Lone Star Ranger : A Ranger to Ride With (9781310568404) (15 page)

“How many of ’em?”

“Couldn’t tell. Ten at least.”

“And here they come,” Hoot said. The raiders
were galloping down toward the camp at top speed. “Take cover!”

Nate dove behind the firepit, Andy and Hoot
behind one of the logs used as benches. George dropped flat on the
ground next to the captain’s tent. Shorty went to one knee, aiming
and firing at the oncoming riders.

Gunfire ripped through the predawn darkness.
Two men fell from their saddles with Ranger bullets in their
chests. The rest of the raiders turned and retreated.

“Guess that showed ’em!” Nate shouted.

“They won’t give up that easy,” Shorty said.
“And we sure can’t hold ’em off sittin’ here like this. Scatter and
take cover.”

“Mebbe Cap’n Dave also figured somethin’ was
wrong about that deputy and is on the way back with the rest of the
boys,” Hoot said.

“We can’t count on that,” Shorty answered.
“I bet this whole scheme was planned to get the cap’n and most of
the men out of here. In fact, I’d bet my sombrero they rode right
into an ambush too. Now, scatter and take cover like I ordered.
Make every shot count. Here they come again.”

He fell prone, leveling and firing his rifle
as fast as he could. Another raider went down.

Andy jumped up and ran to join Nate behind
the rock-ringed firepit, shooting as he ran. One of his shots hit a
horseman. The man screamed and slumped over his horse’s neck,
grabbed its mane in a futile effort to hang on, then slid to the
ground. He rolled several times and lay still.

Andy had almost reached cover when a shot
blasted. He grunted, stumbled, and fell.

“Andy!” Nate shouted.

“I’m hit!”

“I’m comin’ for you. Don’t try’n get
up.”

“Don’t. Don’t, Nate. They’ll get you too, if
you try.”

“I’m not gonna leave you there, Andy. Hang
on.”

Nate crawled to the edge of the pit. Andy
was lying just beyond his reach, face down.

“Gimme your hand, Andy!”

“Can’t. Can’t.”

“You gotta.”

Nate reached as far as he could. He lunged
and grasped Andy’s outstretched hand.

“Hold on, Andy.” He dragged the wounded
young Ranger behind the pit and rolled him onto his back.

“How bad you hit, Andy?”

“Bad. It’s bad, Nate. Real bad.”

“Where’d they get you?”

“My… my belly. Down low. Bullet’s in… my
guts… They’re all… tore up.”

“You just hang in there,” Nate urged. “Don’t
give up, pard. Jim’ll be back and he’ll fix you up. You’ll
see.”

“Sure… sure… Nate.”

The remaining horsemen raced into the camp
yet again. One of them was a ghost-like figure was on a white
horse. Hoot rose up and fired at him, emptying his rifle. The man
grunted and twisted in his saddle, but uprighted himself and rode
on to where Nate knelt behind the firepit. He pulled his horse to a
halt and stared in disbelief.

“You!” he shouted. “The kid from the ranch
back outside San Saba. I thought we killed all of you. Well, no
matter. You’re a dead man now.”

“You’re the leader of the bunch that
murdered my folks,” Nate yelled back. “I recognize that white
horse. You made a big mistake leavin’ me alive, mister.”

He dropped his rifle and grabbed for the
Colt on his hip. He and the ghostly rider fired at the same moment.
Dust puffed from the rider’s shirt, just above his belt buckle. A
bullet ripped through Nate’s right arm, halfway between elbow and
shoulder. Nate dropped his gun and grabbed his arm. The rider fired
again. His bullet slammed into Nate’s left breast, spinning him
around to pitch face first in the dirt. The rider looked down at
Nate, threw back his head, and laughed. A bullet from George’s
rifle took the hat from his head. He whirled his horse, pressed his
hand to his middle and hunched over, then galloped away, three of
his men following. The rest lay dead, fallen to the accurate
shooting of the Rangers.

A bedraggled column of Rangers rode back
into camp late the next morning. Of the fourteen men who had ridden
out, ten returned alive, six of them wounded. The other four were
tied belly-down over their saddles.

