Lone Star Ranger #3

by James J. Griffin

  Lone Star Ranger:

  Volume 3

  A Ranger to Fight With

  James J. Griffin

  Lone Star Ranger: Vol.3

  A Ranger to Fight With by James J. Griffin

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright© 2014 James J. Griffin

  Cover Design Livia Reasoner

  Texas Ranger badge image courtesy of the

  Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum, Waco

  Author photo credited to Susanne Onatah

  Painted Pont Books

  www.paintedponybooks.com

  All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  DEDICATION

  For my cousins,

  Jane Tompkins and Larry Griffin

  Prologue

  Nate Stewart lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling of his tent. His three Texas Ranger tentmates, Hoot Harrison, who had quickly befriended Nate, Jim Kelly, and Dan Morton, were all sleeping, snoring softly. However, Nate was having trouble falling asleep.

  Tomorrow, the Rangers would break camp and head for the Big Bend. That meant Nate would be riding with them, leaving behind the ranch where his father, mother, and older brother had been murdered by outlaws, and Nate himself left for dead. The men responsible were still out there somewhere, and Nate was determined to see them brought to justice. However, that would have to wait.

  The Ranger company he was with had been ordered to far West Texas, and he had no choice but to go with them. Already, everything which could be packed ahead of time was bundled up, most of the supplies loaded in George Bayfield’s chuck wagon.

  At first light, the men would eat a quick breakfast, the tents would be taken down, and everything loaded on pack mules. An hour after sunrise, they would be on the trail, heading west.

  Nate sighed as he thought back on everything that had happened to him in the past few weeks; how unexpectedly his life had changed. He had moved with his family from a home in Wilmington, Delaware to a small ranch outside San Saba, Texas.

  After the attack which left Nate an orphan, he had been found and nursed back to health by a company of Texas Rangers. With no family or friends in Texas, it appeared Nate would have to move back to Delaware, to live with his aunt, uncle, and eight cousins. However, fate had taken a hand when Jeb Rollins, the Ranger arranging for his trip home, had been confronted by a group of rustlers.

  In the ensuing gunfight, Nate had saved Jeb’s life by tackling and knocking out one of the gunmen, before he could shoot the Ranger. Jeb decided Nate had enough guts, and potential, to be taken on as a camp helper for his Ranger company, despite Nate’s age of only fourteen.

  I’ve learned how to use a gun since then, Nate thought, to care for and ride a horse, and how to handle myself with my fists… not to mention takin’ on someone in a knife fight. I’ll sure never forget what Hoot taught me about that.

  I’ve shot a couple of men, and been shot and nearly killed myself. If I hadn’t stuffed my train tickets and the rest of my papers back in my shirt pocket, then forgotten about them, the bullet which hit me in the chest would’ve killed me. Even at that, I’m real lucky those papers managed to stop that slug.

  I’ve tried smokin’, which I doubt I’ll try again, drunk tequila and whiskey, learned how to play cards, and thought about huggin’ and kissin’ a girl.

  He softly chuckled. He—I mean, heck, I’ve even learned how to cuss some. My ma’d sure have washed out my mouth with soap if she ever heard me doin’ that.

  I helped stop a bank robbery, and made some good friends. I only wish I’d caught up with the men who killed my folks.

  I’ve had two more run-ins with ’em since, even managed to put a bullet into that pale-eyed son of Satan who leads the gang, but they’re still on the loose, after killin’ some of my partners, and more innocent folks.

  Nate sighed again. After all that, I’m still not certain what I’ll do when I have to come face to face with a man, over leveled six-guns. I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull the trigger under those circumstances.

  And for my pards to count on me, I need to be a Ranger they can fight with.

  With those thoughts, he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  1

  Nate was amazed at how quickly camp was broken once breakfast had been eaten. He was assigned to help George wash up the dishes and pans, then pack those and the rest of the cooking utensils and foodstuffs in the chuck wagon.

  While he and George did that, the other Rangers took down the tents and cots, then rolled up the tents and folded the cots, and got everything loaded on the pack mules.

