The Rise of a Warrior

by Harvey Stanbrough

  Wes went back to cutting his steak.

  Mac frowned. “All right, I’ll bite. How you figure?”

  Wes put another small piece of steak in his mouth, then shrugged. Around the piece of steak, he said, “Big things happen an’ you deal with ‘em, that’s all. Got no choice. But most often the little things determine which big things happen, or at least which ones get a foothold.”

  He paused, looked at his friend for a moment and canted his head. “You okay, Mac? You’re soundin’ a little annoyed.”

  Mac frowned. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He didn’t sound fine.

  Wes nodded. “Well, anyway, after we finish this truly fine breakfast, I reckon we’ll walk across the street an’ see what the captain has for us. Then we’ll just do that, whatever it happens to be.”

  “Well hell, Western Z, I know that much. What I meant, I wonder what he has planned for us today.”

  “No way of knowin’ ‘til we get there, is there? An’ wonderin’ won’t do no good. Gotta get there first. Now me, I don’t never worry about nothin’ ‘til it’s time to worry about it.”

  Mac gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward quickly. “Yeah? Well you damn near got yourself killed a few nights ago out chasin’ Comanches across the plains too. So maybe I’m thinkin’ you ought’a start worryin’ at least a little bit about some things.”

  He looked around.

  Three men at another table had stopped eating and were looking at him.

  Mac nodded toward them and they looked away. He set back in his chair and grinned, trying to turn the whole thing into a joke. “Now who the hell ever heard of one crazy Ranger raidin’ a Comanche raidin’ party, Wes?”

  He picked up his napkin and put it to his mouth. He belched lightly behind it, then dropped it. “Anyway, what you were sayin’, you gotta worry about the little things and then the big things’ll take care of themselves.”

  Wes was looking closely at his partner. He frowned. “That what I said?” He shrugged. “Either way, I imagine whatever the captain’s got for us, it’s just routine Ranger stuff, whatever that is.”

  He put his fork and knife on the table, then gestured with his hands. He leaned forward and said quietly, “As for that other, hey, I’m really sorry, partner. Thing is, I was lucky, an’ I know it. It just worked out, that’s all, an’ I ain’t ever gonna do anything like that again. All right? I mean, unless you an’ me both decide to raid us a raidin’ party.” He grinned.

  “Yeah, Wes, I know. An’ about the captain, I was just wonderin’, you know. Just somethin’ to talk about. Don’t you ever just like to wonder what’s gonna happen an’ then see if your version of it matches what actually happens?”

  Wes looked at him. There was that half-grin again. “Nope.”

  Mac shook his head. “Well, I imagine the captain ain’t gonna want us late on our first full day as Rangers, so you prob’ly need to get on through your breakfast.”

  Wes pushed his plate away, then slid his chair back. “You weren’t payin’ attention, Ranger McFadden. I’m done.” He pushed against the table for leverage and stood. “You comin’, or don’t you wanna see what the captain’s got for us today?”

  * * *

  In Fort Perry a couple hours earlier, Corporal Court Edwards tapped on the door of the colonel’s office, then walked in. He removed his hat.

  The colonel was behind his desk. He stood and came around his desk as Corporal Edwards crossed the floor of the office.

  “Glad you’re in, Colonel. The men and I are headin’ out. Just wanted to say thanks again for your hospitality.”

  The colonel proffered his hand. As they shook, he said, “On the contrary, it was the least we could do. Thank you, Corporal. If it weren’t for you and your men, there’s no telling what would have become of me and mine.”

  He wagged one finger in the air. “I’ll be sure to let your captain know, too. You can bet on that.”

  “Yes sir. Well, thanks. Just doin’ what we’re paid to do.” He gestured with his hat. “Thanks again, Colonel, and I hope to see you again some time, only with a little less drama.”

  The colonel laughed. “We’ll make that a condition.”

  “Anything you need, Colonel, any time.”

  “Thanks, Court. Same goes to you.”

  Court put on his hat, turned and left.