“Cap’n! Cap’n Dave! Over here!” Shorty
called. He had moved his men to the bank of the San Saba,
underneath the cool shade of the cottonwoods. Tim Tomlinson’s body
was with them, covered by a blanket. The eight outlaws who had been
shot down by the Rangers lay where they had fallen, flies feeding
on the corpses.

“Hold up, men,” Quincy ordered. “Jeb, Tom,
Jim, come with me. Bob, take the rest of the men and take care of
our dead.”

“All right, Dave,” Bob said, his voice heavy
with weariness.

Quincy and the three men headed for the
river and dismounted.

Shorty and George stood up to meet them.
Hoot was with Nate and Andy, who were stretched out side by side on
the riverbank. A blood-soaked cloth lay across Andy’s middle, a
bandage was wrapped around Nate’s arm. His shirt was open, and
another bandage covered the left side of his chest, bound in place
with strips of cloth.

“Shorty, what happened?” Quincy asked as he
and the others dismounted. Jim headed for the wounded men. Tom let
out a cry when he realized the body was that of his twin brother,
Tim. He knelt at Tim’s side, burying his face in his hands and
sobbing.

“Raiders hit the camp yesterday mornin’,
just before dawn. That deputy was part of the outfit. Lucky for us
Nate couldn’t sleep, or they would have wiped us clean out. He saw
the deputy sneakin’ up on Tim and raised a ruckus to warn us. He
was too late to save Tim, though. Deputy put a knife in him. But
Tim did manage to finish that turncoat Fredericks off before he
died. Even with Fredericks’s knife stuck in his chest, Tim was
still able somehow to put a bullet right through his lyin’
mouth.”

“How bad are the wounded?”

“Nate’ll be all right. Took a bullet in his
right arm, but it went clean through. Didn’t hit any bone, far as I
can tell. He took another one square in the chest, but all he got
from that was a bad bruise and a break in the skin. He was real
lucky. The bullet that hit his chest struck at an angle, not
straight on. And it seems he still had the packet with his stage
and train tickets back to Delaware in his shirt pocket. They were
just thick enough to stop the slug before it could do any real
damage. Bullet’s still stuck in ’em. I reckon the boy’ll want to
keep ’em for a souvenir.”

“What about Andy?”

Shorty shook his head.

“He ain’t gonna make it. He’s gut-shot.
Dunno how he’s hung on this long. He did down at least two of those
drygulchers. Reckon mebbe he wanted to see you before he died.
You’d best go see him right now. He ain’t got much time.”

“All right.”

Quincy went over to Nate and Andy.

“Nate, Andy, Shorty tells me you both did a
fine job holdin’ off those bushwhackers,” he said.

“Thanks, Cap’n,” Nate answered.

“Yeah, thanks, Cap’n Dave,” Andy added. “How
about you and the rest of the boys?”

“We got ambushed too. Rode right into it,
thanks to Fredericks. Clearly, he was working hand-in-hand with
this gang.”

“Anybody killed?”

“Sadly, yes. We lost Ed, Tex, Tad, and Bill.
Six men were wounded too, but they’ll all recover.”

“That’s good. That’s… good.”

“Take it easy, Andy. Just rest.”

“Cap’n,” Hoot spoke up, “The leader of those
raiders was a real pale hombre, ridin’ a white horse. Has to be the
same bunch that murdered Nate’s folks. He says it was.”

“It was. I recognized his horse soon as I
saw it,” Nate said. “Had forgotten about it until then.”

“Cap’n, I shot that ghost rider four or five
times, at least,” Hoot continued. “Mebbe more. Never even fazed
him. He just flinched a little, then kept on ridin’.”

“I got him too, Cap’n,” Nate said. “Right
plumb in the middle of his belly. Saw the dust fly from his shirt
where my bullet hit. All he did was grunt a little, then put two
slugs in me.”

“You reckon that ain’t no human, but a
ghost, Cap’n?” Hoot asked.

“He’s no ghost, I guarantee you that. He’s a
man, a dangerous one, and it appears he’s adding members to his
gang. We killed some of the ones who ambushed us, but I have to
admit, we took a lickin’. He’s also getting more bold, ambushing a
company of Texas Rangers. That will be his downfall, gentlemen. No
one—I repeat,
no one—
kills a Ranger and gets away with
it.”

