Lone Star Ranger
Volume 7
A Ranger Redeemed
James J. Griffin
A Ranger Redeemed by James J. Griffin
Copyright 2016 by James J. Griffin
Cover design by Livia J. Washburn
Texas Ranger badge image courtesy of the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum, Waco
Author photo credited to Susanne Onatah
All Rights Reserved
Painted Pony Books
www.paintedponybooks.com
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Lone Star Ranger:
A Ranger to Ride With
A Ranger to Reckon With
A Ranger to Fight With
A Ranger’s Christmas
A Ranger to Stand With
A Ranger Gone Bad
A Ranger Redeemed
For Everyone Who Loves Trains, Cowboys, Texas Rangers, and Horses. Not necessarily in that order.
Prologue
Nate Stewart ran the currycomb over his sorrel gelding’s neck, then leaned against the big horse’s shoulder. Big Red, who had originally been Nate’s older brother’s horse, twisted his head around to nuzzle Nate’s cheek.
“You all right, Nate?” Hoot Harrison, Nate’s best friend and riding partner asked, from where he was grooming his own lineback dun, Sandy. “You seem a bit quiet tonight.”
“Nah, I’m doin’ okay,” Nate answered. “I’m fine. Just doin’ a bit of thinkin’, is all. But thanks for askin’.”
“Well, don’t do too much of that there thinkin’,” Hoot said, with a laugh. “You’ll burn your brain out, ya idjit, and you sure don’t have much of it to spare. I’m about done here. You ready to head back for some grub? George’ll have supper just about dished out. If we keep him waitin’, he’ll throw out our bacon and beans…or the other boys will beat us to ’em.”
“You go on ahead, Hoot,” Nate answered. “I’ll be along in just a bit.”
“Don’t take too long, y’hear?” Hoot answered. “I’ll try’n hold some grub aside for you. Or if I get tired of waitin’ for you to finally wander over to the fire, I’ll go ahead and eat it all myself.”
“I appreciate that,” Nate answered. “I won’t be much longer. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Okay, Nate. See you later.”
Once Hoot was out of earshot, Nate resumed talking to his horse.
“I’ll bet you never expected to see everythin’ that’s happened to us over the past year or so, Red, did you?” he murmured. “I know I certainly didn’t.”
During the past months, Nate’s life had been turned upside down. He’d never expected to be uprooted from his comfortable life in Wilmington, Delaware, to land on a small, hardscrabble ranch on the Texas frontier. However, that was exactly what had happened, when his father, a soft-spoken accountant by trade, decided to answer the call of adventure speaking to him and bought a small spread, on the dusty plains outside of San Saba.
Nate had hated Texas in general, and the ranch in particular, from the moment he’d laid eyes on them. His hatred grew into absolute loathing for the place after an outlaw raid on the ranch killed his father, mother, and older brother, Jonathan. Those same men had also shot Nate and left him for dead.
However, Fate intervened, in the form of a company of Texas Rangers who rode up to the ranch just after the attack. They found Nate, treated his wounds, and nursed him back to health. With his family gone, the decision was made to send Nate back to Delaware, to live with his aunt, uncle, and eight cousins—a decision which didn’t sit well with Nate. However, there was no apparent alternative. Besides, as far as Nate was concerned, returning East was still a far better choice than staying in Texas, where he had nothing left.
But, while waiting for the stage to Waco, which would take him to the nearest railroad and a train to Wilmington, Nate realized he didn’t care to go back to his old life, after all. Instead, he wanted to remain in Texas, and avenge the deaths of his family. That didn’t appear possible, until once again, Fate intervened, and Nate saved the life of Texas Ranger Jeb Rollins.
Jeb decided right then and there that Nate had the guts, and the brains, to become a Texas Ranger, despite Nate’s own misgivings. Nate was only fourteen, four years below the Rangers’ minimum enlistment age of eighteen.
Jeb took Nate back to his Texas Ranger company, and convinced Captain David Quincy, the company’s commanding officer, to put Nate on as a probationary Ranger.
