Lone Star Ranger

by James J. Griffin

  “We should find Black Dog before too long,” Quincy answered. “He and his braves can’t travel as fast as we can, not pushin’ those stolen horses. Findin’ him shouldn’t be the problem. Takin’ care of his bunch, once and for all, and gettin’ young Josiah Hennessey back, alive, is the real headache we’re facing.”

  Jeb glanced back to where Charlie Hennessey was leading his men, behind the Rangers.

  “You reckon Hennessey realizes his boy might already be dead, Dave?” he asked. “Or that he might be killed once Black Dog figures out we’re after him?”

  “I’m sure it’s crossed his mind,” Quincy answered. “But I doubt Black Dog has killed the boy, at least not yet. He might, if Josiah causes too much trouble, or slows those Comanch’ down too much. But my guess is he wants to take Josiah back to his woman. He’ll either turn the boy into a slave, or raise him like his own son, as a Comanche. At any rate, their trail is still pretty clear, and we could be runnin’ short of time. Let’s pick up the pace.”

  He put his horse into a ground-eating lope, the rest of the men strung out behind.

  ♦●♦

  An hour later, a rider appeared in the distance, heading toward the Rangers at a full gallop.

  “That’s Percy, ridin’ hard for us,” Bob said. “You reckon he’s got some of Black Dog’s men on his tail?”

  “I doubt it,” Quincy answered. “I don’t see any dust on his trail. My guess is he’s caught sight of Black Dog.” He held up a hand, ordering the men to a halt. A moment later, Percy rode up to them. He pulled his lathered horse to a sliding stop.

  “What’ve you got, Percy?” Quincy asked.

  “Black Dog’s about two miles ahead of us, just short of the Rio,” the Tonkawa scout answered. “He’s got Josiah, as we figured. Looks like he’s plannin’ to ford the river and cross into Mexico. If we hurry, we can catch him right in the middle of the river. It’d be the best place to hit him. There’s lots of scrub and cover on either bank, so it’d be hard to chouse him outta that brush. If we attack while his bunch is still crossin’, we’ll catch him in the open.”

  “Good work, Percy,” Quincy answered. “Is there any way we can split up, and come at him from two sides?”

  “Not until we’re almost on top of him; and by that time, Black Dog will have spotted us,” Percy answered. “The best way to attack is spread out as soon as we reach the Rio. With luck, we’ll get to Black Dog just before he starts to cross. If we do, we’ll be able to drive him and his braves right into the water. The river’s runnin’ pretty high, so they’ll have to try’n swim their horses to escape. I’d say we’ve got a good chance of riddin’ ourselves of Black Dog for good.”

  “Then that’s how we’ll handle it,” Quincy agreed. “Jeb, you and Percy ride back, and let the men know our plan. Remind Hennessey he and his men are to strictly follow my orders. Make certain of that. He’ll have only one thing on his mind, rescuin’ his boy, and probably won’t be thinkin’ straight. We can’t have him goin’ off half-cocked. If he does, that might well spook Black Dog. If that happens, we’ll never see him, or Hennessey’s boy, again. Have everyone check their weapons.”

  “Right, Cap’n.”

  Quincy waited while Jeb and Percy rode among the men, explaining his and Captain Quincy’s plan of action. Some of the men murmured a question, others nodded silent understanding.

  “Tom,” Nate said, while they were still waiting to move out, “It seems a real shame, havin’ to fight Indians all the time like this. It seems to me there’s plenty of land out here for everybody. Doesn’t seem right that the Comanches and Kiowas keep on killin’ white folks. And that we keep killin’ them.”

  “It is a shame,” Tom agreed. “It wasn’t always this way. Sam Houston, the hero of the Texas Revolution and Texas’s first president, when she was still her own country, wanted the whites and Indians to live together in peace. There were quite a few friendly tribes living in Texas back in those days. There were the Tonkawas, like Percy, of course. Then there were Cherokees and Choctaws, who were driven from their homelands back East, and settled in Texas. It seemed things between the Indians and white man would settle down, once some of the warrior societies, like the Karankawas, Comanches, and Apaches were tamed.”

  “What happened to change that?”

