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

by Griffin, James J.

  “And they let your bunch just ride straight up to ’em? I’m findin’ that hard to swallow, Hawkins.”

  “They didn’t do that, no sir. We just stumbled onto ’em, that’s all. They were headin’ south and we were headin’ north. Came upon ’em in an arroyo the trail runs through about forty miles southwest of here. Mort seemed to know the leader, but he didn’t make any introductions. You know how it is, Ranger. You don’t ask questions.”

  “All right, Hawkins. You can get up. Slow and easy.”

  “You believe me, Ranger?”

  “I reckon. But you’re still facin’ a long stretch behind bars for rustlin’. However, it looks like you won’t hang, so as they say, no noose is good noose.”

  Carl and Marshal Holmes winced.

  “Ranger, you oughtta be gut-shot for that joke,” Carl said.

  Dr. Mannion had arrived and examined the shot men while Hawkins was being questioned.

  “What’s the verdict, doc?” Holmes asked.

  “Three of ’em are dead. One’s belly shot. I can try to save him, but it’s not likely.” Mannion looked at Jeb and Carl. “Looks like you two need treating also.”

  “They’re just scratches,” Jeb said.

  “Scratches which could become gangrenous and lead to blood poisoning,” Mannion answered. “Come by my office just so I can check you both out.”

  “All right,” Jeb said. “Soon as we get this hombre behind bars where he belongs. Hawkins, let’s go.”

  Stevenson and his men had tied their horses in front of the Dusty Trail. When Nate, following Jeb and his prisoner, stepped outside one of the mounts lifted its head and whickered. Nate stopped short.

  “Red?”

  The horse whickered again, more loudly.

  “Big Red! It is you.” Nate walked up to the horse, who nuzzled his cheek.

  “That sorrel your brother’s horse, Nate?” Jeb asked.

  “He sure is,” Nate answered. “That’s his saddle, too. Just like his gun, Jonathan burned his initials into the saddle.”

  “Looks like you weren’t tellin’ me the entire truth, Hawkins,” Jeb said. “Were you ridin’ that sorrel?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I was. But I got him from the same fella who sold me the gun. Traded my bay for him. Thought I got the better part of the deal, since my horse was plumb wore out. Guess I was wrong.”

  “I’d say so,” Jeb answered. “Unless you can prove you didn’t know that horse was stolen, you might still be facin’ the noose.

  ***

  Once Hawkins was safely behind bars, Jeb, Nate, and Carl went to Dr. Mannion’s office. Mannion was still working on the outlaw Carl had shot, so they had to wait to have their own wounds treated.

  “I have to say I’m much obliged to the both of you,” Jeb said. “If you hadn’t stepped in, I’d be headed for Boot Hill right about now.”

  “Don’t even mention it, Ranger,” Carl said. “I’m more than happy to see thievin’ skunks like that get what’s comin’ to ’em.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m grateful. And Nate, you showed a lot of grit back in that saloon. I think you just got yourself a new job.”

  “What do you mean, Jeb? I thought you couldn’t come up with any.”

  “I couldn’t, but you did. How’d you like to join the Texas Rangers?”

  “What?”

  “Well, not officially, of course. You’re a mite too young. But I figure I can talk Cap’n Quincy into takin’ you on as a camp helper. You see, me and the rest of the Rangers you met are part of an entire company of men. We’re camped on the San Saba, two days ride southwest of here. We’ve got an old Ranger who’s our camp cook. You’d be his helper, rustlin’ up firewood, helpin’ him cook and clean up, give him a hand with some of the chores. What do you think?”

  “You really mean that?”

  “I’d also add you could learn a lot about Rangerin’ while you’re with us. No guarantees that Cap’n Quincy will take you on, or how long the job will last, but if you’d like to take your chances rather’n headin’ back to Delaware…”

  “I’d take the job if I were you, Nate,” Carl said.

  “You took the words right out of my mouth. Carl. But Jeb, are you sure? I don’t even know how to ride that good. Jonathan was the cowboy, not me.”

  “The only way to learn is by doin’,” Jeb answered. “Which means the best way to learn how to handle a horse is by ridin’ him. And we’ll sure be doin’ a lot of hard ridin’ the next two days. You’ll be sore, but I’d bet my hat you’ll learn fast. You proved yourself today when you took on Hawkins. You’re a man to ride the river with, Nate.”

