“Any of you boys who were in the War, you know what we’re up against. Think of how many of your friends were picked off by Yankee snipers. This is the same situation. That’s why we’ll wait until mornin’. At least, with daylight, we’ll have some chance of spottin’ those men before they spot us. If we went in after dark, we’d just be ridin’ blind, and askin’ for bullets in our backs.”
“There is one other option, Cap’n,” Percy spoke up.
“If there is, I’d like to hear it, Percy.”
“We’ll camp here, as you said. Once it’s full dark, I’ll scout ahead, and see if I can find any sign of those men. I’ll go on foot, so there’s no chance anyone would spot my horse. At least, that way, we’ll have some idea what we’re up against, or if we’ve just been sent on a wild goose chase.”
“Percy’s got a good idea there, Dan,” Bob said.
“I’ve gotta agree with the lieutenant,” Jeb added.
Quincy stroked his chin. “I dunno. It’s awful risky. I’d hate losin’ you, Percy. Far as I’m concerned, you’re the best scout in the Rangers.”
“Thanks, Cap’n. Which means I won’t get caught. And if those men are in there, I can give you at least a pretty good idea of where they’re situated. Besides, that’s what the Rangers pay me for, to be a scout. I don’t need to remind you an Indian can slip around without bein’ heard or seen far more easily than a white man.”
“All right, you’ve convinced me. Soon as it’s full dark, you go ahead. There’s no moon tonight, so that will help. The rest of you, care for your horses, then make sure your weapons are in good working order. It’ll be a cold camp tonight. Supper’ll have to be jerky and hardtack. No coffee. We can’t chance a fire. It’d be too easy to spot. All right, dismount.”
****
Not one of the men turned in early that night. They all were alert, even the men not on sentry duty watching for any signs of the outlaws. Captain Quincy had ordered no smoking, lest a cigarette’s glow or chance puff of smoke drifting to a renegade’s nose give them away. That meant no one could calm his nerves with the comfort of tobacco.
Everyone was anxiously awaiting Percy’s return. Nate was the most tense of all. He spent an hour grooming Big Red, currying him over and over.
“Nate,” Hoot finally said, “You brush that horse any more you’re gonna take all the hide right offa him. What’s the matter with you, anyway? You’re more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs. I figured you’d gotten over your fright by now.”
“I dunno,” Nate said. “I’m not sure if I’m afraid that Percy will find signs those men are here, or if he won’t. I’d hate to think we came this close, only to find we’re on the wrong trail.”
“Well, you can’t do nothin’ until he gets back,” Hoot said. “No point stewin’ about it. You want to draw some of those pictures for me while we’re waitin’?”
“It’s kinda hard to sketch in the dark,” Nate answered, chuckling. “Don’t worry about me, Hoot. I’ll be okay.”
“I sure hope so, pard. Meantime, it’s ten o’clock. That means it’s my turn on watch, along with Hank. Reckon I’d best find him so we can get out there to relieve Joe and Dakota.”
Hoot picked up his rifle to start up the ridge where Captain Quincy had stationed the sentries. He’d only gone a few yards when Dakota met him.
“What’re you doin’ down here already?” Hoot asked him.
“Percy’s comin’ in. Reckon we’ll know now what we’re up against,” Dakota said.
Nate had seen Dakota walk into camp. He dropped Red’s currycomb and hurried up to him.
“Did I hear you right, Dakota? Percy’s back?”
“He’ll be here in a minute or two. Better let him talk to the cap’n first, though, son.”
“I guess you’re right,” Nate reluctantly agreed. He, along with the others, watched until Percy emerged from the gloom. The scout headed directly for where Captain Quincy stood, waiting.
“Well, Percy?”
Percy uncapped his canteen and took a long swallow of water before replying.
“They’re in there, all right. I found the tracks of at least a dozen horses, cuttin’ off this main trail. My guess is they belong to the men we’re after. Whoever’s leadin’ the outfit is a right smart hombre, too. Half the hoof prints head into Brushy Draw, the rest into Sycamore Canyon. We’ll have to split our forces to go after all of ’em.”
“Funny they didn’t try’n hide their trail,” Dan said.
