Nate looked at the ground, and scuffed the dirt with the toe of his boot.
“Yeah, I reckon,” he muttered.
“You should listen to the kid, Ranger,” Gomez said.
“Not a chance,” Jeb answered. “He’s a good hombre, and a fine Ranger, but he’s still got a ways to go. Still a bit green behind the ears. And he’s an Easterner, so he’s still learnin’ how we do things out here in the West. Besides, as your pard said, we ain’t in any shape to haul your worthless butts all the way to Bandera.”
“I still don’t like it,” Nate said.
“I didn’t say you had to like it, Nate,” Jeb answered, as gently as possible. “None of us do. But I’d hazard you’d like it even less if we lost these men, or worse, they got loose when we got too weak to keep a good eye on ’em, and killed us, which would more likely happen. They wouldn’t hesitate to put bullets in us, given half a chance, just like they did to Phil. It’s over twenty miles to Bandera, We wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in Hades to get these men that far. In fact, lookin’ at you, I doubt you’d make five miles. I’m guessin’ the bullet that creased your head just might’ve given you a concussion. We sure can’t chance lettin’ these hombres escape. Do you understand what I’m sayin’?”
“Yeah, I guess I do,” Nate conceded. However, the tone of his voice said otherwise. He clearly wasn’t convinced.
“Good. Now go give Hoot a hand roundin’ up a couple of those horses, so we can get this over with, and take care of Phil,” Jeb ordered.
“Yessir, Sergeant,” Nate replied. Slowly, he started for where Hoot was attempting to round up two of the still skittish horses. By the time he reached his partner, Hoot had caught one of the animals.
“What’re you doin’ here, Nate?” he asked. “And what’s wrong? Although I have a pretty good idea what’s troublin’ you.”
“Jeb told me to help you catch the horses,” Nate answered. “Hoot, do you know he’s gonna hang those two rustlers?”
“Sure I know it,” Hoot answered. “Seen it done a couple of times before.”
“And it doesn’t bother you?”
“Of course it bothers me, Nate. Let me give you some advice, pardner. Don’t ever let killin’ a man, no matter how it’s done, stop botherin’ you. Sure, you get sorta used to it after a while. It’s a necessary part of what we do…ugly, but necessary. So, accept that, but don’t ever let havin’ to kill a man stop botherin’ you. Because when you do, you’ll be the same kinda feller as the outlaws we round up. Remember that.”
“Gracias, Hoot. Y’know, you’re a sight smarter hombre than I ever figured.”
“There you go, speakin’ Texan again, instead of Yankee. And it’s about time you noticed I’ve got some brains to go along with this handsome face. Thanks for the compliment. Now, help me catch another cayuse. The quicker we get this job done, the better.”
With Nate’s help, Hoot was able to quickly corner another horse, and grab its reins. They led the animals back to where Jeb was waiting.
“Nate, this isn’t gonna be pleasant,” Jeb said, as he took the lariats off the horses’ saddles. “If you don’t want to watch, I’ll understand. However, I’d recommend you do. You’re gonna have to see a man hung sooner or later. We’ve all had to. If I were you, I’d see this through.”
“All right, Sergeant.”
“I’d hoped you’d say that,” Jeb answered. “Hold these horses, will you?”
“Okay.” Nate took the reins of the horse Hoot was leading.
Jeb handed Hoot one of the ropes. They both started tying a hangman’s knot. Once they were finished, the ropes were tossed over the thickest branch of a live oak, the ends tied around the trunk of another.
“You’re really…gonna hang us…Ranger?” Hardy stammered.
“That’s the general idea,” Jeb answered. “You two, and the rest of your outfit, killed at least four good men, includin’ my pard, Phil. We rode together for a long time. Add in the rustlin’ you’ve done, and probably some other stealin’ and killin’, and you boys are only gettin’ what’s been comin’ to you. If we were able to bring you to court, you’d still hang. This way, you won’t have to think about it as long. If I were you, I’d take the last few minutes you’ve got to make your peace with God, if you’re so inclined. Either of you have any kin you want notified?”
“Not me,” Hardy said.
“Me neither,” Gomez answered.
Jeb shrugged. “If that’s the way you want it. Nate, hold the horses, while me’n Hoot get these two hombres in the saddles.”