  Nate watched while George hitched two mules to the wagon, and listened to him explain how it was done. He gave the cook a hand getting some of the harness and lines in place.

  “I don’t expect you to be able to hitch a team the first time you try it, Nate,” George said. “In fact, most of these boys don’t have a clue how to hitch and drive a team. However, it’d be a good thing for you to know, if you’re willin’ to learn how.”

  “I sure am,” Nate answered. “I figure everything I can learn will help me be a good Ranger, once I’m old enough to be taken on as a regular member.”

  At fourteen, Nate was four years too young to actually join the Texas Rangers. However, seeing the boy’s willingness to learn, his natural intelligence, and his courage, Captain Dave Quincy had deliberately marked Nate’s enlistment papers “Birth Date Unknown”, and put him on as a probationary Ranger, instead of just a camp helper.

  It wasn’t the first time the Rangers had bent the rules, nor would it be the last. In fact, while everyone believed Hoot Harrison had fibbed about his age when he signed on with the Rangers two years ago, claiming to be eighteen when he was only sixteen, they didn’t know how young he actually was.

  The truth was, Hoot had also been Nate’s age, only fourteen, when he enlisted. Hoot had confided the fact he was just now sixteen to Nate, and no one else.

  “That’s the attitude to take,” George said. “Listen, we’re just about finished here. You’d better go saddle your horse. One thing Cap’n Dave really don’t like is a man who’s not prepared on time, and holds up the rest of the outfit. You’ll be in for a real butt-chewin’ if you ain’t in the saddle when the other men are ready to ride out.”

  “All right, George, and thanks. Reckon I’ll get Big Red.”

  Nate hurried over to the rope corral. Shorty Beach was just beginning to take it down, as most of the other men had already roped out their mounts, and were saddling them.

  “Mornin’, son,” he said. “Been wonderin’ where the heck you were at. Can’t take these ropes down until everyone has his horse.”

  “Good mornin’, Shorty. George kept me a little longer than I thought he would,” Nate answered.

  “That’d be George all right,” Shorty said, with a laugh. “Well, you’d better get a move on. Most of the other boys are already saddled up.”

  “Okay.” Nate got Red’s lead rope, ducked into the corral, and whistled. He’d been working on getting Red to answer his call for the past several weeks. Red picked up his head, nickered, and trotted up to Nate. He nuzzled the boy’s chest.

  “Good boy, Red,” Nate praised him. He took a piece of leftover biscuit from his shirt pocket and gave it to the sorrel. Red took
the treat, then nuzzled Nate’s hand for more.

  “Oh, no, ya don’t,” Nate said, chuckling. “That’s enough for now. C’mon, we’ve gotta get ready to ride.”

  Nate led Red out of the corral, over to where the saddles, bridles, and gear were kept. He took the currycomb and brush from his saddlebags, along with the hoof pick.

  He gave Red a quick brushing, checked his hooves to make sure they were cleaned out, with no pebbles which could possibly cripple the horse stuck between the sole and frog, then replaced everything in his saddlebags. He threw the blanket and saddle on Red’s back, making doubly certain his cinches were tight, then slipped the headstall over Red’s ears and the bit in his mouth.

  He picked up the reins and swung into the saddle, then headed over to where the other Rangers, except Shorty and George, were assembling into a side-by-side column. With the addition of Carl Swan, Lee Shelton, and Larry Cannon to their ranks, Captain Quincy’s company now numbered eighteen men, still two short of its usual complement of twenty.

  “There you be, Nate,” Hoot Harrison called. “Fall in alongside me.”

  Hoot was at the rear of the line, mounted on his lineback dun, Dusty. Nate reined in alongside him. Big Red, not accustomed to being part of such a large number of horses, snorted his excitement. He tossed his head, stamped his feet, and reared slightly. With a quick tug on the reins, Nate pulled him back down.

  “Settle down, Red,” he ordered, then spun the gelding in a circle, three times. Red snorted, but stood quietly in place.