  Outside, Philby and Stanton were mounted and waiting. Philby passed Court the reins to his horse as he came out.

  As Court swung into the saddle, he said, “Well, the sun’s only got about a half-hour on us. Let’s see if we can get back in two days, whaddya say?” He grinned as they turned toward the gate.

  Philby said, “Here’s to a straight trail and no snakes.”

  Stanton grinned. “Yeah, either the belly sliders or the two legged feather hairs.”

  As they passed through the gate, they broke into an easy canter and headed southwest. About two hours southwest of the fort they would meet Wolf Creek where it jagged sharply to the southwest. They would follow it for another three hours, and when it disappeared into the plains, they’d have another five or six hours to the Canadian.

  It would make for a long day, but that would leave them with a shorter day tomorrow.

  For one of them, it would be a much shorter day.

  * * *

  In Red Hawk’s tipi, he, Four Crows, Twin Deer and Red Hawk’s eldest son One Bear were in council. Unable to confine his excitement, he grinned. “This very day we will receive a large wagonload of the new repeating rifles. Have you seen those in action yet?”

  Four Crows nodded gravely. “I have heard them. They are what the Rangers used in the place of the narrow rocks to defeat Iron Bear. The shots came quickly, one after another like drops in running water.”

  Even that reminder of his brother’s death couldn’t dampen Red Hawk’s enthusiasm. He nodded. “I miss my brother, but all things have led to this moment. Soon we will be able to even the score.

  “The rifles would not have been here for two more days, but Talbot’s brother came to me himself. He said he wanted to cut out Messina. He would deliver the rifles directly to me and they would cost us less.”

  He grinned broadly. “And that is how we will come to have them today. They should have left the fort yesterday as the sun was going down. We can expect them soon after the sun reaches the center of the sky today.”

  He turned to Four Crows and patted his shoulder. “You, my young friend, will have the honor of first pick, and then those who will ride with you. Then I and my people will arm ourselves as well.”

  Then Messina’s man had ridden into camp with the cryptic message that Messina himself was coming.

  A jolt like electricity raced through Four Crows’ body and he looked at Twin Deer. “Go now. Have those who would ride with us meet me at the north end of the camp.” As Twin Deer exited the tipi, Four Crows turned to Red Hawk. “Something has gone wrong. The guns are not coming.” He stood. “Thank you for your counsel and your help, my chief. I am well rested. We will ride now. I wish you good fortune in all things.” He proffered his hand.

  Red Hawk got to his feet and shook Four Crows’ hand. “I agree, the coming of this man forebodes a change of our plans. Are you sure you will not wait to see what the change entails?”

  “I am sure, my chief. We will meet again. But for now I have a favor to ask.”

  “Anything, young chief.”

  Four Crows told Red Hawk briefly of his intended initial target.

  The old man smiled and nodded. “Iron Bear would be pleased.”

  Four Crows said, “My chief, send riders to the north and west. Tell them to meet me late tomorrow night at the west end of the long lake.”

  Red Hawk nodded. “I understand. It will be done.”

  Four Crows clapped the old chief on the shoulder, then turned and ducked out through the tipi entrance. He turned right and moved up a narrow lane to the north.

  Behind him, near the c
enter of the camp, Messina’s man was nervously explaining to a group of increasingly annoyed braves that he was not at liberty to divulge the reason for Messina’s visit. “It has to do with repeating guns and deception,” he said. “There were Rangers at the fort and....” His voice faded.

  Four Crows shook his head. He only hoped the deception was not ongoing.

  But what else had the man said? There were Rangers at the fort? The fort had soldiers, unless they were gone somewhere. It that case the Rangers might have provided assistance. But why?

  It didn’t make sense. The Rangers themselves in Amarillo were undermanned. They had sent only seven to the ambush in the draw of the pinched rocks, and they lost two men there. That would leave five plus up to three who had remained in Amarillo during the ambush.

  They would not leave Amarillo undefended then or now, so there could be only two or three Rangers at the fort and another two or three in Amarillo. Those were excellent odds.