Quincy skirted the age requirement by listing Nate’s age as unknown, something which was not uncommon on the Western frontier, where birth records were notoriously unreliable.
Since then, Nate had seen the outlaws who murdered his family tracked down by the Rangers. He himself had put two fatal bullets into the gang’s leader. He’d been taught how to care for and ride a horse, how to fight and shoot, and how to survive in the rugged, unforgiving land that was Texas.
He’d learned how to handle liquor…at least, sort of. A couple of bouts with a bottle of tequila had left him deathly sick one time, and had gotten him and Hoot into deep trouble on another occasion. He’d faced bank robbers, renegade Indians, marauding buffalo hunters, storms, raging rivers, and blue norther blizzards—and just about everything else Texas could throw at him, including the most frightening thing of all… women.
Nate still had misgivings about exactly what to do with a female.
Most recently, Nate had just finished posing as a Ranger turned renegade, so he could work his way into a large gang of rustlers plaguing the Texas Hill Country. The ploy, thought up by Captain Quincy, had worked almost to perfection. The rustlers had indeed been rounded up, some of them killed in a gun battle with the Rangers, the rest ensconced in jail.
However, that was only one gang of many, albeit the largest. There were still plenty more outlaw bands wreaking havoc in the Hill Country, and it was the Rangers’ job to ferret them out. It seemed they would be stationed in the region for quite some time to come.
Nate gave Red a final swipe of the currycomb, then fed him a piece of leftover biscuit.
“You rest easy, pal,” he said to the horse. “I’ll see you in the mornin’.”
1
Nate wandered over to the campfire, where the rest of the men were already working on their supper.
“It’s about time you showed up for your chuck, Nate,” George Bayfield, the company cook, said. “Carl’s been salivatin’ over it. I’m not certain how much longer I could’ve held him off.”
“If you don’t want it, Nate, I’d be happy to take it off your hands,” Carl Swan said.
“Only if you shoot me first, Carl,” Nate answered. “Oh, wait a minute. You already did that once.”
Carl had slightly wounded Nate when, while posing as that outlaw Ranger, Nate had escaped from jail, and snuck back into the Ranger camp to retrieve his horse.
“You ain’t gonna let me live that down, are you?” Carl said.
“Not for a long time,” Nate answered, grinning. He sat on a log, alongside Hoot.
“How’s the grub tonight, Hoot?” he asked.
“It’s bacon, beans, and biscuits, like it is just about every night,” Hoot answered. “What d’ya expect it’s like?”
“Well, I was kinda hopin’ George hadn’t burned the biscuits for once,” Nate answered.
“Sorry to say, you figured wrong,” Hoot answered. “The bottoms are
burnt black, as usual.”
He and Nate settled to their supper. While they ate, a stiff northerly breeze sprang up, and the temperature dropped noticeably.
“It’s gonna be a chilly one tonight, seems like,” Sean Wehner said.
“It’s gonna rain before mornin’, too. I can smell it,” Percy Leaping Buck, the company’s Tonkawa Indian scout, added. “It could be a real gullywasher. Cap’n, unless there’s a pressin’ need to send any of the men out tomorrow, I’d recommend you keep them all in camp. There’s liable to be some real wicked flash floods in the hills and draws. There’s no point in riskin’ losin’ a man unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“That’s not a bad idea, Percy,” Captain Quincy answered. “We’ve been ridin’ hard, and all of us could use some rest. So can the horses. We might as well take advantage of the weather to get some. Men, once you’re finished eating, and the dishes are cleaned up, you’re all dismissed for the night, and for the day tomorrow. I strongly suggest you use the time to catch up on some of your sleep. George, don’t worry about cookin’ tomorrow. We can go for one day on leftovers and hardtack. Just keep the coffee pot goin’.”
“I purely appreciate that, Cap’n Dave,” George answered. “Seems like whenever the men get a day off, no one ever remembers the cook. He could also use a little time to himself. But does the poor cook ever get that? No, he hardly ever does. Not with so many empty bellies to fill.”
