A Ranger Redeemed (Lone Star Ranger Book 7)

by James J. Griffin

  “Is that right, Nate? You’re not feeling well?” Bob asked, as he came the rest of the way into the tent.

  “I’m fine,” Nate insisted. “Just feelin’ a mite cold, that’s all.”

  “I’m not so certain about that, Nate,” Bob said, looking more closely at the young Ranger. “You’re lookin’ real pale, and it seems to me you’re shiverin’ pretty hard. Jim, I was afraid of this. Several of the other men are also pretty sick. They’ve got chills, mebbe a fever, and can’t keep anythin’ down. They’re pukin’ their guts out, and what does stay down goes right through ’em like corn through a goose. You mind takin’ a look at ’em?”

  Jim was the company surgeon.

  “Not at all, Bob,” Jim answered. “I’d already given up tryin’ to get some more sleep as a lost cause, anyway.” He got out of bed, quickly dressed, then took his slicker and shrugged into that. Lastly, he picked up the black leather bag which contained his medicines and rudimentary surgical instruments.

  “Nate, you stay right in that bed until I get back to check you over,” he ordered. “And when Eli returns, you tell him he’s to get straight back to bed, and stay there, until I have a chance to look at him, too. Hoot, you make certain they do exactly that.”

  “All right, Jim. I won’t let either of ’em make a move, unless Nate decides he’s got to go, just like Eli,” Hoot answered. “In which case, I sure don’t want him stayin’ here.”

  “Good. Bob, let’s go.”

  Jim followed the lieutenant out of the tent. In his bunk, Nate wrapped his arms around his belly and moaned. His shivering grew more violent, while sweat broke out on his brow.

  “Nate? You all right, pal?” Hoot asked.

  “I…I dunno,” Nate answered. “I’m so hot I feel like my skin’s on fire, and my belly feels like I’ve been punched real hard right in the guts. Right now, I think I just want to curl up and die.”

  ****

  Forty minutes later, Jim returned. By now, Eli was also buried under his blankets, and Hoot was leaning over a bucket in the corner of the tent. He looked up at Jim with glassy eyes.

  “Jim? How’s the rest of the boys?” he asked, then vomited into the bucket.

  “Most of ’em are real sick,” Jim answered.

  “What’s wrong with us?” Eli asked, his teeth chattering.

  “Offhand, I’d say it’s one of two things,” Jim answered. “Either it’s a real bad case of the twenty-four-hour stomach grippe, in which case you’ll start feelin’ better in a day or so, or it’s the influenza. If it’s that, you’ll be feelin’ poorly for more’n a week, probably close to two. Right now, I’d hazard it’s just the grippe, but a real nasty one.”

  “Just how nasty is it?” Nate asked.

  “Let me put it to you this way, Nate,” Jim answered. “It’s so nasty even Carl Swan doesn’t want to eat. He claims he can’t keep nothin’ down.”

  “Carl’s got no appetite?” Hoot said, in disbelief. “That means whatever this sickness is, it’s real bad.”

  He vomited into the bucket once again.

  2

  Unfortunately for Nate and his Ranger companions, Jim’s diagnosis of their illness had been incorrect. Instead of a nasty, but brief, bout with a stomach bug, the men had indeed come down with a particularly vicious, and long lasting, case of influenza. Jim and Lieutenant Bob were the only two men who did not fall victim, even Captain Dave being forced to stay in bed for nearly two weeks. It didn’t take long for many of the outlaw bands still plaguing the Hill Country to figure out that the Rangers were not out on patrol, searching for them.

  Within the two weeks the rugged lawmen were laid low, the outlaws’ raids became bolder. The fear of being discovered by the determined Rangers had kept them at bay, but once they realized there would be no lawmen dogging their trails, the rustlers, robbers, and horse thieves began to raid with impunity.

  Even more unfortunately for Captain Quincy, not only had almost all of his men been laid low by their illness, they recovered from it at different rates, some much more slowly than others. By the time ten days had passed, only a few had recuperated enough to be able to resume riding, and hunting for renegades.

  Reluctantly, as even more reports of outlaw depredations came to him, Captain Quincy decided to send those few back into the field. Since he himself was still flat on his back, and weak as a newborn kitten, he sent Jim for Sergeant Jeb Rollins. A few minutes later, Jeb poked his head into Quincy’s tent.