  And the main Ranger, their chief, would be there.

  As he reached the north end of the camp, he found that four more braves had joined their party and improved his odds against the Rangers even more. He had arrived in Red Crow’s camp with eight braves plus himself. He would leave with twelve braves.

  As Four Crows mounted his horse, a plan was forming in his mind. He would continue to avenge Iron Bear, and at the same time, he would teach the Rangers a valuable lesson about minding their own business where Comanche relations with the army were concerned.

  After an hour of traveling almost due west, they forded Wolf Creek and headed west-southwest. Four Crows kept a strong pace, and eventually even Twin Deer wondered why and whether such a fast pace was warranted. Still, from what he had already seen Four Crows accomplish, he kept his reservations to himself.

  He would be richly rewarded for his trust.

  * * *

  Despite the fiery pain shooting through his head and down the right side of his face, Jade Talbot began tugging at the stakes holding his wrists almost the moment Messina turned his back. He hoped to pull one free and brain Messina with it before the man could mount his horse.

  That was not to be, but when the sun was halfway to its zenith he finally was able to work free the stake holding his right wrist. Messina and his men had been gone for three or four hours.

  When Talbot rolled onto his left hip and reached for the stake at his left wrist, an electric sensation fired along his back, the result of moving too quickly after having been in one position too long.

  When the cramp abated, he worked briefly at the binding on his left wrist, but finally opted to tug on the stake there as well, jerking it back and forth until he worked it free.

  Finally he sat up and slid his butt forward, bending his knees to draw himself closer to the bindings holding his feet. As he leaned forward at the waist, something flashed in his periphery.

  He looked. It was the guard from last night. Messina had shot him, and the others had left him where he was lying face down.

  Well, he wouldn’t get any help from Talbot either. He was the one who had caused all this mess. But what had flashed?

  Talbot looked again, more closely. His knife was protruding from the man’s belt just above his right hip. His gunbelt lay beneath the man’s left hand. The Remington had slipped from the holster.

  Talbot judged the distance. About eight feet.

  He put his hands beneath him and stood, unsteadily, then fell in the direction of the dead guard.

  Even with his arms outstretched, he couldn’t reach his knife, but he could reach the dead man’s neckerchief. He wrapped the fingers of his right hand through it, then dragged the dead man closer, then closer. After a third pull, he was able to reach his knife.

  He rolled over and used the bindings on his feet to pull him closer to the stakes. A moment later, he’d slashed through the rawhide bindings. He knelt, placed the stake dangling from his left hand against a rock, and sliced the binding away from it, then repeated the motion for the other hand.

  Finally free, he walked back to the dead man, knelt and pulled his gunbelt and his revolver from under the man’s lifeless left hand. He slipped the Remington back into the holster, then buckled the gunbelt around his waist. He looked down for a moment, then knelt again. He rolled the dead man over and unbuckled his gunbelt.

  He stood and pulled the man’s Remington from his holster and stuck it behind his gunbelt. Then he shoved the cartridges out of the gunbelt, dropped them into his pants pocket, and dropped the gunbelt on the dead man’s face.

  He thought for a moment. The Comancheros were riding fast when they left. They wouldn’t have taken all the horses. He started walking, investigating the other, smaller arroyos feeding into this major one. Soon he found three horses, including his.

  His horse was still saddled. “I’ll get that off you and let you rest tonight. Right now we have to ride though. What say we head for Dalton?” Talbot mounted, turned the horse to the west, and rode along the bottom of the arroyo at a leisurely canter.

  Not quite an hour later, he exited the arroyo and moved south. Soon he picked up Wolf Creek and followed it to the west for a few miles, then continued when it turned west-southwest. When it flattened out again and turned more due west, he dropped off it. He continued southwest for another hour to get away from the more normal routes, then turned back west and struck out across the open plains.

