Lone Star Ranger : A Ranger to Ride With (9781310568404)

by Griffin, James J.

  “C’mon, Nate. It’s time to go.”

  He led Nathaniel to where his paint gelding waited, already saddled and bridled and tied to the sole corral post which had survived the fire.

  “Nate, this here’s Dudley,” he said. “Named him after a favorite uncle of mine.” He patted the horse’s shoulder. “Dudley, this here’s Nate. He’s gonna be ridin’ with us for a spell. He’s just lost his family, so you treat him gentle, hear?”

  Dudley snorted and nuzzled Jeb’s hand.

  “He gonna be able to carry both of us?” Nathaniel asked.

  “Dudley’s a tough ol’ bronc. He can carry double for quite a ways. He’ll be just fine. C’mon, we might as well get a move on.”

  Jeb climbed into the saddle, then held out his left hand to Nathaniel.

  “C’mon, Nate. Just swing your leg over Dudley’s rump and settle down behind me. Wrap your arms around my waist to hang on.”

  “I dunno,” Nate said.

  “You sure don’t want to walk all the way to San Saba, do you?”

  “No, I guess I don’t.”

  “Then get up here with me.”

  “All right.” Nathaniel took Jeb’s hand, and, with the Ranger’s help, scrambled onto Dudley’s back, just behind the saddle. As instructed, he wrapped his arms around Jeb’s waist, holding on for dear life.

  “Hey, take it easy there,” Jeb pleaded. “I can’t breathe, and you’re squeezin’ my belly so tight my guts are liable to pop out my backside. You don’t have to hold on so tight, Nate. Just relax and feel the horse’s motion. You’ll be just fine.”

  “If you say so. I’ll try.” Nathaniel loosened his grip just a bit. Jeb took in a deep breath.

  “There, that’s better. I can get air in my lungs again. Dudley, let’s go.”

  He heeled the paint into a walk and pointed his nose east, toward San Saba.

  4

  Two hours later, they rode into San Saba. On the way Nathaniel had resigned himself to being called Nate, the new, shortened version of his name the Rangers had given him. In fact, he kind of liked it.

  “There’s a doctor just a few blocks up the street, Nate,” Jeb said. “He’s treated some of us Rangers before. He’s a good man, so we’ll stop there first and have your head examined. Wait a minute, that don’t sound quite right. Makes it seem as if you’re loco. We’ll have him look at the bullet gash on your scalp.”

  Despite himself, Nate gave a low chuckle. A few minutes later, Jeb reined up in front of a small whitewashed cottage. A sign out front read “Doctor Elijah Mannion”.

  “Just slide off Dudley’s rump,” Jeb told Nate. “Don’t worry, he won’t kick you.”

  Nate did as told, but grabbed Dudley’s tail on the way down. The paint planted a hoof solidly in Nate’s belly, knocking him halfway across the street. Nate lay there, curled up, hands clamped to his middle while he struggled for air. His eyes watered from the effort and pain. Jeb jumped off his horse and hurried up to him.

  “Nate! You all right?”

  “I thought… you said… your horse wouldn’t… kick me,” Nate gasped.

  “Well, I never expected you to latch onto his tail,” Jeb answered. “Any horse’ll kick if you do that, no matter how mild-mannered he is. C’mon, let’s get you to the doc. I’ll help you up.”

  Jeb took Nate’s hand and pulled him to his feet. With Nate walking hunched over, short of breath and hands still pressed to his belly, they headed inside.

  “We’re lucky. Nobody else here,” Jeb said. The waiting room was empty.

  “I’ll be right with you,” a voice called from the back room. A moment later, Dr. Elijah Mannion appeared. He was middle-aged, with a long salt-and-pepper beard. His eyes were deep blue and had a kindly appearance.

  “Well, well, what have we here?” he asked.

  “Mornin’ doc,” Jeb said. “You probably don’t remember me, but I’m Ranger Jeb Rollins. You dug a bullet out of my back some months back. Got a boy with me who needs lookin’ at. Name’s Nate Stewart.”

  “I see. Ate too many green apples, did you son? And fell out of the tree getting them?”

  Nate was still hunched over, holding his middle.