“Aw, George, quit your bellyachin’,” Ken Demarest said. “At least you don’t have to spend anywhere near as much time on the back of a horse as the rest of us.”
“Leave George alone, Ken,” Phil Knight scolded. “He has the right to a good bellyache once in a while, too. After all, his grub sure gives the rest of us enough of ’em.”
Phil laughed, while George glared at him.
“If you don’t like my grub, you can just fend for yourself from now on, Phil,” he grumbled.
“George, take it easy. Phil was just joshin’ you. We all do appreciate the hard work you do, keepin’ this outfit fed, no matter how difficult the circumstances,” Lieutenant Bob Berkeley said. “As far as the rest of the men go, you won’t have to say that twice, Cap’n,” he continued. “Every last one of us is plumb wore out. A day of lazin’ around will do us all some good, includin’ you.”
Several of the other men murmured their agreement.
After finishing their meal, and helping George with the dishes, Nate and Hoot checked on their horses one last time, then headed for their tent. Jim Kelly and Eli Strauss, their tent mates, were already lying on their cots, sound asleep. Nate and Hoot undressed, slid under their own blankets, and soon added their snores to those of Jim and Eli.
****
Nate was awakened the next morning by the sound of large raindrops beating on the canvas roof of the tent. The dim light indicated the sun had risen, but with the clouds and rain it was still fairly dark. His three tent mates were still sound asleep. The inclement weather had also brought much cooler temperatures, so they, as was Nate, were huddled under their blankets. Nate stretched, and his bare feet popped out from under his covers. He shivered, and quickly pulled his feet back under the blankets.
“What’s the matter, Nate?” Hoot called, from his bunk opposite his partner’s. He also had now been awakened by the rain, which was coming down even more heavily, the drops sounding like so many shots from a Gatling gun on the tent’s canvas. “Are you a mite chilly?”
“I’m more’n just a mite chilly,” Nate answered. “It’s downright cold in this tent.”
“Downright cold, Nate?” Hoot said. “Not ‘I have just the slightest bit of a chill.’? You really have pretty much gotten the Yankee out of your talk. Anyone listenin’ to you would be hard pressed to figure out you ain’t a native son of Texas. But it ain’t all that cold. You’d think a Northerner like you would be able to handle a bit of a chill.”
He stuck his own feet out from under his blanket.
“See, my feet ain’t cold at all. But now that I’m lookin’ at ’em, have you ever considered the wonder of the human foot, Nate?”
“Considered the what, of the which?” Nate asked.
“The wonder of the human foot,” Hoot repeated.
“No, I have to admit, that’s one subject I haven’t given much thought,” Nate answered. “Don’t plan to, either. You’ve been lyin’ around camp too long, pard. Your brain’s been addled.”
“Well, you should, pardner,” Hoot said. He twisted his feet side to side, then back and forth, flexing his ankles. “The human foot is a pure marvel, a wonder to behold. Sure, lots of critters have feet, like our horses, with their hooves, and cows, with their split hooves. Those hooves are basically overgrown fingernails, and support the animal’s weight, but that’s about all they do. Now, you take a human foot. It holds us up, but it can also carry us for miles. It can take a lot of bendin’ and twistin’. You can jump on it, bounce on it, Skip to My Lou on it, and dance on it.”
“You can shoot yourself in it, too,” Nate broke in.
“Well, there is that, but it ain’t likely, if you’re anywhere near handy with a gun. You’d have to be a plumb idjit to plug yourself in your own dang foot. And the toes,” Hoot continued, wiggling his.
“You can curl ’em up, or you can wiggle ’em, or scratch parts of yourself with your toenails, at least the parts you can reach with your foot. And if you lose one or two toes, say by gettin’ ’em shot off, or mebbe cuttin’ ’em off when you miss a swing of the axe while you’re choppin’ firewood, you’ve still got some more left to help keep you upright. It don’t work that way for a horse or cow. They lose a hoof, and it’s a bullet in the head. Yes, sirree, the human foot is one of the Good Lord’s greatest creations.”
