Lone Star Ranger

by James J. Griffin

  “Nate,” Jeb said, once they were finished. “You’ll more than do. I know you said your brother was a natural with a six-gun. You ain’t, but you’ve got a smooth draw, a careful aim, and you keep your wits about you. A level head is the most important thing of all. All you need now is more practice. Get that every chance you can.”

  “Sure. Sure, Jeb,” Nate answered. This lesson had proved invaluable to him in a way Jeb would never know. All the nerves he’d had, when the lesson started, about facing a man over leveled pistols, were gone. He now felt confident when he pulled his gun that he would no longer have sweaty palms and jangled nerves. He might get outdrawn and gunned down, but at least he’d have an equal chance.

  Jeb looked up at the sun.

  “It’s gettin’ on close to noon,” he said. “About time for dinner. Josiah, you want to eat with us?”

  “I sure do, Ranger Jeb, but there’s somethin’ I’ve gotta do first,” Josiah answered.

  “And what might that be?” Jeb asked.

  “I’m gonna take care of all of ya. Ain’t none of ya hombres as fast on the draw as me,” Josiah said. “I can plug all three of ya before ya even get your guns out of your holsters.”

  Jeb glanced at Nate and Hoot.

  “Oh, ya think so, do ya? We’ll just see about that, Josiah. Get ready to go for your gun,” he challenged.

  “All right, Ranger.”

  Josiah pulled the old Colt from behind his belt. He thumbed back the hammer, aimed at the Rangers, and pulled the trigger, three times. Jeb clawed at his belly, grunted, doubled over, and pitched to the dirt. Nate and Hoot clutched their chests, yelled in pain, and fell alongside him.

  “Told ya I was the fastest gun in Texas,” Josiah sneered, standing over the downed Rangers. “Drilled all three of ya, dead center.”

  “You’re…you’re the fastest, all right, kid,” Jeb gasped. He shuddered and lay still, then looked up at Josiah and grinned.

  “I’ll bet you’re the hungriest, too. Let’s go see what George has cooked up.”

  “All right. Now you’re talkin’, Ranger Jeb. Let’s go.”

  3

  Two days after Nate’s quick draw lessons, the wind picked up out of the northwest. The temperature began to drop rapidly, and thick, puffy clouds scudded across the sky. Several of the Rangers, including Jeb, Nate, and Hoot, were grooming their horses when two men rode up.

  “Howdy,” one of them said.

  “Howdy yourselves,” Jeb answered. “I’m kinda surprised to see riders out in weather like this. It looks like a blue norther’s about to blow in.”

  “There sure is one brewin’. A big one,” the other rider answered. “We just came over the pass. About fifteen miles back, it’s already startin’ to snow. My handle’s Curly, by the way. Curly Thomas. My pard’s Deke Vance.”

  “Jeb Rollins, Hoot Harrison, Nate Stewart, Dan Morton, and Shad Bruneau,” Jeb answered. “Pleased to meet you fellers. Anythin’ in particular we can help you with?”

  “Glad to meet you, also,” Thomas said. “We were hopin’ mebbe we could hire on here. If not, at least mebbe the owners’ll let us stay here until the storm passes. One of you the foreman?”

  Jeb shook his head. “Nope. We’re Texas Rangers, usin’ this ranch for our headquarters. The Hennesseys own the place. You might want to stop at the big bunkhouse, first. Mark Swick’s the foreman. I’d imagine he does the hirin’. Like you mentioned, at the very least you could ask him for a place to hunker down until this storm blows itself out.”

  On most large ranches, the hiring and firing was done by the ranch foreman, not the owner.

  “Much obliged,” Thomas said. “C’mon, Deke, let’s go.”

  They turned their horses and headed for the bunkhouse.

  “You reckon those two are only chuckline ridin’ cowboys, like they claim, Jeb?” Shad asked.

  Jeb scratched his jaw before replying.

  “I dunno. It’s kind of a funny time of year to be lookin’ for ranch work. Most spreads aren’t hirin’ now. The spring gather won’t start for another month, at least.”

  “What’s a chuckline ridin’ cowboy, Jeb?” Nate asked. “And what the heck is a spring gather?”