  “You sent for me, Cap’n Dave?”

  “I sure did, Jeb. C’mon in here,” Quincy answered. He waited until Jeb was inside the tent before continuing. “Take a seat.”

  “All right.” Jeb picked up a battered chair, put it alongside Quincy’s cot, and sat down.

  “Jeb,” Quincy said, “Much as I hate to do it, I’ve got to get some men back on patrol, before the outlaws take over this territory completely. Who do you think is ready to ride? I’ll let you know if I agree.”

  “Lemme think on it a bit, Cap’n,” Jeb answered. He scratched his chin before replying.

  “I reckon I’m one of ’em,” he said.

  “I already know that, Jeb, or I wouldn’t have sent for you,” Quincy retorted. “Who else?”

  “Phil Knight seems to be pretty much recovered,” Jeb said. “Nate Stewart and Hoot Harrison, too.”

  “That’s all?” Quincy said.

  Jeb rubbed his jaw, as he thought for another minute.

  “I’m afraid so, Cap’n. Less’n you can come up with another man or two.”

  Quincy shook his head.

  “No, those are the only ones I could think of. Bob never took sick, of course, but I’ll need him to remain here, in command of the company, until I’m feeling well enough to take charge again. I was kinda hopin’ you’d tell me a few more of the men had recuperated enough to get back to work. You know, it’s funny. Us Rangers can fight off an entire horde of Comanch’, or bring in some of the worst desperadoes in Texas, but there’s not a thing we can do to battle this sickness, seems like.”

  “Did you ask Jim Kelly first?” Jeb questioned. “He’d be the man who can best tell you if anyone else is ready to get back to work. Of course, like Bob, Jim never got sick, so we can add his name to the list.”

  “I did ask Jim, and he confirmed what you just said,” Quincy answered. “The few men who are up and out of their bunks are still far too weak to even think about handin’ ’em an assignment. Jim says the only cure is plenty of rest, and drinkin’ a lot of water. Which means I can’t send Jim out of camp, because he needs to be here until this influenza has run its course.”

  “Then what’re we gonna do, Cap’n? Wait a few more days?”

  Quincy frowned, then shook his head yet again.

  “Four men, two of ’em still kids, and Nate still pretty green in a lot of ways. Four men, to send out against who knows how many desperadoes.”

  “We’ve bucked tough odds before,” Jeb answered.

  “I know we have,” Quincy answered. “Still…” He paused. “All right, Jeb. I don’t have any choice. Go find Knight, Harrison, and Stewart, and bring them here.”

  ****

  The weather had warmed up considerably over the last few days, which at least helped the ill men feel a bit more comfortable. Nate and Hoot were seated on a log in front of their tent, soaking up the warm rays of the sun. Nate was sketching a scene of the camp and the nearby Medina River. They looked up at Jeb’s approach.

  “Hoot, Nate. Come with me,” Jeb called.

  “Somethin’ up, Jeb?” Hoot asked. “You need us?”

  “Not me. Cap’n Dave,” Jeb answered. “He’ll tell you what he wants, soon as we get back to his tent. We’ll stop and pick up Phil on our way.”

  “All right,” Hoot answered. He and Nate replaced their hats on their heads, then pushed themselves to their feet to follow Jeb, Nate carrying his sketch pad and pencils. The tent Phil Knight shared with Ken Demarest, Tom Tomlinson, and Percy Leaping B
uck was on the opposite side of the camp. It took them a couple of minutes to reach it, and go inside.

  Phil was lying on his cot, smoking a cigarette. Ken and Tom were both sound asleep. Neither stirred when their comrades entered. Percy was also in his cot, still sweating profusely, and flushed with fever. Jim was placing a cold, wet cloth on the Tonkawa scout’s forehead.

  “Percy, how are you doin’?” Nate asked.

  Percy shook his head. “Not all that good, Nate. This white man’s sickness hit me real hard.”

  “You gonna be all right?”

  “I honestly don’t know. Ask Jim, here.”

  “Jim?” Nate said.

  “It was real close for a spell, Nate, but I finally believe Percy will recover. It’s just that Indians don’t seem to be able to fight off some of the diseases we white men brought over with us when we first started settlin’ the New World, as Columbus called it. That’s killed more Indians than any bullets.”

