“All right,” Jeb said, laughing in return. “Senorita Inez, if you’ll show us to our rooms, we’ll get out from underfoot.”
“Certainly. Right this way,” Inez answered.
“After you and your men have washed and rested, Jeb, I’d like you to join me in the parlor for vino y cigarros, por favor,” Don Carlos requested.
“Wine and cigars? That’s an invitation we can’t turn down,” Jeb answered. “Gracias.”
“Excellent!” Don Carlos replied. “Say, in an hour. Wash up, take a short siesta, and we will see you then.”
“Much obliged, Don Carlos. Gracias.”
Inez led the Rangers down a long corridor. She stopped and opened a door on the right.
“Senor Nate, Senor Hoot, this will be your room,” she said. “It is small, but I am certain you will find it quite comfortable. Estrella will be along shortly with soap, water, and towels.”
“Gracias, Senorita,” Hoot said.
“De nada,” Inez said, then continued to the other men, “Senores, this way to your rooms.”
“Boy howdy, Nate,” Hoot said, once they were inside the room, “If this is the ‘small’ bedroom, I can’t imagine what the large one looks like.” He pulled off his boots and stretched out on the bed.
“You’ve sure got that right, pardner,” Nate answered, taking stock of their quarters for the night. The bedroom was at least twenty by twenty feet, its ceiling ten feet high, with windows typical of most adobes, high up and narrow. It was furnished with dark, heavily carved pieces, including the canopied bed Hoot had already occupied. Tapestries covered the walls, and a thick Navajo rug, the floor.
“We might get lost in this bed,” Hoot said. “Can’t recall ever bein’ on a bed this soft, with covers so thick.”
A soft knock came at the door.
“Senores, may I come in?” Estrella called. “I have your suministros de bano.”
“Sure, c’mon in,” Nate answered. Hoot jumped off the bed when the door opened, and the young woman entered. She carried three pitchers of hot water in one hand. Over her arm were draped several towels and washcloths.
“Senor, you did not have to get up,” she said. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“I…you—I mean, you didn’t, senorita,” Hoot stammered. “It’s just that—that well, it wouldn’t be proper, that’s all, me lyin’ in bed with a young lady in the room. It just wouldn’t be seemly.”
“But we were not alone. Your amigo is with you, and the door is open,” Estrella answered. “There was nothing improper. But I do appreciate your concern for my honor, senor. I will leave your jabon, agua, y toallas on el lavabo.”
“Gracias, senorita,” Hoot answered.
“Yeah, I mean, si. Much obliged, ma’am, I mean, senorita,” Nate added. He was still not completely fluent in, or comfortable with speaking, Spanish. Learning the native language of Mexico, used in so much of Texas, was another of his ongoing lessons.
“De nada,” Estrella said. “I will see you at cena.” She left the room, closing the door behind her.
“You want to wash up first, Hoot, or should I?” Nate asked.
“You go first,” Hoot said. “I just want to enjoy this fine feather bed awhile longer.”
“All right.” Nate pulled off his shirt and bandanna, poured water from the pitcher into the basin and ducked his face into it. Then, he took the soap, lathered up one of the washcloths, and began to scrub his face.
“The Castellons sure have some fine-lookin’ daughters, don’t they, Hoot?” he asked.
“They sure do,” Hoot said. “Too bad we won’t be stayin’ here long enough to get to know ’em better.”
“Are they even pretty enough to make you forget Clarissa Hennessey?”
“Did they make you forget Consuela, Nate?”
Nate shook his head. “Not a chance of that.”
“Then, they sure didn’t make me forget Clarissa, neither, ya idjit.”
Nate finished cleaning up, washing his face, neck, hair, and upper torso, then dried off. Once done, he used the damp towels to wipe as much dust as possible from his clothes and boots. He took his place on the bed, while Hoot got up to wash.
“You weren’t wrong about this bed, Hoot,” he said. “Even the beds we had back home in Delaware weren’t anywhere near as soft as these. A feller could drown in these quilts.”
“Just don’t fall asleep,” Hoot warned him. “Don’t forget, we’ve been asked for wine and cigars. It would be an insult to our host not to be there.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Nate answered, stifling a yawn. “I’ll be ready when…” His voice trailed off.