  “I see you’re learnin’ how to handle a horse real good, Nate,” Jeb Rollins praised.

  “You and Red are good teachers,” Nate answered.

  Shorty Beach finished taking down the rope corral and loading its pieces on one of the pack mules. He joined the rest of the men, while George rolled his wagon up alongside them.

  “We’re all present and accounted for, Cap’n,” Shorty said.

  “I can see that,” Quincy answered. “And may I speak for the entire company when I say we greatly appreciate the fact you’re finally wearing new drawers under your denims. Perhaps now any renegades we’re hunting won’t smell you comin’ from a mile away.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Shorty retorted. “Thank those two young whippersnappers hidin’ at the back of the line. If they hadn’t tossed my old ones in the river I’d still be wearin’ ’em. These new woolies are makin’ my butt itch. They scratch like the devil.”

  “Better your butt itches than my nose closes up and my eyes water from the stink of your old drawers,” Dakota Stevens said, to general laughter from the rest of the men.

  “All right, that’s enough. It’s time to settle down and get ready to head out,” Quincy said. “Most of you already know this, but it bears repeatin’, especially for the new men. We’ll be pushin’ as hard and fast as we can until we reach the Big Bend territory. That means ridin’ from sunup to sundown, with only a quick break for dinner and a couple of short stops to allow the horses a breather. Except for today.

  “It’s only about twenty miles from here to Menardville. We’ll ride that far today, and camp outside town tonight. We should reach there a couple of hours before sundown. Everyone will have the chance to spend some time in town. That’ll give those of you who need to pick up any personal supplies the opportunity to do so.

  “It’ll also be your last easy day’s ride until we get where we’re headed. After tonight, we won’t see another town until we reach Fort Stockton. That’s another two hundred or so miles west of Menardville.

  “I intend to cover those two hundred miles in a week, or less. And after that, depending on exactly where we head into the Big Bend, it’ll be another hundred to hundred and fifty miles of real hard ridin’.

  “Any of you new men who think you can’t keep up, say so right now. I’ll give you a discharge, no questions asked and no hard feelings.”

  There was a general shaking of heads and muttered “nos” from Nate, Carl, Larry, and Lee.

  “Fine. I knew I could count on all of you. One last thing before we move out. Nate, Phil, come on up here.”

  Nate looked at Hoot, puzzled.

  “Wonder what the cap’n wants with me?” he whispered.

  “There’s only one way to find out. Go on up there,” Hoot answered.

  “I guess you’re right.” Nate lifted his reins and heeled Big Red into a walk. He rode to the front of the column and stopped next to Captain Quincy. Phil Knight was already alongside the captain.

  “You wanted to see me, Cap’n?” Nate said.

  “I certainly did,” Quincy replied. “You’re gonna be partnered with Phil today, and probably for the next few. He’s our head wrangler, who’s in charge of the remuda.”

  “The remuda? What’s that?” Nate asked.

  “It’s Spanish. A remuda is the extra horses and mules,” Phil explained. “On a ranch, every cowboy has a string of horses, owned by the ranch, assigned to him. Very few cowboys actually own a personal mount. All those horses, taken together, are the remuda, especially when the crew is on a cattle drive.

  “Every big ranch, and even quite a few of the fair to middlin’ sized ones, has at least one horse wrangler, mebbe more, dependin’ on the size of the spread. They’re in charge of the horses, breakin’ new ones to ride, figurin’ out what a horse will do best, like bein’ a ropin’ or cuttin’ horse, for example.”

  “A ropin’ or cuttin’ horse?”

  “Yup. A ropin’ horse does just what the term says. It’s real good at chasin’ down cows for its rider to rope. A cuttin’ horse is an expert at separatin’ one cow from the rest of the herd, say for doctorin’ or brandin’, and keepin’ it from headin’ back to the rest of the cattle.

