A Ranger Gone Bad (Lone Star Ranger Book 6) Read online

  Lone Star Ranger

  Volume 6

  A Ranger Gone Bad

  James J. Griffin

  A Ranger Gone Bad by James J. Griffin

  Copyright 2015 by James J. Griffin

  Cover design by Livia J. Washburn

  Texas Ranger badge image courtesy of the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum, Waco

  Author photo credited to Susanne Onatah

  Painted Pony Books

  www.paintedponybooks.com

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Lone Star Ranger:

  A Ranger to Ride With

  A Ranger to Reckon With

  A Ranger to Fight With

  A Ranger’s Christmas

  A Ranger to Stand With

  A Ranger Gone Bad

  For all the youngsters who have had to make the right decision in their lives.

  Prologue

  Was it really nearing a year since the attack on his family’s ranch? Nate Stewart wondered, as he lay stretched out on top of his blankets, under a star-speckled Texas Hill Country sky. It was a hot and sticky night. It seemed like only yesterday since he had been roughhousing with his older brother, Jonathan, just before the outlaw raid which had taken Jonathan’s life, as well as the lives of their mother and father.

  Those raiders had also shot Nate and left him for dead. It was only the timely arrival of a Texas Ranger patrol which had saved him. For a while, alone and frightened, looking at the prospect of returning to live with an aunt and uncle, who didn’t really care for him, and his eight cousins, back home in the East, Nate wished those outlaws had also taken his life.

  That was, until the Rangers took him under their wings, and taught him how to grow from a frightened, clumsy boy from Wilmington, Delaware, named Nathaniel, into a “man to ride the river with”, now called Nate.

  Despite his misgivings, Nate had quickly learned the ways of the Rangers, how to care for and ride a horse, fight, and shoot, how to live off the land and survive in the unforgiving frontier that was the Lone Star State.

  If only Jonathan, who had taken to the cowboy life naturally—unlike Nate—could see him now! Nate just knew his big brother would be proud of him. Of course, his mother would be shocked at some of the things he’d learned, such as cussing and playing cards. If she were still alive, she’d have washed out his mouth with soap for certain if she heard some of the language he’d picked up. And if she’d caught him playing poker, she’d have rapped his hands with a switch. Nate still missed her, though, just like he missed his father and Jonathan.

  Since that fateful day, Nate had helped the Rangers track down the murderous gang which had killed his parents and brother, as well as so many others.

  Along with his best friend and partner, Hoot Harrison, he’d faced down a pair of bank robbers. He and Hoot had gotten into all sorts of mischief, from getting drop-dead drunk on tequila, to kissing girls, to nearly drowning in a river, and having a wild snowball fight in the midst of an infrequent Texas “blue norther” blizzard. They’d fought together, and with each other.

  Hoot was only two years older than Nate, but already a veteran Ranger. He’d taught Nate a lot, including how to fight with a knife. That lesson had served Nate well when he and Percy Leaping Buck were cornered by a bunch of renegade Comanches.

  After facing horse thieves, buffalo stampedes, rustlers, Mexican raiders and renegade Indians, hunger and thirst, Hoot and Nate had formed an unshakeable friendship. A smile played across Nate’s face at the thought…until a backhanded punch thumped him in the belly.

  “You gonna get up, there, Nate, or are you just gonna sleep all day?” Hoot asked, sitting alongside him and grinning.

  “Hoot! What’d you go and do that for?” Nate said.

  “Because it’s time to get up, ya idjit,” Hoot answered, using his nickname for Nate. “The sun’ll be toppin’ the horizon soon, and we’ll be headin’ out. I’ve been yellin’ your name for the past ten minutes, but couldn’t wake you. You must’ve been havin’ some sweet dream, pardner, because you were sure sawin’ logs. I’ll bet it was about a girl. You want to tell me about it? Anyway, the only way I could get you to wake up was to hit you in the stomach.”

  “You could’ve just given me a shove,” Nate grumbled. He rubbed the sore spot where Hoot’s fist had made contact.

  “Yeah, but it wouldn’t have been anywhere near as much fun,” Hoot retorted. “Now, are you just gonna lie there all day, or are you gonna get up?”