“Get him for me and the rest of the boys,
will ya, Cap’n?” Andy asked.

“You have my solemn promise on that,
son.”

“Good.” Andy turned his head to look at
Nate. “Nate, pard…”

“Yeah, Andy?”

“Remember after your fight with Hoot, when
Jeb said you might as well have had a target painted on your
belly?”

“Yep. Sure do.”

“Guess… guess it was really me who had the
target on his belly, and one of those bushwhackers hit it dead
center.”

Andy laughed softly, let out a sigh, and lay
still.

“Andy. Andy!”

“He’s gone, Nate,” Quincy
half-whispered.

Nate buried his face in his hands and
wept.

***

“Nate, you’ll be fine in a few weeks,” Jim
said, as he tied the youngster’s arm in a sling. “You won’t be able
to use your gun arm for a spell, and your chest’ll be sore for
awhile, but all things considered, you were dang lucky, son.”

“I know,” Nate said. “Just wish I could’ve
done more for Andy and Tim.”

“You did everything anyone could, son. Don’t
trouble yourself over what happened. All of the men who died here
would tell you the same thing. Every one of us Rangers knows we
could catch a bullet that ends our lives just about anytime. It
goes with the territory, and we all accept that. You’ll come to
learn that, too. Now, it’s time for the buryin’. We’d best get out
there. And don’t worry if you start cryin’ durin’ the service.
Ain’t no shame in that. Most of the men will.”

The rest of the men were already gathered
around six graves dug on a high point of the riverbank, where there
was a view of the San Saba and the plains rolling into the
distance. Six wooden crosses with the names of the deceased were at
the heads of the graves, and the blanket-wrapped bodies of the six
murdered Rangers lay alongside the graves. The bodies of the
ambushers would not be buried. They had been pulled into the brush
for the scavengers to feed on.

“At least they’ll do the buzzards and
coyotes some good,” Jeb had said, when the last man was dragged
away.

“We’re here, Cap’n,” Jim said when he and
Nate reached the group.

“Fine. Then we’ll get started.”

The men removed their hats and bowed their
heads.

“Lord,” Captain Quincy intoned, “Today we
return to the earth the bodies of six brave men, Timothy Tomlinson,
Andrew Pratt, Tad Cooper, Jordan “Tex” Carlson, Edward Jennings,
and William Tuttle. They were as fine and brave as any man who
rides to enforce the law, as well as being fine friends. Now, as we
return their bodies to the earth, we commend their immortal souls
to You. We pray, Lord, that You give them comfort, peace, and
eternal rest. Amen.”

“Amen.”

“Lord, in the memory of these fine men, we
ask Your assistance in bringing their murderers to justice. Please,
hear our plea, Lord, in the name of all good, honest people, and
because You, Yourself, are infinitely good and merciful. In the
Good Book it is written, ‘Justice is Mine, sayeth the Lord’, but
we’re here to offer You some Ranger help in meting out that
justice. Amen.”

“Amen.”

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Take care of
our pards and friends, Lord, until we ride with them again in Your
green pastures. Amen.”

“Amen.”

Percy Leaping Buck laid an eagle feather on
the bodies of the six Rangers, which were then lowered slowly and
gently into the graves. As Captain Quincy tossed the first clods of
dirt on each body, Nate looked to the sky and made a silent, solemn
vow of his own.

“Lord, I know You say justice and vengeance
are Yours. I respect that, Lord. But I ain’t gonna rest until that
blue-eyed devil who took my ma and pa and brother away from me is
dead. Whether I do that ridin’ with the Rangers or on my own is up
to You and Cap’n Quincy. But I will see that pasty-faced, pale-eyed
son of Satan in the ground. You can count on that, Lord. Amen.”

Coming soon:
LONE STAR RANGER Vol.
2

Jim Griffin became enamored of the Texas
Rangers from watching the TV series, Tales of the Texas Rangers, as
a youngster. He grew to be an avid student and collector of
Rangers' artifacts, memorabilia and other items. His collection is
now housed in the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum in Waco.

His quest for authenticity in his writing
has taken him to the famous Old West towns of, Pecos, Deadwood,
Cheyenne, Tombstone and numerous others. While Jim's books are
fiction, he strives to keep them as accurate as possible within the
realm of fiction.