  “Jim said the same thing too, about me and my brother. What’s that mean, Jeb?”

  “Ride the river with? That means you’re a man who can be absolutely trusted, no matter how tough the goin’ is or how dangerous a situation becomes. It comes from the cattle drives, where fordin’ a herd of cows across a flooded river is about the most dangerous thing a man can face. If you can count on your pard, no matter what, he is a man to ride the river with.”

  “It’s the highest praise you can get in Texas, son,” Carl added. “And I wouldn’t worry. You’ll do just fine.”

  “So would you, Carl. You ever think about joinin’ up with the Rangers?”

  “Me? Heck no. I’m too hair-triggered. Also don’t like bein’ tied down to one outfit. But I appreciate the offer.”

  “Well, if you ever change your mind, just find the nearest Ranger company and sign on. Give ’em my name.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Doctor Mannion emerged from the back room.

  “I’ve done all I can for that man,” he said. “It’s just a matter of time until he’s gone. Carl, I’ll take you next.”

  “All right.”

  Once Carl went in, Jeb turned to Nate.

  “Since you’re not goin’ home after all, you need to write a letter to your aunt and uncle. They need to know what’s happened. We’ll mail it before we leave in the morning.”

  ***

  It was well after midnight before Jeb and Nate returned to the livery and settled down in the loft. Jeb quickly fell asleep, but Nate lay on his back, his mind racing. His emotions churned, from sadness at the loss of his family, to excitement at the thought of riding with the Texas Rangers, to fear deep in his gut. What if Captain Quincy wouldn’t let him work as a helper? Or worse, what if he couldn’t handle the job? Maybe he should just go back to Delaware. That would be the safe, sensible thing to do. No. He could never go back. Either he’d make good in Texas, or he’d die trying.

  5

  “What do you mean, you don’t know how to saddle and bridle a horse?” Jeb asked Nate as they readied to leave San Saba just after nine the next morning. They had waited for the Post Office to open so Nate could mail the letter to his Aunt Ida and Uncle Henry, then stop at the general store for supplies. Now, they were at the livery stable. Nate had the blanket and saddle on Big Red’s back, but was standing with the cinch in his hand, unsure how to fasten it.

  “We never owned a horse back in Delaware. After Jonathan got Big Red he wanted to teach me how, but I never cared to learn,” Nate explained. “Now I regret bein’ so stubborn.”

  “Well, you’re gonna have to learn, and right quick. Let me finish saddlin’ up and I’ll help you.”

  Jeb finished tightening the saddle on Dudley’s back and came over to Nate.

  “I know I checked Red’s feet for you, so we won’t worry about those,” he said. “But tonight you’re gonna get a lesson on how to care for your horse, Nate. Out here a man has to depend on his horse for his very life. That’s why horse stealin’ is a hangin’ offense. If you steal a man’s horse and leave him afoot, you might as well have signed his death warrant. Now here, let me show you. At least you’ve got the saddle on Red’s back, rather’n under his belly.” Jeb stopped and chuckled. “And you’ve got the saddle just about where it belongs. You should move it up a bit more over your horse’
s withers, though. That’s this here high point above his shoulders.” Jeb moved the saddle forward a couple of inches. “There, that’s better. See how the saddle fits right over his withers? That helps keep it in place. You’ve got the cinch strap in your hand, looped through the cinch’s buckle, and the cinch is under Red in just about the right spot. You pull up the strap into the buckle on the saddle, under the buckle then over it, then slide it to the left. So far so good, right?”

  “Right, Jeb.”

  “Good. Now you bring the strap back around and over the front of the buckle, to the right. Bring it back under the buckle, keep it behind the loop you just made, then pull it down. That’ll tighten it up. If there’s too much strap left, you can either run it through the buckles on each end twice before makin’ the knot, or just make a loop of the extra and tuck it in. Easy enough, right?”

  “Seems to be.”