  “Jim’s right,” Percy agreed, his voice raspy. “You whites probably never would have been able to conquer us with your guns, knives, and swords, but the illnesses you carry, such as smallpox, have wiped out entire tribes. Not that I’m sayin’ it was done deliberately, but there you have it. However, I’m pretty certain you boys didn’t come over here just to discuss my health.”

  “That’s right, we didn’t,” Jeb said. “Phil, you’ve got to come with us. Cap’n Dave needs to see you.”

  “All right,” Phil said. He swung his legs over the edge of his bunk, sat up, and started to pull on his boots. “I reckon he must have a job for us.”

  “You reckon right,” Jeb said. “I’ll let the cap’n fill you in on it.”

  “Just gimme a minute.”

  Phil finished putting on his boots, then stood up, picked up his gunbelt, and buckled that around his waist, then shoved his hat onto his head.

  “I’m ready,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  Less than a minute later, they were all inside Captain Quincy’s tent.

  “Mornin’, Cap’n Dave,” Phil said, echoed by Hoot and Nate. “You feelin’ any better?”

  “Just a mite,” Quincy answered. “Look, I know it’s crowded, and mighty stuffy, with all of you jammed into this tent, so I won’t take long. To get right to the point, I’ve got to get some men back out on patrol, before rustlers and renegades completely overrun this whole section. It didn’t take ’em long to figure out we weren’t out there lookin’ for ’em. Since you four are the only men I’ve got in anywhere near shape to ride, I want you to head out. I’m not countin’ Jim and Bob. I need them to remain here in camp until the rest of us are back on our feet. Can you handle this job?”

  “We wouldn’t be Rangers if we didn’t,” Jeb answered. “Right, men?”

  The others nodded their assent.

  “There ya go, Cap’n,” Jeb said. “How soon do you want us to ride out, and where?”

  “A week ago wouldn’t have been too soon, Jeb,” Quincy answered, with a weak laugh. “However, since that wasn’t possible, I’d like you to leave right now, if you wouldn’t mind. As far as where, I’ve been receiving reports of cattle rustlin’ and horse stealin’ from just about everywhere in the Hill Country. The worst bunch seems to be workin’ about fifteen or twenty miles west of here, over in the far west reaches of Bandera County, and into Edwards County. I want you to head out that way.

  “Nate, as the other men already know, that’s some real rugged territory. There’s plenty of canyons and draws for outlaws to hide in. It’s pretty well forested, too, which means anyone you’re chasin’ can also fade into the trees and disappear. In addition, there’s no real settlements out that way, only some scattered ranches, and a couple of trading posts. It’s an ideal place for men bent on trouble.”

  “It also sounds like a good area to set up an ambush, Cap’n,” Nate said.

  “You’re absolutely correct, Nate,” Quincy answered. “Sometimes it’s still a wonder to me how fast you’ve learned most of the things a Ranger needs to know…to stay alive.”

  “I’ve had some mighty fine teachers,” Nate replied.

  “I can’t argue with you there,” Quincy said. “Just remember, be careful, all of you. I don’t want any of you catchin’ a bullet in the back. I’m certain you’ll be well outnumbered.”

  “It’s the renegades who should be worried, Cap’n,” Jeb answered. “C’mon, men, let’s saddle up. Cap’n, you just take it easy until you’re all healed. Don’t worry about us. We’ll be just fine.”

  “I’ll do that,” Quincy answered. “Vaya con Dios, and good luck.”

  3

  As Captain Quincy had warned, Jeb and his men had plenty of trouble trying to locate the main band of rustlers plaguing far west Bandera County. They did manage to round up a few individuals, who were working on their own, or with one or two partners; however, the main band of rustlers continued to elude them. A week after leaving the Rangers’ camp, they had stopped for the night in an area of big-toothed maple trees. They’d cared for their horses, eaten supper, and were now sitting around the dying fire, enjoying final cups of coffee before turning in for the night. Jeb, Hoot, and Phil were also smoking quirlies, while Nate was chewing on a piece of grass.

  “I still can’t figure out why Big Red started buckin’ like he did after I let him have that drink earlier today,” Nate said. “He’s never done that before.”

  “I can tell you why,” Hoot answered. “You let him drink spring water, ya idjit. That’s why your cayuse went boing, boing, boing.”

  “Another joke like that and I’ll drown you in spring water,” Phil said, with a groan.