“Not all that funny,” Percy answered. “They probably figure anyone who sees those prints’ll just reckon they belong to cowboys searchin’ for cattle. Or, if anyone does think they belong to rustlers or smugglers, they sure as heck ain’t gonna go in after ’em. That’d be plumb loco. Heck, it’s gonna be plumb loco us goin’ in there.”
“You think they have a guard out?” Jim asked.
“Wouldn’t you?” Percy answered. “I got close enough to spot at least one. That’s how I’m positive these are the same men who ambushed us. The hombre on watch is a big man, kinda dark-skinned. I’d bet dollars to doughnuts he’s the Cajun Captain Anders talked about.”
“Good work, Percy,” Quincy praised. “Boys, we’ll start out an hour before sunup. Bob, you’ll take Jim, Percy, Dan, Hoot, Joe, Hank, and Ken. Your job will be to clean out the snakes in Sycamore Canyon. I’ll take Jeb, Tom, Phil, Dakota, Carl, Lee, Shorty, and Nate. We’ll go after the ones in Brushy Draw. We’ll hit those men soon as it’s daylight. From what I know of those canyons, this most likely won’t be an all out assault. We might get a couple of those men right off, but after that it’ll be a guerilla operation. We’ll have to roust those hombres out from wherever they’re hidin’, behind trees or rocks, dug into the dirt, wherever we find ’em, one man at a time. I don’t need to tell any of you to be careful. Make sure you don’t shoot one of your pardners by mistake. Any questions?”
There were none.
“Good. Now, try and get some sleep. And may God ride with us and protect us.”
****
It seemed to Nate he had barely fallen asleep before Hoot was shaking his shoulder. He’d spent most of the night staring at the sky, questioning what would happen when he and the Rangers finally confronted the men who had murdered his family, ambushed the Rangers, killing six of them, and attacked the Lopez ranch, killing two more innocent cowboys.
And who knew how many other robberies, killings, burnings, and lootings these men had committed? All Nate’s fears came roaring back, with a vengeance. Would he be able to face the pale-eyed outlaw leader he’d vowed to kill, or would he turn tail and run? Or would he freeze, and let the man finally put a killing bullet into him?
Try as he might, the answers wouldn’t come. He finally dozed off, still wondering.
“C’mon, pardner, rise and shine,” Hoot said. “Time to get after that bunch.”
Nate threw back his blankets and sat up. “All right, Hoot. Sure wish you were sidin’ me, rather’n ridin’ with Lieutenant Bob.”
“Hey, you can’t always count on me bein’ there to pull you out of every scrape you get into,” Hoot said. “Don’t worry, Nate. You’ll be just fine. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t believe it.”
“Thanks, Hoot. Reckon I’d better saddle up.”
There would be no breakfast this morning. The men contented themselves with water from their canteens. They saddled and bridled their horses in silence, mounted, and started off, the only sounds the soft clopping of the horses’ hooves, the creaking of leather, and the occasional jingle of a bit chain.
The air had cooled considerably overnight, and a thick mist had formed over the Devil’s River. It hugged the ground like a thick blanket of cotton. A slight breeze pushed it over the trail, sending it swirling through the brush, up the canyons and into the draws, swaddling the brush and trees.
By the time the Rangers reached the junction with Brushy Draw and Sycamore Canyon, the mist had thickened even
more, limiting visibility considerably.
Silently, Captain Quincy waved Bob and his men into Sycamore Canyon, then led his own into Brushy Draw.
“Keep a sharp lookout,” he whispered. “You can be certain there’s at least one man watchin’ for anyone snoopin’ around. Don’t stay bunched up. Spread out a bit.”
Despite the chill in the air, sweat was beading on Nate’s forehead. It dampened the armpits of his shirt, and trickled down his back and chest.
When a shot rang out, he jerked in his saddle. Ahead of him, Shorty Beach toppled from his horse. More bullets ripped through the brush. Behind them, more gunfire crackled from Sycamore Canyon.
“Get down!” Captain Quincy shouted. He grabbed his rifle and rolled from his saddle. The rest of the men followed his lead, pulling the rifles from their boots, jumping off their horses, sending them to safety with slaps on the rump, then diving for cover.