  “Mirabeau Lamar, Texas’s third president, is what happened. He hated all Indians, and was determined to annihilate every last one of ’em, or drive ’em all out of the country. Lots of folks think of him as a hero, but Sam Houston sure didn’t. He hated the man, with good reason. From what I know of Lamar, he was one prejudiced, nasty, hateful individual.”

  “So just one man caused most of the trouble in Texas between the Indians and the whites?”

  “One man, and a lot who agreed with him,” Tom said. “And plenty of folks still do. Of course, you can’t lay all the blame on the white man. Tribes like the Comanches, Kiowas, and Apaches are warrior societies. To them, it’s a great honor to raid, loot, and kill as much as you can. It’s their way of life. Most of ’em don’t want to change their ways, so they fight, rather’n bein’ forced off land that’s always been theirs, at least in their minds, and be pushed onto reservations. It don’t matter to them that they took a lot of the land they claim as their ancestral home from other tribes, like the Tonkawas. And as you already know, a lot of people think all Indians are savages, no matter what tribe they come from, because some, like the Comanches and Apaches, take scalps and such. Let me tell you, Nate, I’ve seen atrocities committed by whites or Mexicans that were just as bad, or worse, than any done by an Indian. No, I’d say there’s plenty of blame to go around on all sides. And I don’t see any end to the fightin’ and killin’. Not in our lifetimes, anyway.”

  “Rangers, ho!”

  “Time to move out,” Tom said. “And add our own chapter to this sad history.”

  ♦●♦

  The Rangers and Circle Dot E men rode at a full gallop the rest of the distance to the Rio Grande. As Percy had hoped, Black Dog and his warriors were gathered on the riverbank, just starting to push the stolen horses into the fast running river. Surrounded by the Comanches was Josiah Hennessey, tied hand and foot to the saddle on his pet pinto.

  “Spread out, and fire when ready,” Quincy shouted, as the men topped the bank, and rode hell bent for leather down the steep slope, directly at the bunched Indians. Startled by the completely unexpected appearance of the Rangers, the Comanches broke into war cries, and grabbed for their weapons.

  A volley of rifle fire came from the Rangers’ guns, and several Comanches were shot out of their saddles.

  “Make your shots count!” Quincy yelled. “And careful of the boy! Carl, you watch where you point that scattergun of yours.”

  Carl had already fired both barrels of his shotgun, the bunched shot raking the Comanches.

  The Comanches were now beginning to return fire, but the sight of the Rangers bearing down on them caused them to shoot too hastily. Only one bullet found its mark, one that hit Shad in the shoulder, and knocked him out of his saddle. Caught between the hard charging lawmen and the milling, panicked horses, the Indians had no way to escape. Three more went down, with bullets in them, then the rest turned their horses and forced them into the river. Black Dog was in the lead, pulling along Josiah’s horse. The Rangers and their partners splashed into the water, hard on their heels.

  Hoot had reached midstream, where the water ran deep and fast. He took a bead on an Indian’s back, but before he could shoot, an arrow took him high on the left side of his chest and knocked him off his horse. The swift current caught him and swept him downstream.

  “Help!” he cried. “I can’t swim…not…not…that good—” His words were cut off when the river pulled him under. He surfaced, struggling, twenty feet downstream.

  “Hoot! Hang on!” Nate shouted. “C’mon, Red, let’s get him.” He ripped the big sorrel around and sent him plunging into the river. The horse swam powerfully, and
pushed along by the current, was soon overtaking Hoot.

  “Gimme your hand, Hoot!” Nate ordered, leaning far over in the saddle. “We’ve only got one chance.” He wrapped his right hand in Red’s thick mane, and reached out with his left to grab Hoot’s outstretched hand. Hoot’s waterlogged clothes and boots dragged him down. For a tense moment, it appeared Nate would lose his grip, but finally, he pulled Hoot alongside his horse.

  “Hang onto my saddle, and I’ll try’n make shore,” Nate ordered. He turned Red toward the Texas riverbank. Fighting the current, the horse swam until his hooves struck the gravelly river bottom. He lunged out of the water, and onto a spit of sand. Nate let go of Hoot’s hand, then jumped from his saddle. Hoot was struggling to breathe. Nate pounded him on the back. Hoot choked, then expelled a good amount of water from his lungs.

  “Nate,” he gasped, his voice hoarse.

  “Shh. Don’t say anythin’, Hoot”,” Nate advised. “Just try’n catch your breath.”

