“Appears like we’ve got us a gen-you-wine artiste in our midst, Cap’n,” Tom answered. “Show him, Nate.”
“All right.” Reluctantly, Nate handed his pad to the captain.
“You drew this, Nate?” Quincy asked.
“Yeah,” Nate answered. “It ain’t all that much.”
“On the contrary, Nate, this is quite good,” Quincy said. “Take a look, men.” He held up the sketch for everyone to see.
“Hey, that’s us,” Shorty Beach exclaimed.
“It sure is,” Jeb Rollins added. “You really drew that, Nate?”
“Yup.”
“I think it’s fine,” Jeb said. “You got a whole lotta detail in there, the sunset, George’s wagon, the brush, the packs and saddles on the ground, even a couple of the horses. And us, of course.”
“Right down to the smoke and flames of the fire,” Larry Cannon added.
“You been drawin’ for long, Nate?” Quincy asked.
“Off and on since I was a kid,” Nate answered. “Haven’t done much of it since I came to Texas.”
“Well, you’ve got a real talent for it, son. That’s for certain,” Quincy said.
“Dan, I’ve got an idea,” Lieutenant Berkeley said.
“What is it, Bob?”
“How about we make Nate our official company artist? He can do sketches of us ridin’ along, of everyplace we go, some of the people we meet, mebbe even some of the fights we have. Someday, when we’re all long dead and gone, it would be a record of what we’ve accomplished out here. What do you think of that?”
“I think it’s a fine idea, except for the part about drawin’ our gun battles,” Quincy answered. “I don’t think Nate’d be able to sketch and fight renegades at the same time. He’d have his hands full just keepin’ from gettin’ shot, and tryin’ to plug the men tryin’ to put a bullet in him. There’s a big difference between drawin’ a picture and drawin’ a gun.”
“I know that, Dan,” Bob retorted. “However, he could draw from memory, after everythin’ is over. And mebbe he could do pictures of any of the men who might want one, to send back home to their families and loved ones. What d’ya say, Dan?”
“I think it’s a fine idea, but it’s more important what Nate thinks,” Quincy answered. “How about it, son? Would you be willin’ to record the company’s history, in pictures?”
“I wouldn’t mind, Cap’n,” Nate answered. “I still don’t think my drawin’s all that good, though.”
“You let us, and anyone else who sees your work, be the judges of that,” Quincy added. “And there’ll be one other benefit for you, also. Since you’ll be appointed the official company artist, and I guess that also makes you the company historian, I’ll be able to reimburse you for the cost of your drawing supplies. Now, is this picture just about complete?”
“Yeah, Cap’n. All I have to do is sign my name to it.”
“Good. You do that, then I’ll place this drawing in my files for safekeeping. After that, it’s high time we all turned in for the night. Dawn’ll be here before you know it.”
“And not the Dawn you’re thinkin’ about, Dakota—that pretty lady you fell for back in Fort Worth,” Jim said, laughing. Dakota shot him a look that could kill.
“All right, that’s enough. Time to hit your blankets,” Quincy ordered.
****
Just before they fell asleep, Hoot called to Nate.
“Pardner, you still awake?” he whispered.
“I wasn’t, but I am now,” Nate grumbled. He rolled onto his side. “What d’ya want, Hoot?”
“I sure wish I could draw like you,” Hoot answered. “I can whittle some, but I was never much with a paper and pencil. I was wonderin’, when you get the chance, could you draw a bunch of pictures of me?”
“Sure, I’d be glad to,” Nate answered. “But why do you need a whole bunch? Wouldn’t one or two be enough?”
“One or two ain’t nearly enough,” Hoot said. “I want to give one to each gal I leave behind. With all the gals I meet, and who naturally fall in love with me, I’m gonna need a whole lotta pictures.”
“Hoot, I ain’t never seen a gal fall in love with you yet,” Nate retorted. “Heck, I ain’t seen one even kiss you, let alone fall in love with you.”
“It’ll happen, Nate,” Hoot said. “You can bet your hat on it.”
“Hoot, go to sleep,” Nate said, yawning. “Mebbe you can get a gal in your dreams, ’cause that’s the only way you’re ever gonna get one, pal… in your dreams. Now, good night.”
