A Ranger Grown (Lone Star Ranger Book 8)

by James J. Griffin

  “Not as much out of luck as the man who got killed,” Anthony said, causing everyone in the room to break into laughter once again.

  “No, I reckon not,” Spalding agreed, chuckling. “Look, unless someone has anything else to ask, I would say we should conclude this meeting for now, so you can go out to the firing range and test these guns. Any more questions that do come up we can answer individually. So, unless there are any objections, this meeting is adjourned.”

  When no one raised any objection, he concluded. “Fine. Now, line up to receive your new guns.”

  3

  Nate and his companions were awake and out of bed well before the sun rose the next morning. By the time it topped the eastern horizon, gilding the thin, cirrus clouds covering most of the sky in pastel shades of pinks, yellows, and oranges, they had eaten breakfast, packed their gear, saddled their horses, and were mounted.

  Unlike in the United States Army when a cavalry patrol left a post, there was no great fanfare, no smartly cleaned and pressed uniforms, no highly polished metal and sabers, no blowing of bugles, waving of flags, or salutes. As they had promised, Colonel Morton and Adjutant General Spalding had also arisen early, and were there to see Jeb’s patrol off. They merely shook each man’s hand, wished him good luck, and, with a “Vaya con Dios,” or “Adios,” bade him farewell.

  Since the Rangers wore no uniforms, and Jeb, the only one who carried a badge, had it tucked inside his shirt pocket, the column of riders looked more like cowboys on their way to a roundup than a group of the most feared, and famed, lawmen in the entire country. Morton and Spalding watched the men until they rode out of sight, then, silently, went back into Ranger Headquarters.

  After the Rangers crossed the Colorado River, which cut through the heart of Austin, and reached the city limits, Jeb ordered a halt.

  “We’re only gonna stop for a minute, men,” he said. “I just want to let you know how far I plan on travelin’ the next couple of days. We’re gonna stay south of the Colorado, until we reach the Marble Falls. That’s about forty-five miles or so from here, so it will be a tough ride for both you and your horses, but I want to put as much distance as possible from Austin behind us today.

  “Plus, the ride’ll be worth it. The Colorado tumbles over a series of rock ledges at the Marble Falls, so once we set up camp, y’all will be able to cool off in the river.

  “The next day won’t be quite as hard. We’ll spend the night in Llano, which is about thirty or so miles from the Marble Falls. Unless I decide to stay overnight in Fort Stockton, which I probably won’t, since there’s still a lot of friction between the Army and the Rangers, that’ll be your last chance to spend the night on a mattress for quite a while—in fact, probably for as long as we’re out in far west Texas. It’s up to you to decide whether you want to spend the money for a hotel room, try’n talk the hostler at the livery stable to let you bunk overnight in the hayloft, or sleep on the ground behind the barn. I’d recommend the room, since, as I said, it will be the last one you’ll see until only the Good Lord knows when.”

  He paused, and looked over the patrol.

  “The Rangers ain’t the Army,” he said, “so first, call me ‘Jeb’, not ‘Lieutenant’, unless I tell you the situation warrants it. Second, we won’t be ridin’ in formation. If the cavalry would learn to do that, spread out a bit rather than stayin’ bunched up, they’d be a lot harder for the Indians to spot. Once we get movin’ again, partner up with whoever you’d like. Tonight, when we stop, we’ll get to know the new recruits a bit better. Any questions?”

  “Are we gonna stop and give the horses a breather once in a while?” Newt asked.

  “Yeah, in about two hours,” Jeb answered. “There’s a spring that feeds into the Colorado about that far off. We’ll rest a spell there, and a couple more times before we stop for the night. Any other questions?”

  The answer Jeb received was a shaking of heads.

  “All right, then let’s get movin’.”

  He touched his spurs to Dudley’s sides, putting the horse into a lope.

