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

  “Ready, boys? On three,” Jim said.

  “One, two, three!”

  Nate was swung from side to side, then flung into the Medina. He landed with a tremendous splash, and sank beneath the water. A minute later, he surfaced, spluttering. He swam a few strokes, until he reached shallow water, then charged from the river, cursing a blue streak. He made it about ten feet from shore before his right foot came down, hard, on a sharp rock. Nate yelled in pain, fell to his face, then rolled onto his back. He grabbed the injured foot, his chest heaving, as he struggled for air. Hoot rushed up to him.

  “You all right, Nate?” he asked.

  “I will be, as soon as I get my hands on you,” Nate answered, muttering.

  “Hey, there’s no reason to be angry, Nate,” Captain Quincy said. “Every one of us here has gotten the Injun belly treatment, at least once. Some of us more. If we didn’t like you, son, we wouldn’t have given you an Injun belly. It’s just somethin’ we do, that’s all. Kind of a rite of passage.”

  “All right, I guess,” Nate said. “Every one of you, huh? Does that include you, Percy?”

  “It seems to me I’ve got a permanent Injun belly,” Percy said, with a laugh. “But yes, even me. Made my belly even redder than it already is. Of course, later on, I did kill the men who gave it to me, and ate their livers.”

  “You’re just joshin’, right, Percy?” Nate asked.

  “Certainly I am…if you say so, Nate,” Percy answered. “Here, let me give you a hand up.” He grasped Nate’s wrists, and pulled him to his feet.

  “Don’t worry, Nate,” Jeb said. “The next time we give a new man an Injun belly, you can be first in line.”

  “I appreciate that, Jeb…I think,” Nate answered.

  “I believe we’ve all had enough fun for tonight,” Quincy said. “Nate, dry yourself off and get dressed. After that, it’ll be time for all of us to turn in. I want to be on the trail before sunup, so we can make San Antonio while it’s still daylight.”

  “All right, Cap’n,” Nate answered. He picked up his clothes, went to his saddlebags, and pulled out the ragged towel he carried. He toweled himself off, then redressed, except for his hat, gunbelt, boots, and socks. When his shirt hit the burned flesh of his belly, he yipped slightly, then pulled the shirt off and dropped it next to his bedroll. He rolled out his blankets, then stretched out on top of them, his head pillowed on his saddle.

  “Nate,” Hoot called, from where he was lying alongside him, “you ain’t mad at me, are you?”

  “No, I’m not,” Nate answered. “But you’d better watch your back, pardner. I’m gonna plan a nice surprise for you, when you least expect it. Bet your hat on it.”

  “Thanks for the warnin’,” Hoot answered. “It’s just too bad you only have those charcoal pencils for your drawin’, though.”

  “What d’ya mean, Hoot?” Nate said.

  “Because if you had some bright red paint, you could do a real nice picture of your Injun belly, pard.”

  Nate threw his hat into Hoot’s face.

  2

  Late the next afternoon, the Rangers rode into San Antonio. They paused to gaze at the Alamo, home of Texas freedom, the mission where a small band of Texans had held out for days against General Santa Anna’s much larger Mexican army before being annihilated. “Remember the Alamo!” had become the rallying cry which led the forces for Texas independence to ultimate victory, and freedom.

  “That’s it? That’s the Alamo?” Nate asked, as he gazed at the mission, its shell-scarred walls burnished rich tan and ochre by the lowering sun. “It sure doesn’t seem like much. I imagined it’d be bigger. I would have thought there would be a monument, or plaque, or something to commemorate what happened here. Heck, even back home in Delaware, everyone knows the story of what occurred at the Alamo.”

  Over the years since the battle of the Alamo, the abandoned mission had been used for everything from a stable, to a storehouse for munitions, to its present use, as a warehouse.

  “That’s the whole thing,” Jeb answered. “It is a shame the way no one seems to care about preservin’ it, so it’ll be here for folks a hundred years from now to visit, remember what happened at the Alamo, and honor the memories of those, like William Travis, Jim Bowie, and Davy Crockett, who gave their lives here, in the cause of freedom.” He sighed, and shrugged. “I imagine it’ll just fall down one of these days. It’s too bad. Well, time to get movin’.”