Nate just nodded. Jeb and Hoot pulled the two prisoners to their feet, then helped them on the horses.
“Either one of you have anythin’ to say? Last chance,” Jeb said.
“I’d just like a last smoke, if you wouldn’t mind, Ranger,” Gomez said.
“Same here,” Hardy added.
“That’s reasonable,” Jeb answered. He took the makings from his vest pocket, rolled two quirlies, stuck them between the outlaws’ lips, took a lucifer from his shirt pocket and struck it to life on his belt buckle, then lit the smokes.
“Let’s get this done,” he said. “Nate, give Hoot the reins of Hardy’s horse.”
Silently, Nate handed the reins to Hoot. The horses were led under the branch from which the ropes hung. Once they were positioned, Jeb placed a noose over each man’s neck, then tightened them. Hardy was now sweating profusely, while Gomez just stared straight ahead.
“Hoot, gimme your hat,” Jeb requested.
Wordlessly, Hoot handed him his battered, sweat and dirt stained Stetson. Jeb took off his own hat and walked behind the horses, a hat in each hand.
“Drop the reins and get outta the way, boys,” Jeb ordered.
Nate and Hoot let go of the horses and moved to one side.
“Hyahh!” Jeb slapped both horses on their rumps with the hats. The startled animals leapt ahead, running out from under Hardy and Gomez. The two outlaws dropped, then were brought up short when the ropes around their necks stopped their fall. Their necks snapped, and both men died almost instantly, their bodies swaying slightly in the soft breeze.
Nate stumbled behind a tree, fell to his knees, and vomited. Hoot started after him.
“Wait here, Hoot.” Jeb put a restraining hand on his arm. “Give him a few minutes. Once he’s ready, we’ll cut down the bodies, and drag ’em over by the others. While we’re waitin’ for Nate, get the whiskey and bandages out of my saddlebags, and my canteen, so we can patch ourselves up. Once we see to our hurts, we’ll take care of Phil and Parker.”
****
The bodies of the two rustlers were taken down, along with the others moved off the trail to where they were hidden from view. Once that was done, the three Rangers finally checked over their own wounds.
“Hoot, can you wait until I look over Nate?” Jeb asked. “I don’t like how pale he is, and his eyes are kinda glassy lookin’.”
“Sure, Jeb. The bleedin’s mostly stopped,” Hoot answered.
“I’m doin’ fine, Sergeant,” Nate protested. “The bullet only creased my head.”
“You just let me be the judge of that,” Jeb said. “You’re walkin’ a mite shaky, too. And why’re you callin’ me Sergeant all of sudden?”
“I dunno,” Nate said. “Except it seems like you’re barkin’ orders like one.”
“Okay, now I understand. You’re still angry over me bein’ a bit rough on you. Nate, I had to be. If you start goin’ soft out here, you’re gonna wind up dead. We can’t afford to take chances with the men we’re dealin’ with. If you can’t handle that, then it’d be best if you quit the Rangers, right now. I don’t believe you want that. Do you?”
“No, sir, I sure don’t.”
“Good. Then stop callin’ me Sergeant, take off your hat, and let me check that head wound. I don’t like the way you puked, either.”
“That wasn’t because I got shot,” Nate answered, as he pulled off his Stetson. “
My stomach got a bit queasy when I saw those men drop, that’s all. I didn’t expect it to happen so fast.”
“It’s better that way, son,” Jeb explained. “You don’t want a man hangin’ from the end of a rope, slowly chokin’ to death. It’s better that his neck breaks, so he dies fast. Now, hold still.”
Jeb pushed Nate’s hair back from his forehead. The bullet had hit him just above his right temple.
“You’re gonna need a few stitches, Nate,” he said. “But I’m gonna let that wait a bit.” He looked up at the sky. “I figure we’ll get patched up, take care of Phil, then ride for the Cross DJ. We should make it there before midnight. We’ll let Mrs. Jackson care for us properly at the ranch. She’ll be able to do a much better job than I can, out here on the trail. Right now, I’ll just wash out your scalp, douse the wound with whiskey, and tie a bandage around your head. All right?”
“All right.”
Jeb poured water from his canteen into the wound, to wash out bits of flesh and dried blood. Nate winced when Jeb poured the whiskey into the bullet slash. The raw liquor burned like fire. Jeb took one of the scraps of cloth Hoot had retrieved from his saddlebags, and tied it around Nate’s head.