  “I keep forgettin’ there’s still a lot about the West you don’t know, Nate,” Jeb answered. “A chuckline, or grubline, ridin’ cowboy is a man who drifts from ranch to ranch, workin’ at one for a spell, then movin’ on. He doesn’t stay in one place for very long. But, most of ’em’ll settle at a ranch before winter sets in, and stay there until the weather warms up. That’s why it’s sorta strange that pair is lookin’ for work right now.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Dan agreed, “but they didn’t flinch when you told ’em we were Rangers. If they’re bent on trouble, they should have shown some sign when they found out who we are.”

  “That’s true,” Jeb conceded. “Mebbe they are just drifters, like they claim, and didn’t find a place to settle down for the winter. We’ll just have to wait and see. But we’d best keep an eye on ’em.”

  “Jeb, I’d still like to know what a spring gather is,” Nate reminded him.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s when the mamas and their newborn calves are rounded up, branded, and earmarked.”

  “Earmarked?” Nate echoed.

  “Yeah. Just like every ranch has its own brand, most also earmark their cows. That means they cut, or bob, a piece out of the ear. Each ranch cuts a different way, so the cow is earmarked. Helps to identify ’em, just like the brand,” Jeb explained.

  “Now, along with the gather, actually part of it most times, there’s usually a roundup. That’s gettin’ together all the steers that are ready for market, along with the cows that are no longer producin’ babies, and makin’ up a shippin’ herd to drive north to the railheads. Most spreads do that in the spring. Then, there are some which wait until later in the summer to put together their shippin’ herds.

  “A lot of folks use gather and roundup to mean the same thing. They’re not one hundred percent right, but it’s not much different. And, as if you ain’t confused enough, some ranches even have a fall roundup. And if there’s a drought, all bets are off. If a man can’t keep his herds fed and watered, he’s better off tryin’ to get as many of his cows to market as he can, rather’n just watchin’ ’em die of thirst or starvation right in front of him.”

  “Well, lookin’ at that sky, I’d say a drought is the least of our worries right now,” Shad said. “Dunno about you boys, but I’m gonna finish carin’ for my horse, then I’m headin’ for the bunkhouse, and a spot next to the stove.”

  “And I’m gonna ‘gather’ me some hot coffee,” Hoot added.

  The sky had thickened and lowered to a dark gray. Already, the first snowflakes were beginning to fall.

  “I’d say that’s good advice,” Jeb agreed. “Let’s get these horses settled, then get inside. This is gonna be one heckuva storm.”

  ♦●♦

  While large snowstorms were rare in this part of Texas, they did occur, and the one which had just descended on the Hennessey ranch was proving to be a big one. The storm rapidly grew in intensity, and raged all night. The wind howled and moaned through the bunkhouse’s eaves. At times, it sounded exactly like a woman’s screams. The men huddled around the pot-bellied stove, which glowed red from the fire inside, or crawled into their bunks, adding extra blankets.

  “Sure am glad I gave you boys those days off,” Captain Quincy said. “I’d hate to have you out in this norther. I hope the rest of the men are hunkered down somewhere.”

  “This storm? This storm ain’t nothin’, Cap’n Dave,” Nate said.

  “I suppose you’re gonna tell us the storms in Delaware are a lot worse,” Hoot said.

  “They sure are. Much worse. This here ‘blue norther’, as you fellers call it down here, wouldn’t be nothin’ but a gentle breeze and a few snowflakes back home. We call ’em nor’easters up there.”

  “And you claim this storm ain’t nothin�
�?” Jeb challenged.

  “Nothin’ at all,” Nate answered. “Why, I recall one storm where it got so cold the Delaware River froze solid, so folks were able to walk clean across to New Jersey. Stayed that way all winter. The snow came down so thick and fast it was clean up to the second story windows in an hour. Folks had to climb up on their roofs and slide off just to get out. People who lived in one floor houses had to dig shafts up through the snow, just like they was tunnelin’ a mine. To get around, we had to tunnel through the snow like gophers. When things finally thawed out in the spring, there was at least half a dozen sailin’ ships sittin’ right smack in the middle of downtown Wilmington. No one could figure out how to get those out of there. We got lucky, though. The snow melted so fast those ships just rode the water right back to the river and out to sea.”

  “What about the buildin’s?” Carl asked. “Didn’t they get washed away, too?”

  “And didn’t a lot of folks drown?” Ken added.

  “Nope. Not at all. That storm was a little bigger than most, but it happens every year. Folks just open their doors and use the water for spring cleanin’. And it provides everyone free baths.”