  “I guess you’re not givin’ me a choice,” Nate said.

  “Not me…Cap’n Quincy,” Hoot answered. “You’d better get movin’ before you rile him. You know how mad he can get when a feller’s late, and holds up the entire company.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” Nate said. He scratched his belly, then sat up. He pulled on his boots, shrugged into his shirt, buttoned it, and tucked it into his denims. He buckled his gunbelt around his waist, jammed his Stetson on his head, and tied his bandanna around his neck.

  “Let’s go,” he said, as he pushed himself to his feet.

  “All right,” Hoot answered.

  They walked behind a screen of scrub brush to relieve themselves.

  “Nate,” Hoot said, as they unbuttoned their denims, then began to pee, “if I’m out of line, just say so, but somethin’ but somethin’ certainly seems to be troublin’ you, pard. You ain’t been yourself for the past few days, now. You’ve hardly talked at all. You want to let me know what’s botherin’ you? Whatever it is, it’s really eatin’ at your guts.”

  “There’s nothin’ wrong, Hoot,” Nate answered. “I just haven’t had much to say, that’s all.”

  “Don’t try’n pull the wool over my eyes,” Hoot retorted. “We’ve been ridin’ together for nigh onto a year now. You can talk a blue streak, and some of your tales are taller’n any Texan’s. Somethin’s really stuck in your craw, so open up and tell your ol’ pal Hoot what it is.”

  “You ain’t gonna stop ridin’ me until I tell you, are you?” Nate said.

  “Nope. Not a chance,” Hoot answered.

  “All right.” With a sigh, Nate gave in. “This’ll probably sound kind of silly, but my birthday was last week, and it’s got me feelin’ kinda low. If my ma and pa and Jonathan, were still alive, they’d have given me a party. Ma’d have baked a cake, and I would have gotten a present or two. With it bein’ my birthday, and them not bein’ around, I’m just feelin’ kinda lonesome, that’s all.”

  “Heck, is that all that’s botherin’ you, pardner?” Hoot asked, as he buttoned his denims back up. “First of all, if you didn’t tell anyone it was your birthday, how in the blue blazes did you expect us to know? Second, if you wanted a cake, I’m sure George could have thrown somethin’ together. Third, if you want a party, your pards will throw you the biggest darn birthday party you’ve ever seen.”

  “You can’t,” Nate objected. “No one’s supposed to know when my birthday is, remember? I only just turned fifteen. If anyone gets wind of my real age, I’ll have to quit the Rangers.”

  “That’s not a problem,” Hoot answered. “No one ever said you didn’t know what day you were born, just the year. But we can make certain no one even has a chance to figure that out. I’ll just say you were sad because you thought your birthday was right about now, so I dec
ided to pick a date for you, that’s all.”

  “I dunno,” Nate said.

  “It’ll work,” Hoot insisted. “Look, we’ll be in San Antonio in a couple of days. Once we get there, I’ll ask Cap’n Quincy for two days’ leave. We’ll have the biggest and best birthday celebration you’ve ever seen. Just leave that to me.”

  “I guess that’ll be all right. And thanks, Hoot,” Nate said.

  “See, you’re feelin’ better already,” Hoot answered. “Now, are you just about done peein’? What’d you do, drink half the Rio Grande before you went to bed last night?”

  “Seems like I must have,” Nate answered, with a grin. “But I’m finished.” He rebuttoned his denims. “Let’s go.”

  1

  Two nights later, Captain David Quincy’s company of Rangers made camp alongside a bend in the Medina River. As always, the men took care of their horses’ needs before their own. Once the mounts were groomed, fed, and quieted down, and the night guards’ watches set, the men settled down to their own supper, the usual meal of bacon, biscuits, and beans. Once they were finished, Quincy called for quiet.

  “Men, tomorrow night we’ll be in San Antonio,” he said. “I’m going to allow all of you three days leave, before we have to ride out again. I’ll have to send a telegram to Austin in any event to see where the owlhoots stirrin’ up all the trouble in the Hill Country seem to be headquartered now. They’ve probably moved to another area since we left the Big Bend. So, since it’ll take a night or two for a reply to my message, we’ll take advantage of that to rest up a bit. I’m goin’ to try’n arrange for us to all stay at the Alhambra Hotel. I think each and every one of us has had enough of sleepin’ on the hard ground right about now. The state won’t pay for your rooms, of course, you’ll have to do that on your own, but I figure I can convince the hotel management to at least give us a cheaper rate, seein’ as we’re lawmen and all.”

