“And Ranger Ellesio! You claim you’ve been cowboyin’ since you were growed enough to set a horse and handle a rope. You know as well as Nate does how important it is to take care of your bronc. As far as me bein’ more worried about the horses than you fellers, it’s easier by far for me to replace a man or two, rather’n tryin’ to find horses that can handle all we throw at ’em, plus be able to stand steady under gunfire, with bullets whizzin’ all around ’em.
“So, get off those horses, get the gear off ’em, then make certain you curry ’em real good. Make certain your saddles are stood on end, and the saddle blankets spread out, so they’ll be dry by mornin’. Is that plain enough for you two jugheads?”
“Yessir,” Zack said, chagrined.
“I reckon it is,” Nate muttered.
“Good. Then line up to start waterin’ those horses.”
A.J. and his horse, Jones, were in the middle of the line for water. When A. J. rode the dark brown gelding up to the water, Jones lowered his nose, took a sip, then snorted at the bitter alkali taste of the spring. He bucked explosively, sending his unprepared rider two feet in the air. A. J. spun a full circle in mid-air, then came down and landed on his belly with a solid thump. All the wind was knocked out of him. Nate jumped off Big Red, hurried up to A. J., and rolled him onto his back.
“Are you okay, A. J.?” he asked.
“I…I…dunno.” A. J.’s breath failed him. His face was scraped up, and it was clear he would be stiff and sore for a few days, at least.
“Nate, Jim Kelly taught you more’n anyone else here about patchin’ hurt men up,” Jeb said. “Check A. J. over.”
“Yessir, Jeb,” Nate answered. “A. J., you better hold dang still, while I see just how bad hurt you are. Don’t move until I make sure nothin’s broken.”
Hoot chuckled.
“Boy howdy, I do believe the last trace of Yankee is gone from your talk, Nate. You really are speakin’ Texican.”
Nate first looked into A. J.’s eyes. The pupils were even, and not dilated. He held his hand in front of A. J.’s face, with two fingers extended.
“Don’t try’n talk if you can’t, just blink the number if you have to, Nate ordered. “How many fingers am I holdin’ up?”
“Two,” A. J. managed to gasp out, still struggling to pull air into his lungs.
“That’s right, and it’s a good sign,” Nate reassured him. “I don’t believe you’ve got a concussion. Now, keep holdin’ still.”
Nate ran his hands along A. J’s sides, checking for any fractured ribs, or worse, one that had broken and punctured a lung. A. J. didn’t scream with pain, and no pink froth bubbled from his mouth. Nate felt no sign of any cracked ribs, nor heard any wheezing that would indicate a punctured lung. He gave a sigh of relief.
“Seems like you didn’t break any ribs, either,” he said. “But you’re gonna have some bad bruises, that’s for certain. Lemme finish up. I just want to check a few more things.”
“All right,” A. J. said. His breath was returning, as was the color to his face.
Nate gently lifted and turned A. J. arms, then his legs, looking for any sign of broken bones or torn muscles, ligaments, or tendons. He found none. Lastly, he placed his hand under A. J.’s head, and turned it slowly from side to side.
“It appears you’re in pretty good shape, for takin’ a nasty tumble off your horse like that,” Nate said. “Just lie there until you get your air back, and feel like you can sit up, without gettin’ dizzy or pukin’ your guts out. Once you can, I’ll clean out and put some salve over those cuts on your face. Hoot, can you get that stuff from my saddlebags for me?”
“Sure thing, Nate. I’ll be back before two shakes of a cottontail,” Hoot answered. He went back to where Big Red stood, three horses back, retrieved the small leather case that held Nate’s crude medical kit, and brought it back. He handed it to Nate.
“Here ya go.”
“Thanks, Hoot.”
“Just lemme know whenever you think you can sit up,” Nate said to A. J.
“I think I’m as ready as I’m gonna be, at least for today,” A. J. answered.
“Just hold on one minute,” Nate said. “Let me and Hoot help you. Hoot, gimme a hand here.”
“Sure thing, Nate.”
Nate and Hoot slid their hands under A. J.’s shoulders and lifted him to a seated position.