“That’ll hold you for now, Nate,” he said. “I dunno how good your hat’s gonna sit over that bandage, though. And you make certain to tell me if you start feelin’ woozy or stomach sick, y’hear?”
“Sure…Jeb,” Nate answered.
“That’s better. You just rest while I take care of Hoot.”
“Okay.”
“Hoot, let me take a look at you now,” Jeb ordered. “Roll up your shirt sleeve.”
Hoot rolled up his sleeve, to reveal a bullet hole through the fleshy part of his upper left arm.
“You’ll need some stitches, too,” Jeb said. “Like I did with Nate, I’m just gonna bandage you for now. I’ll pour some tobacco in that hole to pack it, soak it with whiskey, then tie a bandage around it. Once that’s done, I’ll take care of your leg.”
“Do what you have to,” Hoot answered. “It ain’t like I haven’t taken a bullet before.”
Jeb washed out the wound, then poured whiskey into it, causing Hoot to groan with the pain. He then sprinkled tobacco into the hole, doused it with more whiskey, and tied a bandage around it.
“You can roll your sleeve back down now,” he said. “I’ll put that arm in a sling. Then drop you denims, unless you want me to cut your pants leg open.”
“I can’t let you do that,” Hoot said. “We don’t get paid for another three weeks, so I won’t have the money to buy a new pair until then. I’ll have to sew these the first chance I get.”
He rolled his sleeve back down, and took his bandana off his neck, so Jeb could use it as a makeshift sling. Once his arm was wrapped in the sling, he lowered his pants. The bullet groove in the upper part of his right leg was bloody, but not deep.
“I’m just gonna clean this out, and tie a bandage around it,” Jeb said. “It’s not much more than a bad scratch.”
“Okay,” Hoot said.
It only took a minute for Jeb to wash out the wound, pour some whiskey on it, then tie a bandage around Hoot’s leg.
“That’ll do for now,” he said, once the bandage was in place. “You can pull your pants back up.”
“Thanks,” Hoot said. “What about yourself? It appears to me you’re still bleedin’.”
“I can wait,” Jeb answered.
“Oh, no, you can’t,” Nate said. “Jeb, how many times have you or Jim told me never neglect a wound, to treat it as soon as possible?”
“Nate’s right,” Hoot added. “That’s all both of you have harped on, as long as I’ve been ridin’ for the Rangers. ‘If you get shot or cut, take care of it as quick as you can.’ So you’d best take care of yourself, now that you’ve seen to us. It won’t take you all that long.”
“All right,” Jeb said. “Bein’ as you’re both throwin’ my own words back at me.” He slipped off his shirt, to reveal two long gashes in his left side, just above his hip. Hoot whistled when he saw the wounds.
“Boy howdy, that was too dang close!” he exclaimed. “You got plugged twice. An inch or two to the right, and you’d’ve taken both those slugs right in your guts. We’d have been buryin’ you, along with Phil.”
“Which means you and Nate would’ve been turned loose on your own, Heaven forbid,” Jeb answered, with a laugh. “I don’t think Texas, or the Rangers, are ready for that.”
As he’d done for Nate and Hoot, Jeb cleaned out his wounds and poured whiskey into them. He folded his spare bandana into a pad, placed that over the bullet slashes, and used a strip of cloth to tie that in place.
“Now, let’s see to Phil,” he said, as he slid his shirt back on. “Hoot, you’n Nate see if there’s whiskey in any of the rustlers’ saddlebags. Fetch any you find, and meet me by Phil and Parker.”
“Sure, Jeb,” Hoot answered. He and Nate headed for the outlaws’ horses, while Phil returned to where his longtime friend and riding partner body lay, along with his dead horse.
****
The three Rangers gathered as many fallen dried branches and logs as they could, and piled them alongside Phil’s body. Once they were finished, Jeb took two of the three bottles of whiskey Hoot and Nate had recovered from the outlaws’ saddlebags, and splashed the contents over Phil and his horse’s bodies.
“There’s one last whiskey for you, pardner,” he said.
“What about Phil’s guns?” Hoot asked. “Shouldn’t we take those?”