As soon as he hit the ground, Captain Quincy got off a shot at the drygulcher who had gotten Shorty. His quick shot hit the outlaw in the middle of his chest, penetrating his heart and killing him instantly.
Bullets were ripping through the brush, seeking out their targets. Men screamed in pain whenever one found its mark. Nate dove to his belly and crawled forward, as lead split the air all around him. He spotted one man hiding behind the trunk of a cottonwood, just his left side exposed. He took careful aim and fired.
The man staggered from behind the tree when Nate’s bullet took him in the side. Nate levered and fired again, this bullet striking the outlaw just above his belt buckle. The man screamed, dropped his gun, grabbed his middle, then pitched to his face.
A bullet from behind him took off a branch, just above Nate’s head. He rolled onto his back, to see the big Cajun Captain Anders and Percy had described taking deliberate aim at his chest. He tried to bring his rifle to bear on the man, knowing he could never aim and fire before the outlaw put a slug into him.
Just as the Cajun pulled his trigger, another shot rang out, plowing into the outlaw’s back and slamming him forward. Blood spurted from the man’s chest where the bullet exited. The impact lifted him off his feet, then he spun a half-circle and crumpled onto his side.
Lee Shelton, his smoking six-gun in his hand, grinned at Nate, then disappeared into the scrub.
Between the fog, the thick brush, and the confusion of the fight, Nate soon lost track of time, place, and his companions. He kept pushing forward, dodging bullets, searching for more of the outlaws.
The battle raged for what seemed, to him, like hours, but which was, in truth, less than thirty minutes. He came to an opening in the brush, in the middle of which lay a body, face-down and motionless.
Nate crawled up to the dead man and rolled him over. Lee Shelton had died with three bullets in his chest. Nate got sick to his stomach. Another bullet smacked into the dirt alongside him. Nate scrambled back into the brush.
The gunfire was diminishing now, only an occasional shot echoing through the draw. Who was winning? Nate wondered. Were most of the outlaws dead, or was it most of his partners who had fallen with bullets in them, and was he soon to join them?
His thoughts were interrupted by a shout from just ahead.
“Rangers. I’ve got your captain. The only way you’ll see him alive again is if you ride on outta here, then let me and my men head for Mexico.”
“That’s him!” Nate exclaimed to himself. “I’d know that voice anywhere. It’s the son of Satan who leads this bunch.” He came to his feet and ran straight for the voice. He burst out of the brush to find the pale-eyed gang leader with one arm around Captain Quincy’s neck, and his hand holding a gun to the captain’s head.
“Nate!” Quincy shouted. “Get outta here, kid.”
Nate shook his head. “Can’t do it, Cap’n.” He dropped his rifle and placed his hand on the butt of his Smith and Wesson.
“You’d better find the rest of your buddies, and tell ’em if they’re not outta here in five minutes your captain’s a dead man,” the outlaw leader said.
“Not gonna happen,” Nate answered. “Don’t you know who I am, mister?”
The pale-eyed outlaw squinted as he looked more closely at Nate.
“You! The kid we thought we killed back outside San Saba. The kid I thought I gunned down in the Ranger camp. Well, your luck just ran out, sonny boy. I’m gonna make sure of you this time.”
Furious at seeing Nate still alive, thinking of nothing but finally shooting him dead, the outlaw shoved Captain Quincy aside, and brought his gun around.
Before he could thumb back his hammer and pull the trigger, Nate lifted his gun from its holster and shot him twice in the chest. The man staggered backward, but didn’t fall. He was bringing his gun level when Nate shot him in the belly. The man grunted, buckled slightly, but still managed to get off a shot, which just missed Nate’s left ear.
Nate tossed aside everything which Jeb had taught him about aiming for the biggest target. He aimed lower, and put a bullet into the pale-eyed Satan’s groin, dropping him to his knees.
With only two bullets left, Nate aimed carefully, and shot the outlaw right between his eyes. The man twisted and fell onto his back. Nate stalked up to him, kicked the gun from his hand, and watched the light fade from those pale eyes.
He walked over to where Quincy lay, struggling to rise. The gunfire had now completely stopped.
“You all right, Cap’n?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’m okay,” Quincy answered. “Just twisted my ankle when that hombre shoved me to the dirt. Help me up, will you?