“You still feel okay, A. J.?” Nate asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just kinda banged up, but I’ll get through it. Can’t understand why Jones threw me off, though. He’s bucked before, and even spooked a few times, but never that bad.”
“If you don’t mind my sayin’ so, and even if you do, A. J., you just learned two good lessons here,” Jeb said. “First, never get too relaxed on your horse, no matter how long you’ve been together, and how well you know each other. You never know what might cause a fool cayuse to spook.
“Second, I’ll take at least a bit of responsibility for your horse throwin’ you, since you’re new to the Rangers and all, although you should always be ready for anythin’. That’s how a Ranger stays alive. Your horse probably got spooked by the smell and taste of that alkali water. It’s barely fit to drink, and I reckon Jones ain’t thirsty enough yet to slurp some of that awful stuff down.
“In fact, if it were any more alkali, we wouldn’t be able to let the horses have any of it. Not that most of‘ ’em would touch it anyway, in that case. I should have warned all you fellers that some of the horses might go plumb loco when they smelled or tasted that water. I apologize for that.
“Now, the rest of you men, see if your horses will drink. Before we break camp, I can guarantee you they’ll all be thirsty enough to take some water. You think you’ll be able to finish takin’ care of your horse, A. J.?”
“I sure will,” A. J. answered. “I’d have to be dead before I ever neglected Jones. Ain’t that right, feller?”
Jones had come up to A. J. and nuzzled his face. When A. J. reached up to pat his gelding’s nose, Jones put his nose in A’ J.’s palm and blew softly into it, almost as if saying he was sorry.
“I know it ain’t your fault, feller,” A. J. said. “But if you ever pull a stunt like that, you’ll be buzzard bait.”
Jones snorted, pressed his muzzle against A. J.’s chest, and shoved him onto his back again. He began licking his rider’s face, running his huge pink tongue across it. A. J. broke into a fit of laughing.
“When you’re through playin’ games with that animal, I’d like to get camp set for the night,” Jeb said. He pulled the makings out of his vest pocket and started rolling a cigarette. “So get him settled as soon as Nate cleans up those cuts on your face.”
“Yessir, Jeb,” A. J. answered, still laughing. “C’mon, Jones.”
He pulled himself to his feet, picked up Jones’s reins, and led him away from the waterhole.
****
The horses had been cared for, and offered more water after the men had their chance to drink. The second time he was led to the seep, even Jones decided he was thirsty enough to sample the bitter water. A. J. had picketed him with the other horses to graze, and was walking back toward where the main camp would be set up. Eli and Nate were with him. Eli broke into song.
“Tony, Tony, he’s so bony, he can’t even sit his pony,” he sang, in his not unpleasant, but well off-key, voice.
“Eli, I don’t ever let anyone call me Tony,” A. J. shouted, his face turning crimson with anger. “I thought I made that plain enough.”
“What’s wrong with Tony?” Eli retorted.
“I really don’t like bein’ called Tony, that’s all.
“Yankee Tony came to town, ridin’ his brown pony. Stuck a feather in his hat, and called it macaroni,” Eli taunted, changing the words of the Revolutionary War era song, which had been used by British soldiers to insult the Americans, only to find the men righting for freedom from England took the tune and used it as their own rallying cry.
“Jeb, Hoot, we’ve got a fight goin’ on here,” Nate yelled, as he grabbed the back of Eli’s shirt, attempting to separate the two fighters. “Gimme a hand!”
The other men had also seen the fight start, and rushed over to help Nate. Eli and A. J. were pulled apart and yanked to their feet. They continued to struggle, attempting to resume their fight.
“Well, it seems you ain’t as hurt as it appeared, A. J.,” Jeb said. “Now, what’s goin’ on here? Who started this?”
“He did,” A. J. answered, pointing at Eli. “He started callin’ me Tony, and yowlin’ like a moonstruck cat about how I was too skinny to stay on my horse. I asked him to stop, but he just kept singin’.”
He tried mightily to break free and reach Eli again, but was held back by Hoot, Sean, and Eddy. Eli, for his part, glowered at the younger man.
“What d’ya have to say for yourself, Eli?” Jeb asked.