  “No, doc. Dunno where you’d find an apple tree within two hundred miles of here anyway,” Jeb answered. “He got kicked by a horse. That’s not why we’re here, though. He’s got a bullet crease under those bandages. One of my pards patched him up, but it needs to be looked at.”

  “All right. Come with me and I’ll have a look at him.”

  They followed Mannion into his examination room.

  “Sit on that table, son,” he ordered. Once Nate was settled, Mannion removed the bandages from his head.

  “I’m going to clean this wound up just a bit. It may sting.”

  “It can’t hurt any more than when it was stitched,” Nate said.

  “You’re certainly right about that.” Mannion took two bottles and some cloths from a shelf.

  “How did you get this wound, Nate?” he asked as he worked on the boy.

  Jeb answered instead. “Outlaws attacked his folks’ ranch a few miles west of here. Killed his ma, pa, and older brother. Only reason Nate survived is they thought he was dead.”

  “That’s a real shame. Outlaw bands will be the ruination of Texas yet. I don’t suppose you Rangers captured any of those men.”

  “The rest of my patrol is on their trail right now. Might even have caught up with ’em. I stayed behind to help Nate, here. He’s got no kin left in Texas, so he’s going back home to Delaware. He’s got an aunt and uncle and a bunch of cousins there. That head wound ain’t gonna keep him from travelin’, is it?”

  “Not at all,” Mannion answered. “Your partner did as competent a job of treating this wound as most physicians, and better than many. Nate, I’m merely going to apply a fresh dressing and new bandages. Before I do that, however, I want to make certain your brain hasn’t been concussed.” He held up his hand.

  “How many fingers do you see?”

  “Two.”

  “That’s right. Now, I’m going to look at your eyes.”

  Mannion examined both of Nate’s eyes thoroughly, looking for signs of non-responsiveness or dilated or mismatched pupils.

  “You appear not to have suffered any trauma to your brain. Have you experienced any dizziness? Have you kept falling asleep, even just dozing off?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good, good. How about nausea, the feeling that you need to throw up?”

  “Not until Jeb’s horse kicked me in the belly.”

  “Well, that’s enough to make any man sick to his stomach. As long as you haven’t vomited any blood, I don’t believe any real harm was done. However, I do want to check your abdomen, so could you take off your shirt?”

  “All right.” Nate peeled off his borrowed shirt. Already a purple bruise was spreading across his belly where Jasper’s hoof had struck. Mannion looked at that for just a moment.

  “Lie back please, Nate,” he requested.

  “All right.” Nate stretched out on the table. Mannion poked and prodded at his belly, pounding it lightly with the side of his fist at several points.

  “Does that hurt here?”

  “No, sir.”

  “How about here? And here? Any sharp pain?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good. I’d say you have nothing but a bad bruise, son. It should clear up in a few days. However, if you feel any sudden sharp, stabbing pains or begin vomiting blood come back here immediately. You can sit up and put your shirt back on now, then I’ll finish up.”

  Mannion efficiently finished treating the wound to Nate’s head.

  “There, I’m all done. You’ll need to have the stitches removed in a few days. Any doctor can do that for you. Just remember, if you feel any nausea or can’t stay awake, you get right back here. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” Jeb said. “How much do we owe you?”
<
br />   “A dollar will cover it, Ranger.”

  “That’s more than fair.” Jeb dug in his pocket, pulled out a silver dollar, and gave it to Mannion.

  “Nate, please accept my deepest sympathies on the loss of your family,” Mannion said. “And I wish you Godspeed on your journey home. The Rangers are good men. I’m certain they’ll bring the outlaws who murdered your family to justice.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Nate, we’ve got a lot of things to do before the day’s over,” Jeb said. “Doc, muchas gracias. Adios.”

  “Goodbye to you, Ranger. Nate, make sure to take care of yourself.”

  ***

  Jeb and Nate’s next stop was the San Saba County Bank. A young teller there hesitated about granting Jeb’s request to meet with the bank president, until Jeb pulled his silver star in silver circle badge from his pocket and pinned it to his vest. Five minutes later, they were seated in Homer Funston’s office.

  “Ranger Rollins, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “Would you care for a cigar?”