“Sure you will, pard,” Hoot said, softly. “Reckon I’d better be the one to stay awake.”
Nate had already fallen asleep.
♦●♦
An hour later, Hoot shook Nate awake.
“C’mon, pard. Time to get goin’,” he ordered. “Drinks and smokes are waitin’.”
“Huh? Oh,yeah.” Nate sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. “Reckon I must’ve dozed off.”
“Dozed off? You did more’n just ‘doze off’,” Hoot said, laughing. “You were sawin’ logs faster’n a Minnesota lumberjack. Don’t believe I’ve ever heard anyone who can snore as loud as you, Nate. Hurry up, will ya?”
“Be ready in a minute.” Nate stamped into his boots, shrugged back into his shirt, and tied his bandanna around his neck.
“I guess I don’t need my hat or my gun,” he said.
“Well, you don’t need your hat, but I’d recommend you strap on your gun,” Hoot said. “Those raiders might have had friends, who could be on their way here right now. Or mebbe another band’ll show up. I thought we learned you by now the only time a Ranger ever takes off his gun is when he’s takin’ a bath, or when he’s sleepin’, and even then, he keeps it close by.”
“What about when he’s with his girl, and mebbe they’re sparkin’?” Nate asked.
“That would depend on the girl, I guess,” Hoot answered. “From what I hear tell, around some women you’d want to keep your gun handy. There are women out there as likely to rob, cheat, or kill you as quick as any man. So buckle on your gunbelt and let’s go.”
“All right.”
Nate and Hoot had passed the parlor on their way in, so they knew how to return there without any assistance from one of the Castellons. The parlor was large, furnished, as were all the rooms, with dark, heavily carved furnishings, and decorated with Aztec and Mayan artifacts. Along with Don Carlos and his sons, the other Rangers were already in the room, holding unlit cigars.
“Ah! Hoot and Nate, there you are!” Don Carlos exclaimed. “We’ve been waiting for you. I was about to send Diego to look for you.”
“Nate kinda fell asleep, and I had a devil of a time wakin’ him up,” Hoot answered.
“Well, at least your amigo had not fallen into the final sleep, and actually met el diablo,” Don Carlos answered, to general laughter. “It does not matter. You are here now. Please, take a cigarro and a glass. The cigarros are from Mexico City, and the vino pressed from grapes from my own vineyard.”
Don Carlos picked up a humidor of cigars from a corner table. He held them out to the two young Rangers. Hoot chose one, then, seeing Nate hesitate, nudged him in the ribs.
“Go ahead, take one,” he urged. Nate took a cigar from the humidor.
“Fine. Now, I will pour the drinks,” Don Carlos said. He crossed the room to a sideboard, on which stood a silver tray holding three cut crystal decanters full of a deep burgundy colored liquid, and another tray holding cut crystal glasses.
“Nate, I know you don’t smoke,” Hoot whispered to his friend, “but it would’ve been downright rude not to take the cigar Senor Castellon offered. You don’t have to smoke it. Just take one puff on it, then just hold onto it. Besides, you might not have taken to smokin’ cigarettes, but cigars may be more to your likin’.”
“I doubt
it,” Nate answered.
Juan and Pablo passed out glasses, which were then filled by Don Carlos. Once everyone had a full glass, he called for attention.
“I would like to propose two toasts,” he announced. “First, to the memories of our companeros, Hector Mendoza, Miguel Fuentes, and Julio Escobar. They were fine vaqueros, and fine amigos.” He lifted his glass. “To you, Hector, Miguel, and Julio.” The other men echoed his sentiment, and took swallows of their wine.
“Now, my second toast is to our Ranger amigos, who helped save the Rancho Santiago from ruin at the hands of those banditos, and who quite possibly saved all of our lives. To the Texas Rangers!”
“To the Texas Rangers!” came the answering shout; then, the glasses were emptied.
“Don Carlos, we are most grateful for your hospitality, and your kind words,” Jeb said. “However, we Rangers could not have stopped those renegades by ourselves. It took the help of your brave family, and your brave men, to do that. So, if you would be so kind as to refill our glasses, I would like to propose two toasts of my own.”
“Of course, Jeb,” Don Carlos said. “I will do that with great pleasure.” Everyone’s glass was quickly filled, once again.