“Heck, yeah, I was singin’ about him, but I was just joshin’,” Eli answered. “Dunno what he got so riled up about, just ’cause I called him Tony.”
“Because I asked you not to, that’s why,” A. J. shouted. “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna have to whip you, but good.”
“C’mon after me, boy. Whenever you’re ready,” Eli snapped back. Both of them, once again, tried to wrench free.
“You boys have way too much energy,” Jeb said. “I can see the only way we’re gonna get this settled is to let you two fight it out. However, I dang sure can’t afford to lose either of you to a busted jaw or broken hand in a fistfight over somethin’ so silly, and I for dang certain ain’t gonna let you try’n shoot each other, although I’m sorely tempted to let y’all do just that. So, I reckon we’ll have a wrestlin’ match. That agreeable with you both?”
“It is with me,” Eli answered.
“Me, too,” A. J. said.
“We takin’ bets on this one, Jeb?” Colin asked.
“Not this time,” Jeb answered. “It’s bad enough I’ve got two of my men ready to kill each other over some stupid name callin’. I don’t need any more of you gettin’ into a fight over a bet. No, I’m just gonna let these two boys fight it out. Right where they’re at.
“But Eli, A. J., you’d best take off your gunbelts. I don’t want to see either one of you get mad enough to pull a gun or get plugged when one of those pistols accidently goes off. More important, I don’t want to see those nice new Colts Colonel Morton gave us scuffed up, or busted up, while you two are rollin’ around in the dirt. So shuck ’em and hand ’em over to Hoot.”
“Yessir,” Eli and A. J. both mumbled. From the expressions on their faces, it was plain they were both regretting the argument which had led to their fight, and wished they could back out before it went any further. However, their stubborn pride refused to let either one of them back down.
Eli and A. J. unbuckled their gunbelts and handed them to Hoot. Both had already lost their hats in the initial scuffle, so they had no need to remove those. After handing Hoot his gunbelt, Eli also removed his shirt, and tossed it on the ground.
“I’m ready for you, Tony,” he taunted, despite his newfound reluctance to fight his partner. Both he and A. J. crouched, ready to begin the match.
“Just a minute, Eli,” Jeb said. “A. J., you might wanna think about removin’ your shirt, too. If it gets ripped up, there’s no store within a hundred miles of here, mebbe more, where you can pick up another one. I know you’ve probably got a spare in your saddlebags, at least I hope you were smart enough to pack one, but if that one got torn, too, you’d be in big trouble under this sun. You’d be burned to a crisp in no time. Nate can tell you about that.”
“I sure can,” Nate said. “I’d take Jeb’s advice.” He shook his head as he recalled the raid on his family’s ranch, which had taken his parents and brother, destroyed Nate’s home, and left him the only survivor. When the Rangers discovered him, Nate was shirtless, since he and his older brother, Jonathan, had been washing up for supper when the raiders attacked. By the time one of the Rangers had loaned Nate his spare shirt, his skin was already starting to burn.
“Okay, then, I reckon I will,” A. J. answered. He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it next to Eli’s. The difference in the two young Rangers was readily apparent. Eli was shorter, broad shouldered, and stocky, his arms thickly muscled. A. J. was long and lean, and weighed at least fifty pounds less than his opponent. Almost anyone giving odds on this fight would have favored Eli, easily.
“This is a wrestling match,” Jeb reminded them. “That means no punching, kicking, or kneeing below the belt. And of course no gouging or poking at the eyes. The first man who gets caught doin’ that will be disqualified.”
“You gonna referee the fight, Jeb?” Nate asked.
“Who else?” Jeb answered, with a slight grin. “Lemme finish my instructions, Nate, so we can get this over with, and get down to startin’ supper. Other than that, there are no rules, well, except no throwin’ dirt in the other man’s face, either. Whoever is pinned for a three count loses the match. Are there any questions?”
“I’ve got none,” A. J. said.
“Me, neither,” Eli added.
“Then, whenever you’re ready.”
Eli and A. J circled each other for a few moments, eyeing each other warily, each waiting for the other man to make the first move. The rest of the Rangers were cheering and yelling them on, urging them to get started. Finally, they both lunged at the same time, grabbing each other’s shoulders, struggling mightily while they attempted to flip the other man to the ground.