  “No, thank you, Mr. Funston. Most of my pards smoke, but I never got into the habit.”

  “Fine, fine. You won’t mind if I do.” Funston chose a cigar from the jar on his desk, lit it, and drew a few puffs. He blew a ring of smoke toward the ceiling.

  “Now, what can I do for the Texas Rangers?”

  “This here’s Nate Stewart. His family had a ranch a few miles west of here. Outlaws attacked the place, murdered everyone except Nate, and burned it to the ground. Nate’s headed back home to Delaware. We’re here to see what money his father might’ve had deposited in your bank. Since Nate’s the sole survivor, it’s his now.”

  “Of course, of course. Nate, please let me say how sorry I am for your loss. What was your father’s first name?”

  “It was Marcus. My mom’s was Adele, and my brother’s was Jonathan.”

  “Thank you. Miriam.”

  Funston called to the woman in the nearest teller’s cage.

  “Yes, Mr. Funston?”

  “Could you bring me the records on the Marcus Stewart family accounts, please?”

  “Right away, Mr. Funston.”

  “While we’re waiting, Ranger Rollins, I can tell Nate that his father owned his ranch free and clear. He was one of the fortunate persons in that regard. I know it’s a bit soon to ask, but since it will be your land, son, do you think you’d want to keep it or sell it? In either case, since you’re a minor, you’ll need a conservator to take care of the legal aspects. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Not really, sir.”

  “He’s sayin’ someone’ll need to handle your money until you’re of legal age, Nate,” Jeb explained. “You’ll need someone to make sure the taxes on your land are paid, things like that, until you decide what to do with it. And would I be correct in assuming you’re offering to take on that job, Mr. Funston?”

  “If Nate is agreeable, yes. Of course, if he has someone else in mind, or would prefer the court name someone…”

  “What do you think, Nate?”

  “I dunno, Jeb. I never had to think about… about…”

  “Enough said for now. Mr. Funston, I reckon we’ll wait on that decision for a spell.”

  “That’s certainly understandable, Ranger. Ah, here’s Miriam with the accounts now. Thank you, Miriam.”

  The secretary handed Funston the Stewart account records. He looked them over for a moment, then leaned back in his chair.

  “Nate, as I seemed to recollect, your father had made several withdrawals from his account in the past few months. He needed to do that to keep the ranch going, until he was able to sell some of his cattle. Nonetheless, there is still several hundred dollars in the account. That will all be yours, of course, once everything works its way through the courts. I will need an address where to reach you.”

  “Mr. Funston, the renegades who murdered Nate’s family left him with nothing but the clothes on his back,” Jeb said. “In fact, they didn’t even leave him all those. His shirt was gone when we found him. That’s a borrowed one he’s wearin’. Any chance you could bend the rules a bit, and let him have enough money from the account to buy some new duds? He’s also gonna need money for stage and train tickets back home, and meal money besides.”

  “That could be a problem, but I can certainly try.”

  “How about if I agreed to make you my, what was it?” Nate asked.

  “Your conservator? That might speed things up a bit. And if you are worried I may loot the account you need not fear about that. I’m a hard businessman, but a fair one. Your affairs will be safe in my hands. Ask anyone in town if you like.”

  “All right. You’re in charge of my money, Mr. Funston.”

  “Excellent. You won’t be sorry, Nate.”

  “But you will be if a nickel of the boy’s money disappears, Funston,” Jeb warned. “The Rangers will make sure of that. And it still doesn’t solve our problem. Nate needs cash now, not later.”

  Funston pulled a gold pocket watch out of his vest and glanced at it.

  “Judge Stanton should be at the courthouse right now. If we hurry over there, we should catch him before he heads out to dinner. We can have the necessary papers drawn up and signed. Then I can arrange a withdrawal for you, Nate. Will that do?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Are you certain, Nate?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I am, Jeb.”

  “All right. Mr. Funston, let’s go.”

  ***

  Realizing Nate was in a difficult situation, it didn’t take long for Judge Stanton to prepare the necessary paperwork, have it signed, witnessed, and filed. Shortly after that was done, Nate left the bank with enough money to purchase a new outfit, as well as a stage ticket to Waco, from where he would make train connections home to Delaware. The stage would not be leaving for three days, so he and Jeb would be staying in San Saba until then.