  “I suppose next you’re gonna tell us another whale like the one you claimed done ate up your friend was found in the middle of town, too, Nate,” Captain Quincy said, laughing.

  “No, the whales are smarter than that,” Nate said. “They just wait at the mouth of the river, and swallow up the ships as they get washed by.”

  “Y’know, Cap’n Dave, somethin’s gettin’ pretty deep in here, all right, and it sure ain’t the snow,” Joe said.

  “You’ve certainly got that correct,” Captain Quincy answered. He picked up the poker, opened the stove door, and stirred up the fire.

  “Cap’n, speakin’ of poker, anyone want to play a few hands?” Nate asked.

  “Another joke like that and I’ll bend this poker over your head,” Quincy answered. “But I wouldn’t mind a game or two. Anyone else?

  “I’m in,” Shad said.

  “Me, too,” Ken added.

  “No one else?” Quincy asked. He was met with a shaking of heads.

  “Reckon we’ll all just try’n stay warm and watch you boys play,” Jeb said.

  “All right.” Quincy, Nate, Shad, and Ken gathered around one of the card tables. While the storm raged around them, they played until the wee hours of the morning.

  ♦●♦

  Sometime before dawn, the storm blew its way into Mexico. It left behind a foot of snow—drifted four feet deep in spots—sunny, cold weather, and a dazzlingly blue sky. Nate looked out the window and jumped from his bunk.

  “Hey, Hoot,” he called. “It’s stopped snowin’. Let’s grab our horses and go for a ride.”

  “Are you plumb loco, Nate?” Hoot answered, burrowing more deeply under his blankets. “It’s cold out there.”

  “C’mon, pard,” Nate urged, “It’ll be fun. We can bundle up warm enough.” He yanked the covers off Hoot. “Let’s go.”

  “All right. All right, ya idjit. But if I freeze to death, I’m gonna come back to haunt you,” Hoot answered. He swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and stood up, shivering.

  “You ain’t ever gonna come back to haunt me, Hoot,” Nate retorted. “Not as scared of haints as you are.”

  “I’ll make an exception in your case. Boy howdy, it’s even cold inside this doggone bunkhouse,” Hoot complained. “And the floor’s freezin’ on my bare feet.”

  “That’s cause you’re not movin’,” Nate answered. “And that cold floor’s why I sleep with my socks on. Once we get outside and get movin’, you’ll warm up right quick. Hurry up.”

  “Keep it down you two, will ya?” Jim muttered. “The rest of us are still tryin’ to sleep.”

  “We’ll be gone in a minute,” Nate answered.

  Both boys hurriedly dressed, putting on two pairs of socks before stamping into their boots, shrugging into their thick sheepskin coats, shoving gloves into their pockets, then wrapping scarves around their necks and jamming their hats on their heads. When they got to the corral, they whistled up their horses. Nate’s sorrel, Big Red, and Hoot’s lineback dun, Sandy, trotted up to the fence, snorting and blowing. Steam emitted from their nostrils, and ice coated their whiskers. Snow clung to their fetlocks.

  “You ready to go for a run, Red?” Nate asked his horse, as he gave him a piece of leftover biscuit. Red whinnied a reply.

  Sandy was pawing at the snow.

  “Seems like you’re eager to go, too, pal,” Hoot said to him. “Just gimme a minute.”

  “We won’t need our saddles, Hoot,” Nate said. “Just our bridles. Even if we fall off, we won’t get hurt, landin’ in the snow.”

  “You ever rode bareback before, Nate?” Hoot asked.

  “Well, no, I haven’t,” Nate admitted. “But I reckon it’s high time I learned.”

  They got their bridles from the stable, slid the headstalls over their horse’s heads and slipped the bits into their mouths, then led them out of the corral. The mounts pranced in their eagerness to run. Nate and Hoot swung onto their backs. Before they could even settle in place, the horses took off at a gallop.

  “Hang on, Nate!” Hoot hollered, as he leaned low over Sandy’s neck. “Grab Red’s mane if you have to, and wrap your legs around his barrel tight as you can. He’s probably gonna buck.”

  He had no sooner said this when Red kicked out his hind legs and lifted his rump in a huge buck. Nate’s butt rose a foot off Red’s back, then slammed back down. When his crotch hit Red’s withers, he yelped in pain. Red then reared, his withers now catching Nate in the belly. Nate grunted, but managed to hang on as Red lined out in a run once again.