  ♦●♦

  Back upstream, the Rangers’ attack on Black Dog’s Comanches had turned into a complete rout. Nicolas Pearson, one of the Circle Dot E hands, shot a brave riding behind Black Dog. The Comanche fell from his horse, giving Jeb a clear shot at Black Dog, who had dropped the reins of Josiah’s horse and was whipping his pony, urging it into deeper water. Jeb pulled Dudley to a halt, took careful aim at the back of the Comanche chief’s head, and pulled the trigger. His bullet buried itself deep in Black Dog’s brain. He toppled into the river, his body disappearing under the murky water.

  Now free, Josiah attempted to turn his horse, but was hampered by his bound hands. He was unable to maneuver the horse, who stumbled into deeper water. The small pinto floundered in the swift current. Nicolas dug his spurs into his chestnut’s ribs, sending the gelding leaping ahead.

  “I’ve got you, Josiah,” he shouted, as he grabbed the pinto’s trailing reins. “You’re all right now.”

  He led the horse back to the riverbank. Charlie Hennessey jumped from his horse, ran up to Josiah, pulled out his knife, slashed the rawhide ropes binding his son, and lifted him from the saddle. He hugged him tightly.

  “Josiah, don’t you ever do anythin’ so dang foolish like this again, tryin’ to take on a whole bunch of renegade Indians,” he scolded. “You scared me and your ma half to death. I reckon I should give you a good whippin’, but I’m so glad you’re safe, and your ma’ll be so happy to see you, I figure a good tongue-lashin’ will do. Did those Indians hurt you?”

  “No, pa, they didn’t. But I was sure scared.”

  “Of course you were,” Hennessey said. “You had every right to be.” He looked at Captain Quincy, who had ridden up to them.

  “Captain, I can’t thank you enough,” he said. “Every one of you Rangers.”

  “It’s all part of the job,” Quincy answered, grinning. “Now, I’d better take stock of our losses.”

  Aside from Shad’s shoulder wound, none of the other Rangers, nor any of the Circle Dot E men, had suffered any injuries. Two or three Comanches had survived. After seeing their chief go down, they abandoned the fight, and swam their horses into Mexico. Since they were no longer a threat, the Rangers let them go. It was doubtful they’d ever return to Texas.

  “Everyone’s accounted for except Nate and Hoot, Dave,” Bob reported. “I’ve got Hoot’s horse here, but I figure the river took him. Nate and his horse, too. Last anyone saw of ’em they were bein’ carried around that bend. Tom says Hoot got shot off his horse, and Nate apparently tried to save him, but it looks like they both drowned.”

  “Take a couple of the men and look for ’em, just in case,” Quincy said. “We’ll rest a spell, then round up the horses and head on back.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have to look for either one of ’em,” Jeb said. “Here they come now.”

  He pointed downstream, where Nate and Hoot, riding double on an exhausted, head-hung-low Big Red, were just coming into view. Five minutes later, they reached the rest of the men.

  “Boy howdy, we figured you two were goners for certain,” Jeb exclaimed. “I’m sure glad to see we were wrong.”

  “I would’ve been, if it hadn’t been for ol’ Nate, here, savin’ my bacon,” Hoot said. “Thanks, pard.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Nate answered. “That’s what pardners are for, to stand with each other, no matter what. You’d’ve done the same for me.”

  “Hoot, you’d better let me get that arrow out of your chest, and patch you up until we get back to the ranch, where I can treat you proper,” Jim said. “I’ve gotta take care of Shad, too.”

  “I need to talk with Nate, first,” Hoot said.

  “That can wait. The arrow can’t,” Jim retorted.

  “Jim, before you get to work, there’s one thing I’ve got to say to Nate,” Jeb said.

  “All right, but make it quick.”

  “Nate, when you first came on with the Rangers, and I told you that you were a man to ride the river with, you didn’t have to take me literally, son,” Jeb said, laughing.

  “Jeb, you just got yourself the job of buryin’ those dead Indians,” Quincy said. “Get outta here.”

  ♦●♦

  The arrow was removed from Hoot’s chest, the wound plugged and bandaged. He was sitting against a rock, with a bandage on his chest and his left arm in a sling, smoking a cigarette. He’d asked Jim to send Nate over while the horses were gathered and the men rested, before beginning the trip back to the Circle Dot E. He waited anxiously until Nate walked up.