“If you say so, Hoot,” Nate answered. “I wouldn’t let Cap’n Dave or Lieutenant Bob, or even Sergeant Jeb for that matter, hear you carryin’ on about your feet like that. They’d decide for certain you have too much time on your hands, and would be bound to find you some more chores to keep you occupied. Probably ones that would keep you on your feet all day.”
“You can also smell up a tent with your feet, somethin’ awful,” Eli, who had now also awakened, said from his bunk. “Hoot, will you please get those things back under your covers, or at least put your socks and boots on? Whooee, your feet smell like a three-day-old dead fish, or like mebbe they’ve been sprayed by a polecat. I’m about to pass out from the stench.”
“They don’t smell all that bad, Eli,” Hoot protested. “I stuck ’em in the river, not more’n four or five days ago. Changed my socks just a week ago, too.”
“I know another thing you can do with your feet,” Jim Kelly said, annoyance in his voice. “You can slide ’em in your boots, then give an hombre a good, swift kick in his butt. That’s what’s about to happen to you three if you don’t shut up already. Your yammerin’ woke me up. Here we’ve finally got a day to sleep in, and y’all are jabberin’ away like a flock of magpies. I can’t believe it. So, either turn over and go back to sleep, or get out of this tent and let a man get some more much needed shut-eye.”
“Sorry, Jim,” Hoot said. “You’re right. We’ll be back on the trail before you know it. Since it’s rainin’ like the devil, I reckon we’ll just take your advice, and go back to sleep.”
“I’d like to do just that, but speakin’ of makin’ a stench, I’ve got to use the latrine, and right quick, or else this tent won’t be fit to live in,” Eli said. “Any of you got any newspaper left?”
“Uh-uh. I sure don’t,” Nate said. “Hoot?”
“I don’t have any either,” Hoot said. “How about some of those advertisin’ flyers from the general store in town?”
“They’re all gone, also. I used up what was left of ’em last night,” Nate said. “Jim, do you have anythin’ Eli could use to clean up with, after he goes?”
“No, I sure don’t,” Jim answered.
“How about a couple pages from one of you
r books? One you’re done readin’?” Eli suggested.
“You’d have to shoot me first, before I gave up any of my books,” Jim, who was an avid reader, said. His voice held a laugh, but his eyes showed he meant exactly what he said. “I can’t bring more’n a couple with me when we’re out in the field, and I sure ain’t gonna give any of ’em up just so you can wipe your butt, kid. So, you can try to use one of my books, but you’d better have your gun in your hand when you do…because I’ll sure have mine out, and pointed straight at you. I’d suggest you settle for some leaves, or moss, or whatever you can find.”
“All right, all right. I get the hint,” Eli said. “I’ll find somethin’. Y’know, a man who came up with some kinda paper on rolls, meant just for use in the privy, could make himself a fortune. Mebbe I’ll do just that.”
“You can think on it while you’re settin’ in the latrine,” Nate pointed out.
“Which I’d better do, right now,” Eli answered. He sat up and pulled on his boots, not bothering with his socks, shirt, or even his hat to protect him from the downpour, and headed out of the tent at a trot.
“Mebbe now I can finally get back to sleep,” Jim said. He rolled back onto his stomach and pulled the blanket over his head. He had no sooner done this when Lieutenant Bob stuck his head in the tent flap.
“You fellers awake in here?” he asked.
“Sorta,” Hoot muttered.
“Well, I hate to disturb you, but are any of you feelin’ poorly?” Bob asked. “A bit under the weather, although I hate to use that expression, bein’ as we have a real frog-strangler of a storm goin’ on out here.”
“No, we’re all fine, Bob. Why do you ask?” Jim said.
“Hold on a minute, Jim,” Hoot broke in. “Nate only a couple minutes ago told me he’s got a real chill, and Eli just this minute rushed outta here like his britches was on fire, sayin’ he had to go real bad, and right now.”
A Ranger Redeemed (Lone Star Ranger Book 7) Page 1