  Big Red and Sandy raced through the foot deep, powdery snow, seeming to float on air, kicking up plumes of white from their hooves. Red and Sandy were both young animals, rested and full of spirit, as excited by the snow as their riders. They ran for over a mile before slowing to a lope.

  “Told ya this’d be fun, Hoot!” Nate shouted. “Just like sittin’ in a rockin’ chair. Man, it doesn’t get any better’n this.”

  “It sure don’t,” Hoot answered. “I’ve gotta admit, you were sure right, Nate. Let’s go, Sandy!”

  He kicked his dun into a gallop once again.

  “Get up there, Red,” Nate hollered, letting his sorrel stretch out to catch, then overtake, Hoot’s horse.

  A mile later, the horses had burned off most of their excess energy. They slowed to a walk. Nate rolled off Red’s back, landing in the snow with a thud. Hoot turned Dudley back to where Nate lay on his back, drawing in great draughts of air.

  “You all right, Nate?” he asked.

  “Sure am, pardner. C’mon down and join me!”

  Nate grabbed Hoot’s ankle, and pulled him off his horse. Hoot landed on top of him.

  “Why you son of a—” Hoot yelled. “I’ll take care of you, Nate.”

  “Just get offa me, you big ape,” Nate retorted. He tried to shove Hoot off, but Hoot wrapped his arms around Nate and flipped him over. They were at the edge of a short hill, and Hoot’s move sent them rolling over the rim, arms and legs flailing, as they picked up momentum, rolling over and over, faster and faster, until they reached the bottom of the slope, covered with snow. Hoot rolled off Nate, and they lay there, side by side, laughing and gasping for breath.

  “Well, was I right?” Nate asked. “Didn’t I tell you we’d have a good time, Hoot?”

  “Yeah, I reckon you did,” Hoot answered. He glanced at the slope. “Except now we’ve gotta climb back up this hill.”

  “Well, if you hadn’t rolled us over the edge, we wouldn’t have to,” Nate said.

  “Yeah, and if you hadn’t pulled me off my horse, we wouldn’t be here in the first place,” Hoot replied.

  “I reckon that’s so,” Nate admitted. “Well, we won’t get back up this hill just lyin’ here.” He sat up, then pushed himself to his feet.

&n
bsp; “Let’s hope our horses haven’t run off,” Hoot said, as he too stood up. “We might as well get at it.”

  He and Nate began trudging back up the hill.

  “Hoot, you ever seen snow before?” Nate asked.

  “A little, but never this much, not even when I was a kid up in Arkansas,” Hoot answered. “Never more’n an inch or so, and it usually melted right away. Snow ain’t all that common in Texas, except mebbe on some of the higher mountains. And we ain’t even got a whole lot of those.”

  “We don’t have many in Delaware, either,” Nate answered. “In fact, none. You’ve got to head up into Pennsylvania to find the closest mountains. But we do get a lot of snow. Now, let’s save our breath until we get up this hill.”

  They maintained a steady pace as they climbed, occasionally slipping on an icy patch hidden under the fresh powder. By the time they reached the top, ten minutes later, both were short of breath. To their relief, both horses were close to where they’d left them. They had pawed through the snow, and were tugging at some winter-killed bunch grass.

  Nate fell slightly behind Hoot. He reached down and scooped up a handful of snow.

  “Hoot,” he called.

  “What, Nate?” Hoot turned to look back at his partner. When he did, Nate hit him squarely in the face with a huge snowball.

  “Got ya, Hoot! Snowball fight!” Nate shouted.

  “You think so? Well, I’ll just show you, pardner,” Hoot retorted. He grabbed some snow, packed it tightly, and let it fly. It knocked Nate’s hat off.

  “You missed!” Nate yelled, as he sent a return snowball at Hoot. This one bounced off Hoot’s shoulder.

  “Not this time!” Hoot yelled back. His next snowball took Nate in the middle of his chest, a following one smacking into Nate’s belly.

  “You give up, Nate?” he asked.

  “This ain’t over. Not by a long shot,” Nate answered. He threw another snowball, this one catching Hoot in the throat. Snow dropped behind Hoot’s shirt, soaking his chest. When Nate turned to scoop up more snow, Hoot’s next shot caught Nate on the back of his neck. A huge chunk of snow rolled down Nate’s back.