  He lifted Dudley’s reins and heeled the paint into a trot, along with the rest of the men. A short while later, they reached the Alhambra Hotel.

  “Wait here, men, while I arrange for our rooms,” Captain Quincy ordered.

  “Make certain they’ve got room in their stable for our cayuses, too,” Jeb answered. “Otherwise, I ain’t stayin’ here. It don’t matter how fancy the place is, I don’t want Dudley too far from me.”

  “Same goes for me and Parker,” Phil Knight added.

  “Of course, of course,” Quincy agreed. “Heaven forbid your broncs might have to stay all of three blocks from where you two are at.”

  While they waited, Nate and Hoot looked around at their bustling surroundings.

  “This is some town, seems like, ain’t it, Nate?” Hoot asked. “I haven’t seen anythin’ like it since the last time we were back in Austin. And even Austin don’t have nothin’ on this.”

  The streets of San Antonio were mobbed with people in all sorts of garb, from cowboy outfits, to businessmen in their suits, to sophisticated ladies in fancy dresses, and women in plainer, but still stylish, outfits. In addition, there were plenty of Mexicans and Texans of Mexican ancestry in their colorful outfits, mixed in with the crowds on the bustling streets. The Mexican women’s flowing, multi-colored striped skirts were especially eye-catching. Teamsters with their freight wagons, cowboys and others on horseback, buggies, elegant carriages drawn by matched teams of fancy horses, Mexicans leading donkey carts, high stepping horses, and pedestrians all vied for space on the crowded streets.

  “It sure is, Hoot,” Nate agreed. “Now, since I ain’t ever been to Austin, at least not yet, I can’t compare it to there, but it’s a busy town, that’s for certain. Of course, it’s nowhere near as big and fancy as Wilmington. And it doesn’t even hold a candle to Baltimore, Maryland, or Washington, D.C.”

  “What do you mean, it ain’t as big as those towns,” Hoot objected. “Take a better look around you. There’s buildings as high as three, mebbe ever four or five floors. And there’s even lanterns hangin’ from posts as streetlamps. And you sure can’t tell me those Northern cities have buildings like these Mexican lookin’ ones.”

  “No, but there are some even higher,” Nate answered.

  “I don’t believe you,” Hoot said. “You’re pullin’ my leg again, just like when you told that story about the whale that done ate up your friend.”

  “No, I’m sure not,” Nate answered. “There are some buildings that go as high as six stories. I don’t imagine they’ll ever put up a building any higher than that, though. People sure wouldn’t be able to climb all those stairs.”

  “I don’t imagine the Good Lord ever intended for people to put up places that high,” Shad Bruneau said. “Just like the Tower of Babel in the Good Book, if anybody tries to build too high, He’ll just knock it down. And that’s the Gospel truth. Anyway, it don’t matter none. Here comes Cap’n Dave.”

  Captain Quincy stepped onto the Alhambra’s arched veranda.

  “All right, men, we’re all set,” he said. “Just keep in mind, this is a much higher-class establishment than most of the frontier hotels we’re used to, so act accordingly, and do the Texas Rangers proud. Take your horses to the stable around back, make certain the hostlers know exactly what they need, then come back here. The front desk clerk will have your room assignments. Unless something comes up, y’all have the next three days free.”

  ****

  Captain Quincy had another surprise for his men once they checked
into the Alhambra. The establishment was owned by his wife’s sister, Angelique, and her husband, Shawn. Not only would there be no charge for the Rangers’ rooms during their stay, their meals would also be free. Angelique and Shawn cleared out the entire top floor of the hotel, the third, to accommodate the men.

  The Alhambra was the most exclusive hostelry in San Antonio, richly furnished and stylishly appointed. The men gazed in wonder at the elegant lobby, with its ornate crystal and gold leaf chandeliers, the thick rugs on its floor, the chairs and sofas of buttery soft dark blue leather. The walls were paneled in dark cherry, the front desk of the same material, the writing tables and desks made of a slightly lighter wood. Even the brass cuspidors were highly polished. Potted palms stood in each corner of the room.