  ****

  Since Hoot, as a corporal, was second in command, he rode beside Jeb, instead of his usual place alongside Nate. In the saddle scabbard under Nate’s right leg rode his new Winchester. It had made him a bit melancholy, having to leave the rifle which had belonged to his older brother, Jonathan, behind, but it was impossible to take both weapons, and the added weight of a second gun would have put more stress on Big Red. Unlike Hoot, who picked out a rifle, Nate had chosen the lighter, shorter carbine over the longer, heavier version of the Model 1873. He would never be as good a shot with a long gun as a pistol, and felt the lighter weight and shorter barrel of the carbine would be more maneuverable, and easier to handle, therefore hopefully making his shots more accurate. However, he was now wearing two six-guns, one of the new Colt .45s on his right hip, and his late older brother’s tried and true Smith & Wesson American .44 on his left, as a backup. Nate slowed Red a trifle, to fall in between Anthony Greco and Zack Ellesio. Directly in front of them were the other three new members of the outfit.

  “Howdy. I’m Nate,” he said to Anthony.

  “And I’m Zack,” the former Circle Dot E cowboy added.

  “I’m pleased to meet you both,” Anthony answered. “By the way, I haven’t gone by Anthony since I left home. Most folks just call me A.J.”

  “We’ll have to talk some more once we stop, or until Jeb slows down for a bit,” Nate said. “We can’t hardly hear each other, between the wind and the horses’ hoof beats.”

  “All right.” Anthony nodded. With Jeb maintaining the fast pace, conversation was virtually impossible. “Step up there, Jones,” he told his horse, giving him a slap on the rump with the ends of his reins.

  Nate studied the five new men as they rode along. He already knew Zack, of course. The former cowboy was mounted on a dark bay gelding, which still bore a Circle Dot E brand on its left hip.

  Anthony Greco was about average in height, but very lean. His hair was black, and his eyes deep brown. He was clad in a light blue checked shirt, with a red bandana looped around his neck, and the usual denim pants. Over the shirt was a cowhide vest. Both the black Stetson and boots he wore appeared almost new. While he had apparently just joined the Rangers, he seemed able to handle the spirited liver chestnut gelding he rode expertly. The dark brown horse had no white markings at all. Like his owner, the horse was long and lean, but seemed to be handling the fast pace with little trouble. He looked as if he could go for hours with no rest.

  Trace Donovan was on the short side, and chunky. He had sandy hair, which he wore longer than shoulder length, a beard of the same color, and light brown eyes. His shirt was white, which would be a bit cooler, but would be dust and sweat stained before the Rangers had made ten miles. Around his neck was a yellow bandana. His flat-brimmed hat was tan, and his pants and boots both dark brown. His mount was a stocking-footed bay gelding—chunky, like its owner.

  To the right of Trace, in the middle of the threesome, Mike Horton rode easily in the saddle, on his leggy blaze-faced grulla. He stood about the same height and weight as Nate. Mike had brown hair and hazel eyes, and looked more like sixteen or seventeen, rather than his true age of twenty-one. He wore a denim shirt, over which was a brown roughout vest, and also denim pants. A dark blue bandana was pulled up over his mouth and nose, to filter out the dust thrown up by the horses up ahead. His narrow-brimmed hat was dark gray, and its color matched almost exactly the mouse-colored grulla gelding underneath him.

  Newt Collins, the remaining new man, was also tall and thin, but unlike Anthony, he had light blond hair, bleached almost white by the sun where it wasn’t protected by his white Stetson, and pale gray eyes. He was clad in a light green shirt, tan pants, and a tan cloth vest. At the moment, he had pulled his green polka dotted bandana from his neck, to wipe sweat from his face. He leaned forward in the saddle to pat his palomino’s shoulder, and murmured a word of encourag
ement to the horse. He appeared to be the only one of the new men who was left handed, for his holster hung at his left hip, but his pistol was not set butt forward for a cross draw.

  Nate, as well as Big Red, had gotten used to long, hard, fast rides over his past year as a Ranger, but the grueling pace Jeb had set was taking a toll on both him and his horse. He breathed a sigh of relief when Jeb slowed Dudley to a walk.

  “The water hole’s just ahead,” he announced. “We’ll rest for thirty minutes.”

  A few minutes later, they reached the small spring. The stop was just long enough for the horses to drink their fill, and crop at the bunch grass growing alongside the spring’s banks. While their horses grazed, the men took drinks for themselves, filled their canteens, and ate a hasty meal of hardtack and cold bacon from their saddlebags. All too soon, it seemed to Nate, they were back in the saddle, and pushing their horses to the limit once again.