He rolled onto his back, pulled his Stetson over his eyes, and ignored Hoot’s cursing, spluttering response.
****
The next morning, as they were readying to leave, Percy approached Captain Quincy.
“Cap’n,” he said. “Thanks to those Comanches who jumped me’n Nate, we never did get the men those antelope we promised ’em. You mind if I take Nate along and see if we can scare up a couple today?”
“No, I don’t mind one bit,” Quincy answered. “Have you asked Nate if he wants to ride with you again?”
“I did, just a few minutes ago. He’s eager to go, and learn a bit about huntin’. Last time he didn’t get much of a chance.”
“Except on how to hunt and fight Indians,” Quincy said.
“That’s for certain. He did get an unexpected lesson in that,” Percy agreed. “As long as we have your permission, I’ll get him, and we’ll head on out.”
“Go right ahead, and good luck. There’s just one thing.”
“What’s that, Cap’n?”
“Try to stick with pronghorns this time, Percy. Don’t go chousin’ any more Comanches or Apaches out of the brush.”
“I’ll do my best, Cap’n,” Percy answered, matching the captain’s laugh with one of his own. “Yes sir, I’ll do my best.” Still laughing, he headed over to where his horse, already saddled, waited, and where Nate was tossing his saddle on Big Red’s back.
“You about ready to ride, Nate?” he asked.
“Just about. Only have to get my cinches tightened and Big Red’s bridle on,” Nate answered. “Captain Quincy said it was all right for me to go with you?”
“He did. In fact, he thought it was a right fine idea.”
“That’s good.” Nate finished tacking up, then swung into his saddle. “I’m ready, Percy.”
“Then let’s go.” They put their horses into a walk, and rode out of camp.
****
Nate and Percy rode most of the morning, without any sign of game at all. Just before midday, Percy reined in Wind Runner. In front of them was a wash, which had a trickle of water running down its middle. Mesquite, and even a few far out of place, stunted cottonwoods, grew thickly along its banks.
“Nate, I’m bettin’ if we follow this wash, it’ll widen out after a bit,” he said. “And I’m thinkin’ we’ll find some pronghorns where it does.”
Nate looked up and down the wash.
“Yeah, I can guess why. There’s water, and grass. In fact, this’d be a good spot to make camp for the night, if it was a little further along toward sundown.”
“Nope, you’re right about the water and grass, but wrong about settin’ up camp in this wash, or any wash, for that matter,” Percy answered. “You don’t ever camp in a dry wash, not ever, unless you’re desperate, and there’s no other place to stop.”
“Why’s that, Percy?”
“Take a look to the northwest, the direction this here wash comes from. You see those low mountains and ridges up that way, off in the distance, on the horizon?”
“Yeah, I see ’em.”
“Good. Now, do you see those clouds buildin’ up over those hills?”
“Yeah. Those white, fluffy clouds sure are pretty against the deep blue sky.”
“They’re pretty right now,” Percy said, “but in a few hours, there’s a good chance they won’t be so pretty. Odds are those clouds will build up into a whopper of a thunderstorm by later
this afternoon. They’ll dump an awful lot of rain over those hills, rain which will come roarin’ outta there, fillin’ up this wash, brim to brim. That’s the reason we call storms like that gullywashers. They send down flash floods, with little or no warnin’. Sure, the sun might be shinin’ here, but in those hills it’ll be rainin’ like the dickens.
“If you’re caught in a wash when one of those floods bursts through it, you don’t have a chance. You’d be drowned before you even knew what hit you. So, tempting as it might be to camp alongside that creek, with the shade from the mesquite and the grass for your horse, and water for the both of you, you don’t ever want to do it. Comprende?”
“Comprende, and then some, Percy.”
“Good. Oh, and there’s another reason I think we’ll find some pronghorns before too long. The grass has been dried up for weeks, except along this wash, but all that mesquite is bound to tempt our quarry. Those are honey mesquites. The leaves and pods are mighty temptin’ to most grazin’ animals. In fact, the pods are pretty tasty for us humans, too, and we can also eat the leaves if we have too. Keep that in mind.”
“All right. Let’s go find our supper.”
