in his eyes now changed to a look of anger.

  “Pa, Ma, Jonathan,” he shouted. “I’m goin’ to make sure those men pay for what they did to you. I don’t know when, or how, but no matter how long it takes, I’ll make them pay.”

  “Now’s not the time to worry about that, son,” Jeb said. “Right now, you need food and sleep. Let’s go eat.”

  Out of respect for Nathaniel, supper was a mostly silent affair, without the usual joking and kidding that ordinarily was part of the evening meal, a way for the hard-riding Rangers, who faced danger and death almost every day, to release tension and let off steam. Instead of the ordinary meal of beans, bacon, and biscuits, there were thick beefsteaks. Nathaniel, despite his loss, was hungrier than he realized, and downed a plateful of steak, beans, and half a dozen biscuits. However, he winced at his first taste of the strong black coffee the Rangers drank. It was a much more bitter brew than what his mother had made.

  “Coffee a little strong for you, Nate?” Bob asked.

  “No. No, not at all,” Nathaniel said, still choking. “Just a bit more bite to it than what my ma made.”

  “Coffee like this keeps a man goin’,” Dan said. “That, and good grub. Tim, you did a fine job cookin’ up these steaks. Sure were a welcome change from bacon. You put that cow to good use.”

  “Quiet, Dan,” Bob warned. “Watch your tongue.”

  Nathaniel had stabbed another piece of meat with his fork. He stopped with it halfway to his mouth and looked at it.

  “Where…where’d you get this meat?”

  “Just some ol’ cow me’n Tom found lyin’ dead in the scrub,” Tim said.

  Nathaniel looked at the burned remains of the cowshed and enclosure which had held Bess, the milk cow. She was nowhere in sight.

  “Tell me the truth, Tim. This here meat’s from Bess, our cow, ain’t it? Ain’t it?”
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  “Yeah, I reckon it is,” Tim answered, not quite able to meet Nathaniel’s gaze. “Sorry, Nate.”

  “Nate, those raiders killed your cow,” Jeb tried to explain. “We hardly ever see fresh meat, unless one of us downs a pronghorn or mebbe a javelina, so it just didn’t seem right to let that meat go to waste. If we hadn’t taken it, the coyotes and buzzards would have ripped her apart, then whatever they left the flies would have gone after. At least this way your cow filled the bellies of some mighty tired and hungry men, rather than the scavengers. Try’n understand, son.”

  Nathaniel dropped his plate to the dirt.

  “I’m not hungry, all of a sudden. I guess I’ll try and get some sleep now.”

  He went over to where the Rangers had made him a bed out of their spare blankets, pulled off his boots, and slid under the covers. His soft sobs drifted on the night air.

  “I’m sorry, fellers,” Dan said. “Didn’t mean to upset the boy like that.”

  “It’s not your fault, Dan,” Bob assured him. “He would’ve figured it out sooner or later anyway. He’s had a big loss today, and this is just one more thing that’s gone from his life. Right now, cryin’ to get the hurt out of him’s probably the best thing for him. That, and sleep. Speaking of which, we’ve got a lot of hard ridin’ ahead of us tomorrow. It’s time we turn in. Dan, you and Ed take the first watch. Jim and Hoot will relieve you. Jeb and I will take third. Tim and Tom, you’ll have the last watch. Now, let’s clean up and get to bed.”

  Buy A Ranger to Ride With Now!

  About the Author

  Jim Griffin became enamored of the Texas Rangers from watching the TV series, Tales of the Texas Rangers, as a youngster. He grew to be an avid student and collector of Rangers' artifacts, memorabilia and other items. His collection is now housed in the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum in Waco.

  His quest for authenticity in his writing has taken him to the famous Old West towns of, Pecos, Deadwood, Cheyenne, Tombstone and numerous others. While Jim's books are fiction, he strives to keep them as accurate as possible within the realm of fiction.