  Once Nate and Hoot obtained the keys to their room, Number 33, a uniformed bellboy was assigned to carry their luggage—in this case, merely their saddlebags—up to the room. Once they reached it, he turned the key and opened the door. Nate and Hoot gave a slight gasp at their first glimpse of the room. Unbeknownst to them, Captain Quincy had requested they be given the Alhambra’s Presidential Suite, in honor of Nate’s birthday.

  “Here you are, suhs, the Presidential Suite,” he said, in a soft Southern accent. He was a young black man, and most probably had been a slave before the War; a house servant on some Mississippi or Louisiana plantation, Nate surmised, until President Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation and the defeat of the Confederacy put an end to slavery. Of course, that didn’t mean blacks were now treated as equals. Far from it. It would take many years, if ever, Nate felt, before all men were created equal, as declared in the Constitution.

  “I’ll just place your bags on the luggage stand over here,” he said. “My name is Amos. Please call for me if I can be of further service.” He put the saddlebags on the indicated stand, then stood waiting, expectantly.

  “Sure, Amos, and thanks,” Nate said. Amos stood unmoving, staring at him, his right hand extended, palm up.

  “Oh, yeah. Hang on a minute, Amos,” Hoot said. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a dime, which he handed to the bellboy. “You’ll have to forgive me’n my pard, here. We’re not used to stayin’ in such nice places, and it plumb never occurred to us to give you a tip. We mostly have to carry our own things to our rooms, that is, the rare times when we even stay in a hotel. Most nights, we sleep on the hard ground. Nate, apologize to the boy, ya idjit.”

  “I ain’t no boy,” Amos said, bristling. “My name is Amos Hollis Yates, and I’m a full grown, free man. I swore, once I got off that plantation back in Alabama, no one would ever call me ‘boy’ again.”

  Hoot flushed bright red. “I…I’m sorry, Amos,” he said. “I didn’t mean anythin’ by that. My mouth tends to run off sometimes. It’s just that you look so young, I figured you were still a youngster, that’s all. I apologize. And Nate, you still need to apologize to this here man.”

  “Yeah, I reckon you’re right,” Nate agreed. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about givin’ you a tip, Amos. Neither of us’ll forget again.”

  “It’s all right,” Amos said. He flashed a wide grin. “And just so’s you both know, I’m twenty-two years old, which I reckon makes me a few years older than either of you. Now, like I said, if you need anythin’, just send down to the front desk for me.”

  “We’ll do that, Amos, and thanks again,” Hoot said.

  Once Amos left, closing the door behind him, Nate and Hoot looked around at their sumptuous accommodations.

  “Whooee, Nate, will you look at this room?” Hoot exclaimed. The furnishings were every bit as opulent as those in the lobby. Oil paintings hung from the tastefully papered walls, while arched Palladian windows offered an expansive view of the plaza below. The room’s sole bed was large, canopied with gauzy white silk, and covered with rich silk sheets and a thick satin quilt. Nate, not even bothering to pull off his hat, boots, gunbelt, or spurs, flopped on the mattress. It seemed to swallow him, much like sinking into a cloud.

  “Boy howdy, it sure is,” Nate agreed. “I’ll bet it’s even fancier than most of the Duponts’ mansions, back home in Wilmington. I’ve never slept in a bed like this. Mebbe I’ll just spend the next three days right here in this bed.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t, ya idjit,” Hoot answered. “We’ve still gotta have your birthday party. And it’s gonna be one you’ll never forget. It won’t be a thing like any of the ones your ma gave you. We’re gonna eat real fine, I’m gonna have a fancy cake made up for you, then we’re gonna hit every saloon and cantina we can find. We’ll get just as drunk as that night back in San Saba. And we’re gonna find us some women, too. It’s high time we did that. I’m tired of hearin’ all the other fellers braggin’ about bein’ with a woman, while me’n you haven’t even hardly kissed one yet.”

  “Oh, so you want to rectify that situation, while we’re here in San Antonio,” Nate said.

  “Nate, will you talk plain Texan, instead of usin’ those fancy Eastern words which no one around here, except you, can understand?” Hoot said, exasperated. “If you mean we’re finally gonna get us some females, then yeah, that’s exactly what I intend to do. Meantime, we should probably think about cleanin’ up, then head down for supper.”