Percy urged Wind Runner down the sandy slope and into the wash, with Nate and Big Red following close behind. They rode for about half a mile, when Percy motioned for Nate to stop.
“Shh, Nate. There they are, right ahead.”
Percy pointed to where the wash widened and petered out, merging with the plain. A herd of about twenty pronghorns was nibbling at grass and mesquite.
“We’ll leave the horses here, and go in on foot,” Percy whispered. He motioned for Nate to dismount. “Quiet as you can. We don’t want to scare ’em off.”
They swung from their saddles, and tied the horses to a good-sized mesquite. Both mounts fell to munching on its pods and leaves. Nate and Percy pulled their rifles from the saddle boots.
“Pronghorns are real skittish animals, Nate. We’ve gotta be real careful stalkin’ ’em, as the least little thing might spook ’em. We’ll use the mesquite and scrub for cover. You stay close behind me, but not so close you can’t see a dry stick, step on it and snap it, or send a loose rock clatterin’. That’d stampede those ornery critters for certain. Lever a round into your gun’s chamber now, otherwise the sound’s liable to scare ’em off.”
Nate nodded his understanding. He jacked a shell into his Winchester’s chamber, then followed Percy as he made his way silently through the brush.
When they were about a hundred yards from the pronghorn herd, Percy dropped to his belly. Nate did the same, pulling himself along with his elbows until he was alongside the scout.
The pronghorn acting as sentry jerked his head around, sniffing the air suspiciously. Percy put a cautioning hand on Nate’s shoulder. Both men remained motionless, until the sentry relaxed a bit, and turned his attention in the opposite direction, apparently convinced nothing was amiss.
“All right, Nate,” Percy said. “See those two, with their sides to us? Those are the ones we want. I’ll take the one on the left. You need to aim just behind your animal’s shoulder. That will put your bullet in its heart or lungs, for a quick, clean kill. There’s hardly any breeze, so you don’t need to worry about allowin’ for the wind workin’ on your shot. Just don’t forget to aim a bit higher than your target, though. Your bullet will drop some, but not all that much at this distance.
“Aim for just below its spine, and you should make a good hit. We’ll have to shoot at the same time, otherwise one of us’ll miss when the rest of the herd takes off. You ready?”
Nate nodded. He eased his rifle forward, and placed it against his shoulder. Alongside him, Percy did the same. He nodded at Nate, then both eased back their triggers, squeezed, and fired. Panicked by the reports, the pronghorns bounded away, racing across the plain, leaving two of their number behind. Percy’s target had dropped in its tracks, while Nate’s stumbled two steps, fell to its knees, rolled onto its side, thrashed for a moment, then lay still.
“Good shootin’, Nate,” Percy said. “Let’s get the horses, and go pick up our supper.”
They retrieved their mounts, then led them up to the kill.
“We’ll load them on the horses, and head back to find the outfit,” Percy said.
“We’re not gonna butcher them here?” Nate asked.
“No. With that storm buildin’ up on the rimrock, we don’t have time. We need to get back to the others, and have ’em quicken their pace. They need to know there’s a flood comin’. If we don’t get across this wash before it fills, we could be stuck here for two or three days. I’ll show you how to tie your kill on Red.”
“How about leavin’ ’em here, and pickin’ ’em up on our way by?”
“The coyotes and buzzards’ll have made short work of the carcasses, long before we get back. Look.”
Percy pointed at several black specks, circling in the sky.
“Buzzards? Where’d they come from?” Nate asked.
“They survive on carrion. They can spot a dead animal, or human, from miles away,” Percy answered. “Let’s get these critters loaded up.”
“All right.” Red snorted and shied at the sight of the dead pronghorn and the smell of its blood, but Nate was able to calm him enough so the animal could be draped over Red’s rump, and tied in place. The other pronghorn was tied over Wind Runner’s rump, then Percy and Nate mounted and pointed their horses in the direction from which they’d come.
“That was a good shot,” Percy repeated. “You hit your target right in the lungs. You sure don’t want to just wound an animal, then have to chase it down, or worse, lose it and have it die slow, after sufferin’ a lot.”
“Thanks, Percy,” Nate mumbled.