  ****

  Despite the heat and dust, the Rangers arrived at their destination about an hour before sundown. Nate swore that he had never been as dirty and sweat soaked during his entire time riding with the Rangers as he was this day. However, he had to admit that making the tough, almost fifty mile ride was well worth reaching the spot Jeb had chosen as their campsite for the night.

  As he had promised, the Marble Falls were at the top of a canyon, where the Colorado River dropped over a series of limestone ledges, into a small lake, with the mist from the falls cooling the surrounding area. Cottonwoods, cedars, oaks and other species of trees had grown tall in the relatively moist soil along the riverbank and lakeshore, providing welcome shade. Grass grew thick and green along the river, so there was plenty of good grazing for the exhausted horses.

  The men dismounted, and allowed their mounts a short drink, being careful not to allow them to sip down too much of the cool, sweet water too quickly, and possibly colic or founder.

  Once the horses had been watered, their riders pulled the gear off them, and rubbed them down. Several of the men, Nate and Hoot included, pulled off their boots, socks, and shirts, and led their mounts back into the lake to cool them out. Nate pulled himself onto Big Red’s bare back, hanging tightly onto the big sorrel’s mane as the horse swam a semi-circle around the lake, then back to shore.

  Hoot, along with Dusty, his lineback dun, was waiting for them when he emerged. Dusty had rolled in the shallow water at the lake’s edge, and now shook himself vigorously, sending water droplets flying in all directions.

  “Hey, you new men,” Hoot shouted. “My pard Nate, here, says no one can outswim him. He just challenged any of you who think you can beat him to a race.”

  “What’re you talkin’ about, Hoot?” Nate said, his voice almost a hiss, as he slid off Red’s back. “I didn’t say any such thing.”

  “Shut up, ya idjit, and just play along,” Hoot said. “Remember when you first joined the Rangers and we raced? Turned out it was over before it even started. I thought I was a good swimmer, but boy howdy, you showed me up for fair. Go along with me and we can clean up.”

  “I just did,” Nate said. “Me and Red both.”

  “I’m talkin’ about cleanin’ up mucho dinero, not takin’ a bath,” Hoot answered. “Boy, for a feller who went to school back East, sometimes you can be just plain dumb. All of us who know you will bet on you, and we’ll win a pile of money. Just look at those new fellers…ain’t one of ’em got a chance against you. But they don’t know that…yet.”

  “I dunno,” Nate said, shaking his head.

  “Hey, what happened to the hombre who grew up along the Delaware River, is part fish, and whose friend got swallered up by a whale?” Hoot asked. “Too much Texas dust gotten under your skin and into your brain? C’mon, pard. Stay with me on this.”

  “All right, although don’t say I didn’t try and warn you,” Nate said, giving in to Hoot’s plea. “Go ahead and see if any of ’em’ll race me.”

  “What’s the matter with you fellers?” Hoot shouted. “I ain’t heard one of you take up my pard’s challenge. He says you’re all a bunch of yella-bellied chickens.”

  “Why can’t your pard speak for himself?” Trace asked. “Cat got his tongue?”

  “Oh, I can,” Nate said. “It’s just that I hate havin’ to beat a man I hardly know.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Anthony spoke up. “I’ll take you on. I can swim pretty good.”

  “What’s goin’ on here?” Jeb asked, as he walked up to where the men were gathering along the lake shore. “Anythin’ I should know about?” He already knew, of course, what was about to take place. However, asking those questions would help establish his command over the patrol.

  “Nate, here, just asked if any of the new boys wanted to take him on in a race across the lake,” Hoot explained. “Anthony just took him up on it.”

  “A. J.,” Anthony corrected him. “I go by A. J.”

  “All right,” Hoot said. “A. J. it is. Across the lake and back?”

  “That’s fine with me, as long as A. J. agrees,” Nate said.

  “That suits me,” A. J., as he would be known by the Rangers henceforth, answered.

  “Is it okay if we do a little wagerin’ on the race, Jeb?” Hoot asked.

  “Of course it is,” Jeb answered. “In fact, I’ll place the first bet. I’ve got five dollars that says Nate wins.”

  “Hooray! We have a race,” Hoot exclaimed. “Jeb, do you mind holdin’ the bets?”

  “Not at all,” Jeb answered.