  “I have to stop by the marshal’s office and let him know there’s a Ranger in town. We generally let the local law know when we’re around. After that I reckon our next stop should be the general store to get you some decent clothes, Nate,” Jeb said. “It’s just down the street. We’ll stop there, then grab some chuck. After that we’ll head for the barber shop for haircuts and baths for both of us, and a shave for me. Been a long time since I’ve had the chance to scrub the trail dust out of my hide. And we’re both lookin’ pretty shaggy. Once all that’s done, we’ll put up Dudley at the livery and figure out a place to stay.” Like most cowboys, Jeb hated to walk, so would use his horse to complete their errands, then stable him. “Does that sound all right to you?”

  “I guess so,” Nate answered.

  “Nate, I know this is a lot for you right now, but you’re handlin’ everything pretty well. Just remember if you need to talk you go right ahead. I’ll be listenin’.”

  “Thanks, Jeb. I’ll be okay, I guess.”

  “You will be. You’re a tougher kid than you realize, Nate. It’ll take time, but you’ll do all right. I’d bet my hat on it. Let’s get to the store. I don’t know about you, but I’m gettin’ hungry.”

  “So am I.”

  “Good. We’ll buy those clothes, then eat.”

  ***

  Jeb helped Nate pick out two pairs of denims, two shirts, a pair of sturdy boots, a red silk neckerchief, two sets of underwear, two pairs of socks, and a black Stetson. Once the purchases were completed, paid for, and wrapped, they headed for a nearby café for dinner of beefsteaks, boiled potatoes, and black eyed peas, with apple pie for dessert. After that, they crossed the street to the barber shop. A bell attached to the door jingled merrily when they opened it.

  “C’mon in, gents,” the barber greeted them. He glanced at the badge on Jeb’s vest. “Ranger, huh? Reckon you’re here for a shave and a haircut, from the looks of you.”

  “For me and the boy both. Baths also. I’m Jeb, and this here’s Nate. I know it’ll be tough workin’ around the
bandage on his head, so just trim him up as best you can.”

  “Sure, of course. I’m Bret Mason. What happened to you son? If you don’t mind my askin’.”

  Nate swallowed hard before replying.

  “Outlaws attacked our ranch. They killed my ma and pa and brother. I got shot and left for dead.”

  “Some of us Rangers have been trailin’ that bunch for quite a while now. Came up on Nate’s place a little too late to help his folks,” Jeb added. “Rest of my patrol’s still after ’em. With any luck they’ve caught ’em by now. I came with Nate to help him get his affairs in order. He’s got no kin left in Texas, so he’s goin’ back home to Delaware to live with his aunt and uncle.”

  “I’m sure sorry to hear that, son,” Mason said. “My prayers will be with you. Won’t be much, but mebbe a trim and hot bath will make you feel a little better. Ranger, who’s goin’ first, you or the boy?”

  “Take care of Nate first. It won’t take as long to trim his hair as it will for my shearin’ and shave.”

  “All right. I’ve already got some water heated. Let me get a couple more kettles started, then I’ll start in on your hair, Nate.”

  Mason disappeared into the back room, then returned a few minutes later.

  “Hop in the chair, Nate. By the time I’m done, your bath will be ready.”

  Mason worked carefully on the boy so as not to cause him any further pain from the bullet wound. He looked at Nate critically once he was done.

  “Not too bad, considerin’,” he said. He held up a mirror for Nate to look in. “What do you think, Nate?”

  “No, it’s not. In fact, it’s just fine.”

  “Good. Now follow me and I’ll finish gettin’ your bath ready.”

  Mason removed the cloth protecting Nate’s clothes and brushed off his neck and shoulders. He led Nate into the back room, where he poured more hot water into a large zinc tub.

  “Soap, washcloth, and towels are on the chair next to the tub,” he said. “More towels on the shelf if you need ’em. Just be careful you don't get those bandages wet. You don't want water soakin' through to the stitches. You can hang your clothes on those pegs. Those new duds in that package?”