  “Jeb, I’ve got to admit, I certainly never expected to see maple trees like these, not way down here in Texas,” Nate said. “They remind me of back home in Delaware.”

  “They are pretty unusual around these parts, that’s for sure,” Jeb answered. “No one’s really figured out how they started growin’ here, of all places. Some folks have taken to callin’ ’em the Lost Maples. They sure are pretty, though, especially in the fall, when the leaves change colors. And it’s nice and cool under their shade.”

  “Speakin’ of lost, I’d sure like to know how we keep losin’ that band of rustlers we’ve been chasin’,” Phil said. “We keep comin’ almighty close, but they always seem to give us the slip. I’ll bet they’re laughin’ their fool heads off at us, right now.”

  “We keep gettin’ closer, though,” Hoot said. “I have a feelin’ we’ll catch up with ’em in a day or two, at the most. The last rancher we spoke to who lost a bunch of cows said they’d headed this way, two days back. They can’t be too far away. After all, they’ll either be drivin’ that herd, which’ll slow ’em down considerable, or they’ll hole up somewhere to change the brands.”

  “Don’t forget, we want them for murder now, too,” Jeb reminded him. “Don Jackson, who owns those cows, said they gunned down his foreman and two of his cowboys, when they tried to fight ’em off. That ups the ante. And we will find those men. There aren’t too many places close by where they can get rid of those stolen cows. We’ll catch up to them before they have the chance. Count on it.”

  “The Cross DJ won’t be the easiest brand to blot out, either,” Phil pointed out. “If they do get the brands changed before we come up with ’em, it’ll be easy to prove they used a runnin’ iron on the stolen beef. Anyway, I have a feelin’ we’re in for a long chase, and right soon. I’m gonna turn in. G’night, fellers.”

  He and the other men threw their cigarette butts into the fire, drained the last of their coffee, murmured their good nights, and rolled in their blankets. Ten minutes later, they were sound asleep.

  ****

  As always, the Rangers awoke with the sun the next morning. It had barely been an hour after it topped the eastern horizon before they were back in their saddles, once again. They spent the day criss-crossing the labyrinth of hills, canyons, and draws which made up this section of the Hill Country, lo
oking for the trail of the rustlers who had raided the Cross DJ Ranch, stolen more than fifty head of cattle, and killed three men. About an hour before dusk, Jeb called the men to a halt. He pointed to the tracks of a good sized herd of cattle, which headed into a thickly forested, rock-strewn valley, between several low hills.

  “Look at that,” he said. “Those cows didn’t head in there on their own. They’re bein’ driven. The tracks are fresh, too. So are the droppin’s from the cows. I’d say we’ve found our rustlers, and they’re not all that far ahead of us.”

  “And we’d best catch up with ’em before dark, or they’re liable to get away from us again,” Phil said.

  “That ain’t gonna happen,” Jeb answered. “Not this time. We’re gonna go in slow and easy, though, just in case they have a man watchin’ their back trail. Check your weapons, and we’ll move out.”

  Cylinders of revolvers were spun, bullets placed in the empty chambers under the hammers. Rifles’ actions were checked, shells levered and jacked into the chambers. Once that was done, Jeb led his men into the valley, keeping the horses at a slow walk.

  Fifteen minutes later, the smell of wood smoke, and of scorched hide, came to them on the slight breeze drifting through the valley. In addition, they could hear the bawling of cattle.

  “Hold up, boys,” Jeb ordered. He listened for a moment. “I’d say our men figure there’s no one on their trail. They’ve stopped, and I’d hazard they’re changin’ the brand on those rustled cows. We’re about to give ’em the surprise of their lives. However, we’d better go in on foot. Dismount.”

  Silently, the Rangers dismounted. After tying their horses just off the trail, hidden in a grove of trees, they removed their spurs and hung them from their saddlehorns, so their jingling wouldn’t give away the Rangers’ approach.

  “Spread out, and keep a sharp lookout,” Jeb ordered. “Easy, now. We don’t want those hombres to hear us comin’. And don’t do anythin’ until I give the word.”

  The four men separated, Jeb and Hoot taking to the brush on the right side of the trail, Phil and Nate using the cover of scattered boulders and shrubs on the left. They had gone less than a quarter-mile when Jeb motioned them to a stop.