  “You heard the lieutenant, boys,” Hoot said. “I’ve also got five bucks I’m gonna bet on my pard, Nate. Ain’t nobody in the entire state of Texas who can swim faster’n him. Who’s next?”

  While the others gathered around Hoot and Jeb, yelling in excitement as they placed their bets, Nate got rid of the rest of his clothes, his denims, bandana, and hat. A.J. also shucked out of his clothes. He carefully rolled up his gunbelt and put it on top of them. Once all the bets were placed, they stood at the edge of the lake.

  “All right, all the bettin’s done,” Hoot said. “You two fellers ready?”

  “I am,” Nate said.

  “Me, too,” A. J. added.

  “Good. The rules are simple,” Hoot said. “When I count to three, you’ll both dive into the lake and start swimmin’. You’ll swim to the base of the waterfalls, then back to here. The one who gets back first wins. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Nate answered.

  “Agreed,” A. J. said.

  “Then we’ll start,” Hoot said. “One…two…three!”

  The two boys dove into the lake, swimming underwater for several feet. Nate surfaced first, about six feet ahead of A. J. Their arms churned wildly as they sliced through the water, with their comrades on the shore urging them on.

  Nate had lengthened his lead to about ten feet when he reached the base of the falls. He reversed direction, and passed Anthony while he was still more than six feet from the falls. Nate picked up speed as he headed for the finish.

  However, after he reversed, Anthony picked up even more speed than Nate. By the time they were halfway back across the lake, they were neck and neck. Nate’s partners groaned when they realized he might actually lose this race, then began yelling and screaming, cheering him on.

  When they were about twenty feet from shore, A. J. put on a last burst of effort. He scrambled out of the water a full length ahead of Nate. All of the men, except for Mike Horton, fell into a stunned silence. Since Mike was the only one who had bet on A. J., he was already counting his winnings in his head. Nate walked out of the lake, breathing hard, and shook A. J.’s hand.

  “Good race, A. J.,” he said. “You beat me fair and square.”

  “Thanks, Nate,” A. J. answered.

  “Nate. How could you let this happen?” Hoot cried. “I never in my wildest dreams imagined any of these new fellers could beat you at swimmin’. Especially A. J., as skinny as he is.”

  “I didn’t let it happen,” Nate a
nswered. “A. J.’s just a faster swimmer, that’s all. Him bein’ skinny helps him cut through the water quicker. I tried to tell you it was a hare-brained idea, but would you listen to me? No.”

  “But where’d you learn to swim like that, A. J.?” Hoot asked him.

  “I grew up in a little town in Connecticut, along the banks of the Housatonic River,” A. J. answered.

  “The Housa-what’s it?” Hoot echoed.

  “The Housatonic. I spent every chance I could get either swimmin’ or fishin’ there. I’ve been a good swimmer since I was four years old.”

  “Now you tell us,” Hoot said, moaning.

  “Hey, you never asked,” A. J. retorted.

  “That’s right, you didn’t, Hoot,” Jeb said. “I guess Mike takes all this money.”

  Hoot groaned again, when Jeb handed the cash to Mike.

  “What made you bet on A. J.?” Hoot asked Mike.

  “Because none of the other fellers did,” Mike answered. “So I figured, what the heck? If Nate wins, I’m only out five dollars, but if A. J. wins, then I’ll rake in a whole pile of dinero. Besides, like Nate said, A. J.’s so thin I reckoned he could slip through the water like an eel. He sure proved me right. Muchas gracias, A. J. The next town we come to, I’ll buy you the biggest steak I can find.”

  “Thanks, Mike,” A. J. answered.

  “It’s time to stop palaverin’, and start makin’ supper,” Jeb said. “Eddy, you and Eli start gatherin’ up some firewood. Trace, you give ’em a hand. Newt, can you cook at all?”

  “I’m a fair hand at it,” Newt answered.

  “Good, that means you and Sean will cook the grub,” Jeb said. “The rest of you, picket the horses for the night. Make certain they have enough rope so they can graze. Nate and A. J., as soon as you dry yourselves off and get dressed, you can take it easy until supper’s ready. You earned that by puttin’ on such a good race.”

  “Thanks, Jeb,” Nate answered.

  “Yeah, thanks,” A. J. added. “We appreciate it.”