  “How you doin’, Hoot?” Nate asked. “Sorry it took me a while to get here, but I had to tend to Red.”

  “Aside from an arrow hole in my chest, and bein’ half-drowned, I feel just fine,” Hoot answered. “And you’d better have tended to Red. He saved both our lives.”

  “I’m glad you’re gonna be okay. Hoot—”

  “Nate, don’t say anythin’, until I say what I have to say,” he said. “I’m obliged for what you just did, pullin’ me out of that river, especially after the way I treated you. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

  “You were just mad, Hoot. Reckon I would’ve been too, if I’d found Consuela hangin’ on you. I just wish you’d given me the chance to explain, rather’n flyin’ off the handle like you did.”

  “I was still wrong. I know that now. I should have told you sooner, but I was too ashamed to admit it. That, and I was afraid you wouldn’t believe my apology, so we could be pardners again. Just before we rode out, I asked Clarissa if she’d wait for me. Told her I’d like to get married in a year or so. You know what she did? She laughed at me. Said I wasn’t good enough for her, me bein’ a fiddle-footed Ranger, who’d never amount to nothin’. She also told me it was her who went after you, not the other way around, almost as if she was throwin’ it in my face. Also told me she’d been with Kyle, and Ray, and two or three other cowboys. She sure made a fool outta me. I’m swearin’ off women, for good. I mean it.”

  “Until the next pretty one comes along, and turns your head,” Nate said, smiling.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Hood conceded. “But I sure ain’t gonna get into a fight with my best friend over a gal, ever again. You can bet your hat on that, Nate. Pardners again?”

  “Pardners again,” Nate said. “Pardners to stand with, no matter what.”

  “No matter what,” Hoot echoed.

  ♦●♦

  By sundown, the Rangers and Circle Dot E men were back at the ranch. Josiah was reunited with his mother, brother, and sisters, and given the sad news of his brother Brian’s death, at the hands of Black Dog. Also awaiting Captain Quincy were Ken Demarest and Phil Knight. They had returned from Presidio, with orders from Austin. Once the horses were cared for, Quincy gathered all the men in the Rangers’ bunkhouse.

  “Men,” he said, “Our time here in the Big Bend is over. We’re ridin’ for San Antonio, the day after tomorrow. There’s some tall trouble in the Hill Country, and we’re gonna h
andle it. We’ll take tomorrow to pack up our gear, and make a place in one of the wagons for Hoot and Diego. It’ll be a while before they’re able to ride. I want to thank all of you for the fine job you did on this assignment. I know you’ll do just as well on our next one. That’s all. Get some supper, get some rest, and be ready to pack up tomorrow.”

  His news was met with a chorus of cheers.

  ♦●♦

  That night, Nate wandered up to the main house. He found Consuela on the front porch, waiting for him.

  “Hola, Nate,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me. You’re leaving in two days. Senora Hennessey already informed me. Come, sit with me for awhile.”

  Nate sat alongside her. He fondled the scarf she’d given him, just that morning. It still hung around his neck.

  “Your scarf did bring me luck,” he said. “I came back to you, like I promised. Of course, I didn’t know I’d be leavin’ you so soon.”

  “We both knew it would have to end, sometime,” Consuela answered.

  “It doesn’t have to,” Nate said. “I could ask Mr. Hennessey for a job, wranglin’ horses. Then I could stay here, with you. Jeb said if I ever quit the Rangers I’d be good at workin’ with horses.”

  “Is that what you really want, Nate, to stay here, in one place?” Consuela said. “Would that make you happy? No, mi corazon, I can see it in your eyes, it would not. You are not ready to settle down. Perhaps, someday, when you are, you will return, and perhaps I will still be waiting for you. But, just like you, I also am not ready to settle down. Once I have saved enough money, I shall be leaving for Santa Fe. I have cousins there, who have asked me to come live with them. So, you see, what we had was for here and now, and no more. And we still have two more evenings.”

  “We do, don’t we?”

  Nate took her in his arms, and kissed her tenderly.

  About the Author

  Jim Griffin became enamored of the Texas Rangers from watching the TV series, Tales of the Texas Rangers, as a youngster. He grew to be an avid student and collector of Rangers' artifacts, memorabilia and other items. His collection is now housed in the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum in Waco.