  Hoot opened the door to an adjoining room, and gave a low whistle.

  “Nate, will you take a look at this,” he exclaimed. “There’s a dang bathtub, right here in this room.”

  “You’re joshin’ me,” Nate said.

  “No, I sure ain’t,” Hoot answered. “And it ain’t one of those round Number 10 sized laundry tubs we sometimes squeeze into to clean up, neither. It’s a huge, honest to gosh bathtub.”

  Nate started to sit up, when a knock came on the door. Hoot put out a cautioning hand, as he slid his Colt from its holster.

  “Stay right there, Nate,” he whispered. Nate nodded his understanding, settled his head back on the pillow, and slid his own gun from its holster.

  “Who is it?” Hoot called.

  “It’s Martin,” a voice answered, in a distinctly British accent. “I do apologize for not being here to greet you upon your arrival. I was procuring fresh towels for your baths. May I come in?”

  “C’mon in,” Hoot said, “but slow and easy-like.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  The door opened, and a tall, gray-haired man in his early sixties entered the room. He was dressed in formal attire, including a black bow tie and long black coat. In his arms was a stack of towels. He stopped short upon seeing two six-guns leveled at his stomach.

  “Really, sirs, the pistols are not needed,” he said. “I’m completely at your service for the length of your stay here at the Alhambra. And young man, would you kindly remove your boots and spurs, before they soil the quilt and quite possibly tear the fabric?”

  Nate flushed, then swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and sat up. He took off his hat, unbuckled his gunbelt, and hung those from the back of a chair alongside the bed. He and Hoot slid their guns back into their holsters, as Martin closed the door behind him.

  “We’re sorry, mister,” Hoot said. “However, we’re Texas Rangers, and we can’t be too careful. There’s always a chance some hombre’ll try and catch us settin’, then bushwhack us. A bullet in the guts ain’t exactly a pleasant surprise.”

  “Indeed, I would imagine that’s so,” Martin sniffed. “Well, I assure you, you have nothing to fear from me. I have no intention of putting a bullet in your abdomen, er—‘guts’, as you so colorfully phrased it.”

  “Who’d you say you were again?” Nate asked.

  “My name is Martin. I am the manservant assigned to this room. As long as you are here, my duties are to see that your every need is met.”

  “Our…manservant?” Hoot echoed.

  “That is correct, sir. Your butler, to be more precise,” Martin answered. “I am employed by the hotel to serve any guests who rent this suite. Might I have your names, so I may address you properly?
”

  “I’m Nate, and my pardner, here, is Hoot,” Nate offered.

  “Very good…Nate,” Martin said. “However, it is only proper for a butler to address his employers by their last names. Would you please give me those?”

  “His is Stewart, and mine’s Harrison, Martin. You sure don’t sound like you’re from anywhere near these parts,” Hoot said.

  “I’m not, sir. I am from Shropshire, in England,” Martin answered. “My home area is famous for Shropshire sheep, among other things.”

  “Shropshire sheep,” Hoot said. “Hey, Nate. She sells sleepy Shropshire sheep in her sleep. Try sayin’ that three times fast, pardner.”

  “Very good, sir,” Martin said. He rolled his eyes.

  “Hoot, never mind that,” Nate answered. “You know what we have us here? We have us a real English butler. I’ve seen some of those back in Wilmington, where they worked for the Duponts and some of the other rich families. Their job is to answer whoever they work for’s every beck and call. Pard, we really fell into it this time.”

  “Rather crudely put; however, that does pretty well sum up my duties, sir,” Martin said. “So, is there anything I can do for either of you gentlemen at the moment, or may I place these towels in the bathing salon?”

  “We were thinkin’ of cleanin’ up before we went for supper,” Hoot said.

  “Very good, sir. Shall I draw your bath?” Martin asked.

  “Draw my bath? Why would I want a picture of my bath?” Hoot answered. “Besides, if anyone’s gonna draw a picture of my bath, it’ll be ol’ Nate, here. He’s real good at drawin’ pictures. Not that I’d let him draw a picture of my bath, either. I sure don’t want any picture of me in the tub, naked as a jay bird and all. No sirree, you sure ain’t gonna draw my bath, Martin.”