“All right.” Nate helped Quincy to his feet. The captain leaned against him for support.
“How about you, Nate? Are you okay?”
“I believe I am, Cap’n, yes.”
“What about that pale-eyed devil?”
“He’s dead. I made sure of it this time. It wasn’t easy, though. My first three bullets didn’t seem to bother him, hardly at all.”
“I saw what happened, son. Let’s see why. Gimme a hand gettin’ over to him.”
“All right.”
Quincy, with Nate’s help, hobbled over to the dead outlaw.
“There doesn’t seem to be any blood on his shirt, Nate. Open it up and let’s see why.”
“Sure.” Nate opened the outlaw’s shirt. Underneath it was a thick garment, which appeared to have two outer layers of silk, with several alternating layers of silk and a cotton-like material in between. Nate’s bullets were stuck in the garment. There were also several patches where the outlaw had evidently been shot previously.
Quincy let out a low whistle.
“Well, I’ll be. Never seen anythin’ like that before,” Quincy said.
“Explains why my bullets never hurt him,” Nate said. “But I need to check one more thing.”
He rolled the outlaw onto his back and pulled down his shirt collar. At the right side of the base of his neck was a fading bullet scar.
“I knew it. I did get him, back at the Lopez place,” Nate said. “If it hadn’t been for that lightnin’…”
“There’s no time to worry about that now, Nate,” Quincy said. “We’ve got to find out what’s happened to the rest of the boys. If they haven’t taken care of what’s left of this bunch, they’ll be comin’ after us.”
“I don’t think we have to worry about that, Cap’n. Look.”
Jeb and Dakota emerged from the brush, guns still at the ready.
“Over here, men!” Quincy called.
“Cap’n. You all right?” Jeb called back.
“We’re both fine,” Quincy answered. “The leader of this outfit’s lyin’ dead, over there. Nate plugged him.”
“Nate? Good work, boy,” Dakota said.
“Let that go for now,” Quincy answered. “How about the others? And the rest of us?”
“Far as we can tell, they’re all done for, at least on our side of the trail,” Jeb answered. “If there are any we missed, they’ve turned tail and run
. Haven’t seen Lieutenant Bob yet, so can’t say as to what happened in Sycamore Canyon. We did lose one man. Shorty Beach was killed by that bushwhack shot. And one’s missin’. Lee.”
“Lee’s dead,” Nate answered. “He’s lyin’ in a clearing over that way.” His lower lip trembled, his voice cracked, and his eyes filled with tears. “He saved my life. The big Cajun was about to plug me, but Lee got him instead. And now, he’s dead.”
“There’s nothin’ to be done about it,” Quincy said. “Riskin’ your life just goes with bein’ a Ranger. Lee knew that when he signed on. He wouldn’t want us frettin’ about him. Same goes for Shorty. He died doin’ what he loved best…upholdin’ the law. Now, we’d better find out what happened to Bob and his men.”
****
Lieutenant Berkeley and his men had also routed the outlaws who were hiding in Sycamore Canyon. Captain Quincy and the surviving Rangers from his group found them halfway into the canyon. Two of the men were stretched out on the ground. Jim was working on one.
“Hoot!” Nate shouted, realizing his friend was the man Jim was treating. Hoot’s face was coated with blood. “What happened to you?”
“I made a dumb mistake,” Hoot said. “Stepped in front of a bullet. Never, and I mean never, do that, Nate.”
“I reckon that’s good advice,” Nate answered. “Too bad you didn’t give it to me sooner. I did get plugged when this gang attacked my family’s ranch, and again durin’ the ambush on our camp, remember? You gonna be all right?”
“Hoot’ll be just fine, Nate,” Jim said. “The bullet just grazed his thick skull. Wish I could say the same for ol’ Hank, but I can’t. He took two slugs through his guts. He didn’t have a chance, but at least he took the man who killed him with him… the half-breed who was the segundo of the outfit. Hank nailed him plumb center, before he went down. Drilled him right through the stomach.”
“Then it appears this gang is finished,” Quincy said. “We’ll patch up our hurts, and bury our dead soon as we can. As far as the outlaws, we’ll just leave ’em for the buzzards and coyotes. Even that’s more’n they deserve.”
Lone Star Ranger #3 Page 11