  “Free rooms would be better,” Montana Davis called out.

  “You always were tight with your money, Montana,” Frank Washington retorted. “Heck, you squeeze a penny so tight the dadblamed Indian on it war whoops for help. You should be grateful about what Cap’n Dave’s doin’ for us, not complainin’.”

  “That’s right,” Frank’s brother, Pete, added.

  “Okay, boys, settle down,” Quincy said. “Now, of course, I’ll expect all of you to be on your best behavior in the city. Get what supplies you need, new shoes for your horses if they need ’em, hit the saloons, visit with some women or do some gamblin’, whatever suits your fancy, but just stay out of trouble. However, I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. Hoot Harrison has brought it to my attention that our youngest member, Nate, just had his birthday, or it’s close to it, since Nate’s not really certain of the date. Nate didn’t want any of us to know about it, or that he was feelin’ kinda low without his family bein’ here to give him a party, but Hoot thought mebbe a small celebration would cheer Nate up. So, Nate, front and center.”

  “I’m gonna get you for this, Hoot,” Nate muttered, as he got up from the log where he was seated, and walked over to the campfire, where Quincy, Lieutenant Bob Berkeley, and Sergeant Jeb Rollins waited, along with George Bayfield, the company cook.

  “You’ll have to catch me first, Nate,” Hoot answered.

  “Nate,” George said, once Nate stood in the center of the other Rangers, “Hoot told me you wanted a birthday cake. Sadly, I don’t have the ingredients to make you a cake, at least not until we reach San Antone, but I did make you up this, a real special biscuit.” He handed Nate a tin plate, on which rested a double sized biscuit, covered with extra molasses. A single lucifer was stuck in its top.

  “I couldn’t find a candle, either, so you’ll have to blow this match out real fast,” George concluded. He struck another lucifer alight on his belt, then touched it to the one on the biscuit.

  “Quick, Nate!” Jeb said. Nate blew out the match.

  “Did you make a wish?” Bob asked.

  “No, I didn’t,” Nate answered. “After my folks were killed, and things looked hopeless, until all of you found me, I got everythin’ I could wish for when you made me part of the Rangers. I don’t need to wish for anythin’ else. Well, except for mebbe to have Hoot disappear.”

  “I’ll go along with that one,” Carl Swan said.

  “Nate, you’re even soundin’ more and more like a Texan, and a Ranger, every day,” Quincy said. “In another year, no one’ll ever be able to tell from the way you talk that you’re a Northerner. Now, all of you, three cheers for Nate. Hip hip, Hooray!”

  After the cheers were done, the company serenaded Nate with a rousing rendition of For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow, while he devoured his birthday biscuit. Nate’s eyes grew misty, and he wiped a tear from the corner of his left one.

  “You ain’t cryin’, are you, Nate?” Jeb asked.

  “Nah. Doggone wind must’ve blown some sand into my eyes,” Nate answered.

  “Nate, we haven’t finished with you yet,” Quincy said. “We have a tradition here in the Rangers, one which we do only on real special occasions. Now, since you’ve proved yourself as a Ranger over the past several months, despite your young and tender age, the men and I got together and decided you are indeed worthy of this honor.”

  “Are you sure about that, Cap’n?” Nate asked, blushing with embarrassment. “I ain’t done all that much.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Nate,” Quincy answered. “You’ve become a fine lawman, and you’re about to get what’s comin’ to you. Men, it’s time for Nate to receive his Injun belly!”

  “An Injun belly? What in the blue blazes is an Injun belly?” Nate asked.

  “It’s when your pards slap or rub your belly until it’s red as an Apache’s,” Quincy said.

  “Uh-uh. You ain’t gonna do that to me!” Nate exclaimed. “Not a chance.” He started to run. Jeb and Bob lunged after him.