  “Most cuttin’ horses, once you let ’em loose on a cow critter, will turn on a nickel and give you change, and you can bet the man ridin’ ’em better be ready for every twist and turn they make, or he’ll find himself eatin’ dirt. A man ridin’ a good cuttin’ horse mostly just hangs on and goes along for the ride.

  “Anyway, to get back on track, on a cattle drive, or when us Rangers, or any outfit, are headin’ somewhere, the wrangler’s in charge of the remuda. He has to make sure none of the horses stray, and that they keep up with the rest of the outfit. And when we bed down for the night, the wrangler’s in charge of all the horses, not just the spare ones.”

  “So, the cowboy takin’ care of the horses is called a wrangler,” Nate said.

  “Hold on right there, son,” Phil answered. “A cowboy is a cowboy, and a wrangler is a wrangler. It’s a downright insult to call a wrangler a cowboy, and vice versa. Them’s fightin’ words, even if they do oftentimes help each other out.

  “You might see a wrangler work with cattle for a bit, and a cowboy with horses, but they ain’t hardly the same thing a’tall. I’m not talkin’ about just ridin’ a horse, naturally. Every cowboy rides. I’m talkin’ about breakin’ a horse to saddle, and trainin’ it to be a good cow pony or ridin’ horse. That’s the wrangler’s job.”

  “I’m sorry, Phil,” Nate said. “I didn’t realize there was a difference.”

  “There’s no need to apologize, Nate. Most Easterners don’t know the difference, until they’ve been out here a spell,” Quincy said. “Heck, I’m positive there’s even plenty of city folks right here in Texas who don’t have a clue about the difference between a horse wrangler and a cowboy. But that’s enough palaverin’.

  “Phil, you can explain more to Nate while he’s ridin’ with you. Nate, the reason I’m having you ride with Phil is because you seem to have a real way with horses, at least with yours. I’m wagering you’ll make a fine wrangler. Phil’s a real top hand with horses, so pay close attention to what he tells you. You can learn a lot from him. You have any questions?”

  “Not right now, Cap’n. But I’m certain I will,” Nate answered.

  “Good. Phil?”

  “None at all, Cap’n.”

  “Fine. You two head back
to where we’ve got the remuda, in that small box arroyo, and gather ’em. The rest of you, ride on out. Rangers, company ho!”

  With a wave of his hand, Quincy started the column in motion.

  “Follow me, Nate,” Phil ordered. He put Parker, his rangy chestnut, into a trot. Nate matched Red’s pace to Parker’s. A few minutes later, they were at the mouth of a small arroyo, where the remuda was being held. A rope tied to a redberry juniper at each side of the arroyo and stretched across its mouth prevented the horses and mules from straying.

  “Nate,” Phil said. “Bein’ in charge of the remuda’s usually not all that hard. Horses and mules are herd animals, so they’ll mostly stick with their buddies, not only for protection from mountain lions or wolves and such, but also for each other’s company. These animals we have here are used to travelin’ with us, so they’ll follow along docilely enough, for the most part. Once in a while one of ’em’ll decide to quit the bunch and wander off on his own, or stop to nibble, instead of keepin’ up. It’s our job to chase any bunch-quitters or stragglers back with the rest.”

  “Kinda like when Watson got spooked by the longhorn at the Lopez spread, and I had to catch him?” Nate asked.

  “Yeah, like that. From what I hear tell, you did a fine job roundin’ up that mule. Hoot was right pleased you did. However, it’ll be a lot easier to stop a runaway once you learn how to rope. I’ll be showin’ you the basics of that over the next few days. But becomin’ a top hand with a rope is just like bein’ an expert with a six-gun. It takes lots of practice, so you’ll need to work on your ropin’ every chance you get.”

  “I’ll do just that,” Nate promised.

  “Good. Now, there’s just one more thing before we start the remuda movin’. Don’t ever underestimate a horse or mule, even a donkey or burro. Most folks think horses are dumb, and mules just stubborn, with no brains a’tall. Lemme tell you, when you love horses as much as I do, and have worked with ’em as long as I have, you’ll find out just how clever they are.