“First, to the hombres of Rancho Santiago, the brave ninos of the Castellon familia, to Senora Castellon, and to the beautiful ninas of Senor and Senora Castellon,” Jeb proclaimed. His sentiment was answered, with gusto.
“Second, to our gracious host, the Patron of Rancho Santiago, Don Carlos!” Jeb toasted.
“To Don Carlos!”
“Muchas gracias,” Don Carlos said, after the toast was drunk. “You are most kind, you and your men, Jeb. We will be proud to call you amigos.”
“And us also, for you, your familia, and your hombres,” Jeb answered. “I’d also like to add this is mighty fine vino.”
“Gracias,” Don Carlos said. “There is plenty more, so let it flow freely.”
Glasses were refilled, cigars lit. Soon, blue smoke filled the air. Nate allowed his cigar to be lit, then, reluctantly, took a puff. He nearly choked, but somehow managed to keep from breaking into a fit of coughing.
“Real smooth, huh?” Hoot asked.
“Yeah. Smooth as a cocklebur stuck between my saddle and my butt,” Nate answered. “I’ll just hold onto this smelly thing until it burns itself out.”
“Just hang onto it until I finish mine, then I’ll smoke yours for you,” Hoot offered.
“You’ve got a deal, Hoot.”
For the next forty-five minutes, the men smoked, drank, and made conversation. The room fell silent at a knock on the door frame.
“Papa,” Luz called. “The cena is ready.”
“Excellent,” Don Carlos said. “Gentlemen, come. Let us eat!”
♦●♦
Jeb and his men were taken into a large dining room, at the center of which was a massive table that seated twenty. A striped cloth covered the entire table, and heavy, multi-colored plates, glasses, cups, and saucers were arranged on that, complemented by heavy silverware. In the center of the table were two heaping platters of roasted lamb. Along with that were bowls of tortillas, squash, chilies, rice, and beans. A sideboard held even more food, along with more wine, and two steaming pots of coffee.
“Gentlemen, allow me to show you your places,” Luz told the Rangers. She escorted them to their seats. They remained standing until Senora Castellon, Estrella, and Inez joined them.
“Por favor, be seated,” the senora said.
“All right,” Jeb answered. “May we help you with anything?”
“No. You are our guests, senor,” Maria said. “Just take your places.”
“All right,” Jeb agreed. He motioned to his men to sit down.
“We always say Grace before our meals,” Don Carlos explained. He folded his hands and bowed his head, as did his family. The Rangers followed their example.
“Bendicenos, o Dios, y estos dones tus, que estamos a punto de reciber de tu generosidad, por Christo, Nuestro Dios. Amen.”
“Amen,” everyone responded.
“Ahora, que comemos!” Don Carlos exclaimed.
Platters of food were passed. Usually, Mexican families, or Texas families of Spanish origin, took their main meals earlier in the day, around noontime, with supper being lighter fare. However, with no one having eaten due to the attack on the rancho, and in honor of their new Ranger friends, tonight supper at the Rancho Santiago would be the main meal of the day.
The meal consisted of several courses, and lasted almost three hours, concluding with dessert, traditional Mexican flan. After that, the men returned to the parlor for final cigars and more wine, while the women bustled about the dining room and kitchen, cleaning up. It was well past midnight by the time everyone went to bed.
“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to move for a week, Nate,” Hoot said, as he undressed.
“Me neither, but you can bet your hat Jeb’ll have us on the trail soon as it’s light enough to travel,” Nate answered.
“Seein’ where we’re at, this close to old Mexico, that should be ‘bet your sombrero’,” Hoot said. “And we won’t be headin’ out at sunup. Not this time. Don’t forget, we’ll be stayin’ for the burial of those dead vaqueros. And the Castellons aren’t gonna let us leave without breakfast. They already told us that. So we get to sleep in, for once.”
“And I’m sure lookin’ forward to that,” Nate said. He finished undressing, then slid under the covers. “G’night, Hoot.”
“G’night, Nate.”