  “Get him, boys!” Quincy urged. Jeb grabbed Nate by his shirt collar and yanked him off his feet. With a thump, Nate landed on his back. Bob dropped to his knees and grabbed Nate’s ankles.

  “A couple of you help us keep him pinned down,” Jeb yelled, as Nate continued to struggle.

  “We’ve got him,” Frank said, as he and his brother Pete knelt alongside Nate and held him down.

  “Somebody lift his shirt,” Quincy ordered.

  “I’ll take care of that,” Dakota Stevens offered. He hunkered next to Nate, then pulled his shirt up over his stomach and chest to his shoulders, exposing his belly.

  “You might as well quit tryin’ to fight this, Nate,” he advised. “It ain’t gonna do you any good. Who’s first?”

  “I reckon I am, as the commanding officer of this company,” Quincy said. “The rest of you, line up for your turns.” He leaned over and slapped Nate hard on the belly. Nate gave a yelp, and arched from the shock of the blow.

  “Next,” Quincy said.

  “I’ll take my turn now,” Carl said. He slapped Nate in almost the exact same spot where Quincy had hit him. Once again, Nate yelped.

  “Ow!” Nate hollered, when Diego Sandoval took his shot. This time, however, Nate’s yelp was followed by a short laugh. When Percy Leaping Buck took his turn, Nate didn’t shout in pain, but instead burst into uncontrollable laughter. The flesh of his belly was burning and sore, he was certain it was turning a bright red, and there were still slaps from most of the other Rangers yet to come, but none of that mattered. Somehow, receiving an Injun belly at the hands of his pardners seemed hysterically funny. He was still giggling when Hoot finally knelt alongside him.

  “You, too, Hoot?” Nate asked, his laughter subsiding somewhat.

  “Hey, you didn’t think I’d miss this chance, did ya, ya idjit?” Hoot replied. “In fact, I wanted to go last, to save you the best until the end. Besides, don’t worry. I ain’t gonna slap you in the gut. I wouldn’t do that to my best friend and pard.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”
Nate said, eyeing Hoot warily.

  “Nate, you hurt my feelin’s,” Hoot answered. “I promise you, I ain’t gonna slap you in the belly. No sirree, I sure ain’t. But I am gonna rub your gut until you can’t stand no more.”

  With that, Hoot rolled his hand into a fist, pressed his knuckles against Nate’s belly, and began to rub, slowly at first, then faster and harder. Nate rolled from side to side, attempting to get away from those calloused, hard knuckles, to no avail. By the time Hoot was finished, Nate was covered with sweat, his belly’s flesh seemed as if it were on fire, and he felt as weak as if he’d been on the losing end of a vicious fist fight. However, he was still laughing, despite himself.

  “You think he’s had enough, Cap’n?” Hoot asked.

  “I’d say so,” Quincy answered. “His belly’s good and red.”

  “It sure is,” Percy added. “Heck, it’s even redder’n mine.”

  Percy was the company scout, a full-blooded Tonkawa Indian.

  Jim Kelly, who acted as the company surgeon, looked over Nate.

  “You boys gave Nate, here, one of the finest, and reddest, Injun bellies I’ve ever seen. Take a look for yourself, Nate.”

  Nate lifted his head to peer at his gut. As Jim and Percy had said, it was as red as a fiery Texas sunset.

  “In fact,” Jim continued, “I’d recommend we cool that belly off by tossin’ Nate in the river. What d’ya say, boys?”

  Jim was answered with a rousing chorus of “yesses”.

  “All right, then,” he said. “Nate, you’re goin’ for a dip. Hoot, Jeb, Bob, Frank, Pete. Help me get his clothes off. We don’t want them to drag Nate under and drown him.”

  Nate fought as hard as he could, futilely, as his hat was knocked off, his gunbelt unbuckled from around his waist, his boots and socks pulled from his feet, his clothes removed. The only article of clothing left on him, one which would not provide even the least shred of dignity, was the bandanna wrapped around his neck. Once Nate was undressed, Jim grabbed one of his arms, Jeb the other. Bob took his right ankle, Hoot the left. Nate was lifted from the ground, squirming and hollering, and carried to the riverbank.