  “And it is, except for one thing you’ve always gotta watch out for. A lotta horses’ll suck in air to blow up their belly when you’re tightenin’ the cinch. Then, when they let it out, the cinch ain’t so tight around their belly. More comfortable for them. Problem with that is, with a loose cinch, the saddle’ll slip sideways as soon as you step in the stirrup; or worse, it’ll slip a bit later, while you’re lopin’ along. Next thing you know, you’re on the ground, seein’ stars, while your horse is runnin’ off, kickin’ at the saddle—which is now underneath him. He’ll probably wreck the saddle, and you’ll be facin’ a long walk, if you didn’t break your neck. You want your cinch to be tight, with just enough room so your horse can breathe easy.”

  “So, how do I stop him from blowin’ up his belly?”

  “There’s a couple of ways. Lotta men’ll either give their horse a kick or knee in the belly. That’ll knock the air outta him, but I feel it’s kinda cruel. When you spend as much time with your horse as us Rangers do, you want to be friends with him, not have him scared of you—or worse, fightin’ you all the time. So what I do is, either circle him around a few times, or walk him a few steps. He’ll naturally let the air out, then you can tighten the cinch. Watch.”

  Jeb led Red around him in a tight circle.

  “See, now you can tighten the cinch just fine.” He pulled on the cinch strap to take up the slack.

  “Wow. That was really loose,” Nate said.

  “Which is why you always check your cinch twice before mountin’ up. Now, you buckle the breast strap in place. That keeps the saddle from slidin’ back. Then we have the back cinch. Some men only use one, but I see your brother used a double cinch. I prefer that too. Second cinch just keeps the saddle a little more stable if your horse bucks or you’re ridin’ over rough terrain. But you don’t want to tighten that one as tight. It’s not the main cinch keepin’ the saddle in place. Since it’s right by your horse’s flanks, which are real sensitive, he won’t tolerate it bein’ too tight. Or if it’s back too far, you pull it up and it hits his— um—privates, he’s sure gonna take a buckin’ fit. Now, Red’s a gelding, so that’s not quite the problem it would be if he were still a stud, but that back cinch in the wrong place could really be painful, as you can imagine.”

  Nate winced.

  “There, the cinches are all set,” Jeb continued. “Now, the bridle. That’s real easy. You hold it up so the headstall is just in front of Red’s ears. That’s a good boy, Red. Then you slip the bit in his mouth.”

  “Won’t he bite me?”

  “Not if you do it right. Here, see this gap between his teeth?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If he doesn’t open his mouth, you slide your fingers in there, both sides. He’ll open wide, and you slip the bit right in. It sits in that gap. Then you slide the headstall over his ears, buckle the throatlatch in place, and you’re all set. Think you can do that next time?”

  “I’m sure I can.”

  “Good. Now get up on Red, and I’ll check the length of your stirrups.”

  Nate put his foot in the stirrup and swung up on Red’s back. Once he settled in the saddle, his feet barely reached the top of the stirrups.

  “Like I thought, they’re too long for you. Your brother was taller, right?”

  “Yeah, he was,” Nate confirmed.

  “You want your stirrups set so your knees are just slightly bent. Here, I’ll adjust them for you.”

  Jeb shortened the left stirrup.

  “There. How’s that?”

  “That feels fine.”

  “Good. I’ll fix the other one, then we’ll head on out.”

  Once Nate’s stirrups were set, Jeb mounted his own horse. He urged Dudley into a walk.

  “You want to keep your horse to a walk for a half-mile or so until he warms up, Nate,” he explained. “Only time you make an exception to that is if you’re in a real hurry, like if you’re after a band of outlaws who’ve just robbed a bank, or say Comanches have discovered your camp and you need to outrun ’em. In that case, you get your horse movin’ as fast as you can, right off.”

  Jeb glanced at Nate and pulled his paint to a stop.

  “Hold on a minute.”

  “Why? What’s wrong, Jeb?”

  “Why’re you holdin’ your reins like that?”

  Nate had a rein in each hand and his elbows sticking out.

  “Isn’t that how?”

  “No, it’s not. You take both reins in the left hand, or right if you happen to be left-handed, which you ain’t. You can’t fire a gun or toss a rope if both your hands are busy holdin’ the reins. Make your hand into a fist. Let the reins lie in your palm. And don’t have your elbows flappin’ all over the place like a scarecrow.”