♦●♦
The next morning, just after sunrise, the three murdered vaqueros, Hector Mendoza, Miguel Fuentes, and Julio Escobar, were buried on a hill overlooking the Rio Grande. After prayers were said over them, and the graves filled in, everyone returned to the house for breakfast. Since this was a memorial meal, after the funerals, all of the Rancho Santiago vaqueros, the other ranch workers, and their families, were also invited to the meal. Once it was over, Jeb and his men saddled their horses, mounted, and prepared to ride out.
“Rangers, you are welcome back here anytime,” Don Carlos said.
“And you at our camp, should you ever come up that way,” Jeb answered. “Adios.”
“Vaya con Dios,” Don Carlos replied.
“Let’s go, men,” Jeb ordered. He put Dudley into a walk.
♦●♦
“Men,” Jeb said, as they rode along. “I want to compliment you on doin’ a fine piece of work yesterday. Not just by drivin’ off those renegades. That’s our job. But we made friends with the Castellons. I don’t have to tell you Anglos and Mexes don’t get along all that good in Texas. What you did just might help mend some fences, and I appreciate that. Thanks.”
“Those folks are a fine family,” Dan said. “Goes to show there are good, and bad, on all sides, from all countries, and in all races.”
“It’s just a doggone shame, in our line of work, we deal mostly with the bad,” Joe noted. “But mebbe someday that’ll change.”
“Mebbe,” Jeb answered. “But until then, we’ll keep ridin’. And speakin’ of dealin’ with the bad. Nate, seein’ you plug that hombre right in his belt buckle reminded me of somethin’. I never taught you the art of the fast draw. You’ll recollect I told you that could wait, until your shootin’ was accurate.”
“You don’t need to worry about that, Jeb,” Hoot said, laughing. “You saw what Nate’s slug did to that belt buckle. He kilt it, good and dead. I reckon we don’t have to worry about bein’ attacked by any renegade belt buckles as long as ol’ Nate’s ridin’ with us.”
“Mebbe so,” Jeb answered. “But I’ve waited too long to teach Nate how to draw, fast and accurate. As soon as we get back to camp, I’m gonna rectify that situation. C’mon, Dudley, get on up there.”
He spurred his paint into a lope.
2
Since being forced to split his company up into several smaller patrols, Captain Quincy hadn’t set any firm schedule for his men to
report back to the Circle Dot E. Ranging over hundreds of square miles, searching for outlaws, maintaining any kind of schedule was nearly impossible, anyway. As long as a patrol didn’t stay out more than a month, the men returned to the Hennesseys’ ranch whenever they had covered an assigned area, one or more of the men had been injured or wounded badly enough to require medical care, or when they needed to resupply.
Four days after leaving the Rancho Santiago, Jeb and his men rode back into the Circle Dot E yard. Apparently, another patrol had also just returned, for several of the other Rangers were in the large corral Charlie Hennessey had provided for their horses. They waved when Jeb’s patrol approached.
“Howdy, Jeb,” Jim Kelly called out. “You’re gettin’ back right behind us.”
Jim’s patrol included Carl Swan, Shad Bruneau, and Ken Demarest.
“Seems so,” Jeb answered, as he swung out of his saddle. “You boys run into much trouble?”
“Nothin’ out of the ordinary,” Jim said. “The usual run-ins we have with rustlers. And thankfully, none of the men got hurt.” He pulled the saddle off his palomino, Sun Drop. His other mount, Dooley, nuzzled his cheek and whickered impatiently.
“I’ll take care of you in a minute, Dooley,” Jim told the strawberry roan. A few of the Rangers had two mounts. Jim was one of those. “Gotta see to Sun Drop first. He’s been carryin’ me for the last thirty miles, so you can just wait.” To Jeb he continued, “How about you boys?”
“About the same,” Jeb answered. “We did come upon a real bad bunch raidin’ a rancho a few days’ ride from here. Place is called Rancho Santiago, owned by a real fine family, name of the Castellons. Between them and us, we took care of the outfit. And, just like you boys, we got lucky. Our only hurts were Joe, who took a bullet across his scalp, and Nate. He got cut by some adobe chips a slug sent into his cheek. But Nate did manage to kill himself a real vicious belt buckle.”
“You ain’t ever gonna let me live that down, are you, Jeb?” Nate grumbled.
“Not for a while, anyway,” Jeb answered.
Lone Star Ranger Page 2