Surprisingly, A. J. seemed to be holding his own against the heavier, and more muscled, Eli. However, he knew his only chance to win was to use his lighter weight to move quickly and outmaneuver Eli. There was no way he could outmuscle him, so he’d have to be faster and smarter to have any chance.
Eli managed to hook a leg around one of A. J.’s, and sent him sprawling. As he went down, A. J. managed to get enough leverage to flip Eli over him, both of them toppling hard on their backs. A. J. recovered first, and pounced on Eli. He drove a knee into Eli’s belly as he landed, then lay across him, attempting to pin his shoulders. Eli grunted from the impact, and remained unmoving until Jeb started counting. He shoved A. J. off, sending him rolling.
Both of them scrambled to their feet. Eli charged at A. J., who sidestepped, then tripped him up. Eli crashed to his chin and slid for two feet. A. J. once again jumped on Eli, landing on the bigger man’s back, smashing a forearm to his kidneys. Eli howled in pain, then shot an elbow to A. J.’s right ribs. A. J. grunted, gasped for breath, and hit Eli with another forearm, this time at the base of his skull. Eli groaned, and his head sagged.
A. J. made the mistake of relaxing for just a moment, believing Eli to be stunned, perhaps even unconscious. As soon as he did, Eli rolled onto his back, shot a forearm of his own to A. J.’s throat, gagging him, and lunged to his feet, sending A. J. flying. A. J. scrambled to his feet just in time to avoid Eli’s rush. He met the charge head-on, taking the impact of Eli’s lowered head full in his chest. A. J. staggered backward, then, as Eli moved in, and managed to get him in a clinch yet again.
Both men stood, muscles straining, as each struggled to gain the slight advantage which would win the match. Slowly, Eli managed to force A. J. to take two steps back, while he attempted to use his own weight to push the lighter man to the ground. Without warning, Eli loosened his grip, and took several steps back himself. When A. J. rushed him, Eli dove to his belly, rolled, and cut A. J.’s legs out from under him.
A. J. crashed to his stomach, rolled onto h
is back, and lay gasping for breath, with most of the air gone from his lungs. Now, just as A. J. had done to him, Eli slammed both of his knees into A. J.’s gut, driving what little air was left out of him. He fell across A. J.’s chest, pinning him. A. J. was helpless while Jeb counted him out.
“One…Two…Three,” Jeb said. “Eli, you’re the winner. You can get off of A. J. now. A. J., I do believe you’ve had the wind knocked outta you enough for one day. Lemme know as soon as you think you can stand up.”
Eli rolled off A. J., and lay alongside him for a moment, exhausted, both of their chests heaving. Eli somehow managed to pull himself to his feet. He stood shakily, coated with dirt and sweat. A couple of minutes later, A. J. rolled onto his side.
“I think I can stand up now,” he said.
“Don’t try it on your own. I’ll give you a hand,” Jeb answered.
“Okay.”
A.J. held out his hand for Jeb to take. Jeb helped pull him upright. A. J. stood hunched over, sweat pouring off of him.
“Both of you, just rest another couple of minutes,” Jeb ordered. “The rest of you stay right where you are. As soon as I’m certain these two yahoos are ready to hear what I’ve got to say, y’all are gonna get a little lecture from me. Just think of it as bein’ back in school, and the school ma’arm’s really mad.”
The men knew better than to even let out a moan of protest. They stood, silently, waiting while Eli and A. J. recovered—at least, somewhat.
“I think you boys are as ready as you’ll ever be, at least for tonight,” Jeb said, once Eli’s and A. J.’s breathing had slowed, and they were able to stand straight.
“First, I want the both of you to shake hands, and apologize to each other. Do it!” he snapped, when both men hesitated.
Grudgingly, A. J. stuck out his right hand. Eli took it in his.
“Sorry I kept ridin’ you about your name, A. J.,” Eli said, as they shook hands. “Sometimes, when I start teasin’ a feller, I just don’t know when to quit.”
A Ranger Grown (Lone Star Ranger Book 8) Page 7