  His plan worked well. For four hours, he didn’t see another rider. Then he topped out on a low rise, and as he peered out to the west, three other riders came into view. They were heading to the southwest, and they were moving at a pretty good pace. He slowed his horse, then reined in.

  He leaned forward in the saddle. Quietly, he said, “Well, what do we have here?

  His saddle and saddle bags had still been on his horse, so maybe the contents of his saddle bags were still there too. He dismounted, though he kept the reins loosely in his left hand. He turned and opened the left saddle bag and reached down into it.

  “Not there,” he mumbled. “Well, maybe I stuck it in the other one.”

  He crossed in front of the horse, patting his neck as he did so, then opened the right saddle bag. This time when he reached, the fingertips on his right hand bumped against a cool metal tube. “There it is.”

  He shifted some other things out of the way, then closed his fist around the tube and pulled it from the saddle bag. It was a telescope. In its current compact form, it was just over a foot long and a little over an inch and a half in diameter. Fully extended, it was almost two feet long.

  He extended it, then put it to his left eye and turned the bezel ring to focus it. It felt awkward there since he normally looked through it with his right eye. But that side was too tender, thanks to Messina.

  He focused on the first rider. He’d never seen the man before, as far as he could remember.

  Something flashed. He focused the bezel ring again. There was a small silver circle on the man’s shirt. He’d seen that before. The man was a Texas Ranger.

  He lowered the spy glass. “Must be the same guys who messed up the deal in Fort Perry.”

  He put the telescope to his eye again and focused on the second rider, but just as the focus brought him into view, the third rider pulled alongside him.

  Talbot adjusted the bezel ring again and took a closer look at the third rider. He’d never seen that one before either. He shook his head. “They keep gettin’ younger and younger.”

  He continued to look through the glass, his fingers poised on the bezel ring, waiting to see whether he could identify the second rider. Finally, just as he was about to give up, the younger man fell back just a bit and the second one came into view.

  Talbot looked at him, then lowered the spyglass. “I’ll be damned.” Then he put it back up to his eye and focused again. He shook his head. “That’s Morgan Powell.”

  He was wearing a Texas Ranger badge as well. “How in hell did he pull that off?�
� Obviously his past hadn’t caught up with him yet.

  Powell had been arrested in Laredo right alongside Talbot nine years earlier.

  Three days later he’d broken a jailer’s jaw and escaped.

  On his way to northwest Texas, he’d picked a new name.

  Mason Philby.

  Talbot recognized opportunity when he saw it.

  He turned his horse southwest.

  * * *

  Eleven hours after they left Fort Perry and not quite two hours after the sun had gone down, Corporal Edwards and Rangers Philby and Stanton had covered almost sixty miles.

  As they approached their usual ford on the Canadian, they heard it several minutes before they saw it. The water was much louder than usual.

  As Philby edged his horse down to the water’s edge, he stopped. In the moonlight the surface was rippled, a sure sign of deep water. He looked back at the corporal. “Court, you sure this is where we crossed on the way up?”

  Court edged his horse forward. “Yep, this is it. Must’a been a heavy rain upstream somewhere.”

  He leaned forward in the saddle and looked west, then twisted around and looked back to the east. “This is it for sure. See that big cottonwood?” He pointed. “And right across from it, that grove of desert willows? This is it.”

  Philby said, “Water’s awful fast.”

  Court nodded. “And deep.”

  Stanton was a little higher on the bank behind them. “My dad always said fast water when it’s usually calm is an easy place to find water mocs.”

  Court laughed quietly. “That’s true enough. Since we ain’t lookin’ to find any, I reckon we’ll set up over here for the night. In the mornin’ we can either ford here or look for a better place. Amarillo won’t be any farther away.”

  They turned away from the river and moved back up into the brush. When they came across a small clearing, Court said, “I’ll sit up for awhile. You boys get some sleep.”

  Philby and Stanton didn’t argue.

  *

  Court had drawn his Colt earlier and laid it across his lap.

  Sometime after midnight, he jerked awake. His first reflex was to pull back the hammer on his revolver.