“You seem kinda quiet, Nate,” Percy said. “A little bit down. Somethin’ botherin’ you?”
“Mebbe a little. It just made me a bit sad, seein’ this pronghorn die from my bullet. I know we have to kill to eat, and survive, but I can’t help feelin’ a bit sorry for him.”
“It’s good you feel like that,” Percy answered. “That shows you have a respect for all creatures, unlike, say, the buffalo hunters, who kill bison by the hundreds just for their hides, and some of the choice meat, then leave the rest to rot. The Great Spirit provided animals for men to use, and to eat, but not to squander needlessly. You’ll be just fine, Nate.”
“Thanks, Percy.”
“Just one more thing. You might hear it said that Indians have a saying, ‘It’s a good day to die’, or ‘That pronghorn, or buffalo, or deer, is showin’ himself because he’s ready to die, or it’s his day to die’. Well, maybe some Indian somewhere at some time said that, but I ain’t never met one who did. There’s no day that’s ever a good day to die.
“These pronghorns we just shot sure didn’t want to die, and I certainly don’t want to die, except of old age, in my bed. So if anyone ever tries to tell you it’s a good day to die you look him straight in the eye and say, “Bull—”
“I get your meaning, Percy,” Nate said. He broke into a smile. “And I shot my first antelope. Mebbe I’ll make it out here, after all.”
“None of us ever had any doubt about that, kid. Well, perhaps a few.”
Percy kicked his horse into a lope.
****
“Riders approachin’, Cap’n,” Jeb Rollins called. “Appears it’s Percy and Nate. Looks like their horses are carryin’ somethin’ besides them, too. I’ll wager we eat good tonight.”
Once Percy and Nate drew nearer, the men could make out the pronghorns draped over their horses’ rumps. They let out a cheer.
“We eat better’n bacon and beans tonight, boys!” Carl Swan yelled.
“Appears to me like you eat good every night there, Carl,” Hank Glynn answered.
“Mebbe I do, but if we ever get lost out here and run outta grub, I’ll still be alive long after you skinny hombres have starved,” Carl retorted. “That’s why I keep this extra meat on my b
ones.”
The Rangers had come to a stop. Percy and Nate rode up to them.
“I see your hunt was successful, Percy,” Captain Quincy said.
“It certainly was,” Percy replied. “Nate and I each got us a nice, fat pronghorn. There’s fresh meat tonight.”
“Well, then thanks to the both of you. We’ll make camp as soon as possible.”
“We can’t, at least not until we cover some more distance,” Percy answered. “We shot these animals in a good-sized wash, a few miles ahead. There’s a storm buildin’ over the rimrock to the north. If it gets as large as I suspect it’s goin’ to, that wash is gonna flood, and stay in flood for a couple of days. If we don’t want to get stuck waitin’ for the water to recede before we can get movin’ again, we need to cross that wash before the flood hits.”
“You reckon we have enough time to beat the flood?” Lieutenant Berkeley asked.
“We should have plenty,” Percy answered. “It’ll take the storm a couple of hours to form, at least, then it’ll be another two or three before the water gets this far. As long as we don’t dawdle, we’ll make it with ease.”
“Then we’d better get movin’,” Quincy said. He waved the column forward.
“Rangers, Ho! At a lope.”
****
The Rangers were safely eight miles beyond the wash by the time the storm broke in the hills, so they never saw the wall of debris-laden water which came roaring down it, carrying away everything in its path. Instead, they had made camp with the anticipation of fresh meat for supper, in place of the ordinary bacon, beans, and biscuits. The pronghorns Percy and Nate had killed were butchered, cut up, and the pieces spitted over a large fire.
“I know we shouldn’t have a fire this big, since it’ll be spotted by any renegades or Indians within twenty miles of here,” Captain Quincy said. “However, we don’t get to eat this well very often, and we sure don’t want any of this meat to go to waste. We’ll just have to keep an extra sharp lookout tonight.”
The men settled down to their meal, eating with gusto. Fresh meat, be it venison, fowl such as partridge or quail, even the infrequent wild pig or javelina, was always a welcome treat on the trail. Most of them were a bit more than halfway finished when Ken Demarest, who had the first watch on sentry duty along with Hank Glynn, called out a warning.
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