  Nate took the reins in his left hand, holding it just over the saddlehorn.

  “How’s this?”

  “Much better. You might want to loosen up on the reins just a bit. A loose rein is generally easier on both you and your horse, unless he’s actin’ up. Now, you take the left rein and lay it against the left side of his neck if you want him to turn right, or the right rein against the right if you want him to turn left. At the same time, press your knee against his side in the direction you want him to turn… left knee for a left turn, right for a right. You got that?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do.”

  “You’ll get the hang of it. Easier to keep your balance if you look toward the horizon. And don’t be admirin’ your shadow while you ride. Shadow-riders only make a fool of themselves, sooner or later. By the time we reach camp, you’ll either be a rider or you won’t. Let’s keep movin’.”

  Jeb out his paint into a walk once again. They had only gone a short distance when Nate’s horse stopped. His tail lifted. Jeb rode on a few yards before he realized Nate was not keeping up. He turned and called to him.

  “What’re you stoppin’ for now, Nate?”

  “I didn’t. Red did. He stopped to poop.”

  Sure enough, Big Red had just deposited a large, odiferous mound of manure in the middle of the trail.

  “He doesn’t need to stop to poop. Keep him movin’ when he needs to go. Last thing you need is a horse that stops to poop when you’re in the middle of a running gun battle. Only time you let your horse stop is when he needs to pee. In that case, stand up in your stirrups and lean forward. That takes pressure off his kidneys and makes it easier for him to go.”

  “What if we’re in the middle of a runnin’ gunfight or bein’ chased by Indians when he needs to pee?”

  “He’s probably not gonna pee while he’s runnin’,” Jeb answered, with a chuckle, “But if he does, your legs are gonna get splashed. Now get him movin’. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before nightfall.”

  Half a mile later, Jeb put Dudley into a jogtrot. Nate’s horse matched the pace, then began to buck.

  “Jeb!” Nate yelled.

  “Stick with him, Nate. He’s just feelin’ good and workin’ the kinks outta his back. Most horses do when they’re startin’ out and feelin’ good. He’ll stop in a minute.” Underneath him
, Dudley also let out a few well-timed bucks, then settled into a steady stride.

  “See what I mean? You rode him just fine, pardner.”

  “Yeah. I did, didn’t I?” Nate grinned from ear to ear.

  A few minutes later, Jeb increased their pace to a lope, a gait which would cover a lot of ground quickly, yet still conserve the horses as much as possible. While they rode along, Nate’s appreciation for the rugged beauty of Texas, which had escaped his notice until now, grew. The sky was a deep clear blue, not fouled by the smoke from the factories and DuPont’s gunpowder plants like back in Wilmington. The land was level to gently rolling, sometimes cut by a dry wash or shallow ravine, and interspersed with an occasional low hill. The vegetation was mostly scrub brush and cactus, with mesquite that grew in many cases as large as small trees. Where they rode closer to the San Saba, there were cottonwoods, pin oaks, and junipers, even an infrequent cypress.

  The further they rode, the more Nate felt as one with his horse. He had Jonathan’s gunbelt buckled around his waist. The weight of the heavy Smith and Wesson on his right hip and the Bowie knife in the sheath on his left felt natural, as if they’d always belonged there. Jonathan’s Winchester was also in the saddle boot.

  If I ever want to be a Ranger, I’m gonna have to learn how to shoot that rifle, Nate thought. His reverie was interrupted by Jeb’s voice.

  “Nate, a man’s gotta be aware of his surroundings at all times out here,” Jeb said. “That goes double for a lawman, especially a Ranger, so I’m gonna teach you to read sign as much as I can while we’re ridin’. See that fella up there?”

  Jeb pointed to a large bird wheeling in the sky.

  “He’s a red-tailed hawk. And see those over there?”

  He indicated several black birds circling and descending in the distance, off to the right.

  “Yep, I see ’em.”

  “Those are buzzards. Somethin’s dead in the brush out there. We’ll ride over and take a looksee, just in case it’s a human. Just keep in mind, birds can tell you a lot. A jay screamin’ or flock of crows burstin’ out of the trees means somethin’s stirred ’em up, and that somethin’ could well be a drygulcher waitin’ to put a bullet in your back.”