“Nope,” Jeb answered. “His rifle’s under Parker, so there’s no way we can get at it. As far as his pistol, we’re gonna leave it right where it belongs, in the holster on his hip. Besides, knowin’ Phil, he’d like to go out with a bang, and when the ammunition explodes, he’ll do just that. Let’s get the wood stacked.”
The wood was placed around and on top of Phil and his horse. Jeb took the last bottle of whiskey, plus what was left in his own flask, and poured that over the wood. Once he was finished, each man took a lucifer from his vest pocket, struck it to life, and touched it to several places on the stacked branches. The whiskey and dried wood quickly took hold, soon erupting into a roaring blaze. Jeb, Nate, and Hoot stepped back from the pyre.
“I’m sure gonna miss Phil,” Nate said. “He taught me how to handle a rope, and a lotta things about horses that even you didn’t, Jeb.”
“Yeah, he was a real good hombre,” Hoot said. “A fine amigo, and a man you could count on, no matter what.”
“Phil was my ridin’ pard for years,” Jeb said. “I’m probably the only one who knew this, but he was part Choctaw. He didn’t like lettin’ that out, bein’ as so many folks don’t like Indians, or half-breeds. Bein’ part Indian is probably one of the reasons he wanted to be buried with his horse. Well, Phil, old pard, we couldn’t manage that, and I’m sorry I don’t have any eagle feathers to help guide your soul on its way to the spirit world, but we did the best we could to keep you and Parker together. Ride easy, my friend.”
Jeb had no sooner said this when the bullets in Phil’s cartridge belt began exploding from the heat of the flames.
“I reckon that’s Phil’s way of sayin’ good-bye to you, Jeb,” Hoot said, laughing, as Nate joined in.
“That’d be just like him,” Jeb answered, also chuckling.
They fell silent, took their hats from their heads, and stood for several minutes, watching the flames rise to the sky, the flying sparks seeming to symbolize Phil’s ascent to the spirit world. When the fire began to die down, Jeb put his hat back on, and turned away.
“C’mon, boys,” he said. “Time to head back to the Cross DJ. We’ll tell Jackson where to find his cows, and the outlaws’ horses. He’ll get to keep those. I figure we’ll rest there for a couple of days until we heal up some, then get on back to camp.”
They retrieved their horses, mounted, and rode off. Behind them, a column of white smoke staining the night sky marked Phil Knight’
s final resting place.
4
Four days later, Jeb, Hoot, and Nate rode back into camp. To their surprise, all of their comrades were still there. It seemed not one man had been out on patrol, except them. Most of the other Rangers were standing around, apparently deep in conversation.
“I can’t figure this, boys,” Jeb said. “I thought for certain by now Cap’n Dave would have some of the other men out, lookin’ for rustlers. I reckon we’ll find out soon enough what’s goin’ on.”
Captain Quincy was standing in front of his tent. He motioned to Jeb to stop. He and his partners reined up. Most of the other Rangers gathered around them.
“Glad to see y’all back, men,” Quincy said. “Although it seems not all in one piece. Jeb, you mind tellin’ me what happened, short as you can make it? And what happened to Phil?”
“Phil’s dead,” Jeb answered. “We tracked down what I can only hope was the biggest rustler outfit in these parts, led by an hombre name of Ben Chilton. Got into a runnin’ gunfight with ’em. They killed Phil’s horse. When that happened, he went plumb loco. He charged straight at the entire bunch. He downed two of ’em before they got him. Probably saved our lives, too.”
“I see,” Quincy said. “What about the others?”
“They’re all done for,” Jeb said.
“There were no survivors?” Quincy asked.
“There were a couple, yeah,” Jeb admitted. “As you can see, Cap’n, we weren’t in any shape to bring ’em back. We took care of ’em on the spot.”
Quincy nodded silently, in understanding.
“What about Phil?” he then asked. “How come you didn’t bring him back?”
“He lived for a while, Cap’n,” Jeb answered. “We wanted to bring him back here, for a proper burial, but he wasn’t havin’ none of that. He wanted to stay right there where he fell, with his horse. Asked us to build him and Parker an Indian style funeral pyre, so we did just that. After that, we went back to the Cross DJ spread, where we’d trailed the rustlers from, and rested up a couple of days, until we were fit to ride again.”
A Ranger Redeemed (Lone Star Ranger Book 7) Page 4
