A Ranger Grown (Lone Star Ranger Book 8) Read online

  Hoot was still muttering curses and shaking his head as he picked up Dusty’s reins to take him to grass. He glared at Nate, who despite himself, couldn’t help but chuckle. He wondered if Hoot would ever admit Nate had been beaten by a faster swimmer. Heck, if Hoot didn’t get over his mad, it might be days before he would even talk to Nate again. But Nate wasn’t worried. He and Hoot had been through too much together already for the bonds of their friendship to be broken. Even Clarissa Hennessey had failed in her attempts at that.

  ****

  After a supper of bacon, biscuits, and beans from the meager supplies in their saddlebags, and after the pans, tin dishes, and mugs had been washed in the lake, the men were gathered around the slowly dying campfire, having one final cup of coffee before turning in for the night. Those who smoked had rolled quirlies, and were puffing on the cigarettes. Trace Donovan pulled a harmonica from his shirt pocket. He was playing Turkey in the Straw, while Nate sketched the scene.

  “Boys, before we call it a night,” Jeb said. “I reckon it’s time we got to know each other a little better. I’ll have you new fellas go first, then the men who’ve been ridin’ with me will tell you a bit about themselves. Mike, you go first.”

  “Okay, Jeb,” Mike answered. “I was born on a farm in Indiana, but when I was only five years old we moved to another one, in Shawnee, Kansas. I used to watch Texas cowboys drivin’ herds north to the rail towns, and always wanted to try my hand at it. It sure looked like they were havin’ a lot more fun than followin’ behind a mule and plow all day long.

  “So, when I was sixteen, I said good-bye to my folks, includin’ my six sisters and eight brothers, and struck out for Texas. After two years of cowboyin’, I got tired of the dirt, heat, smell of burnt hides durin’ brandin’, and mainly lookin’ at the south end of north bound cows.

  “A few months back, I was workin’ for the Box E outside of San Angelo when rustlers stole about a hundred head of beef. The Rangers helped us track down those cow thieves, and after a gun fight in which most of the rustlers were killed, and the rest captured, the ranch got those stolen cows back. I asked the man in charge of the Rangers, you might know him, Jeb, a lieutenant with a last name that’s nigh impossible to pronounce, Jim Blawcyzk, if the Rangers were lookin’ for any more men. Since two of the Rangers got killed in the fight, along with seven men from the Box E, he allowed as he was a couple men short, and if I’d like to give Rangerin’ a try he’d sign me up.”

  “I sure do know Jim,” Jeb said. “If he took you on as a Ranger, you must be worth your salt.”

  “I dunno about that, but I’m grateful he gave me the chance,” Mike said. “I rode with his company for the last two months, until some of us were ordered back to Austin. The other men who were split off were sent up to the Panhandle, but I was ordered to wait for you. In a nutshell, that’s my tale. Well, my horse’s name is Smoky, if anyone’s interested.”

  “You’ll probably find all of us are interested in horses,” Jeb answered. “Sometimes, a horse can be a better pard and friend than any human. And your life also depends on your bronc, as much as your pards. Mike, you never thought about goin’ back home to your folks?” Jeb asked.

  “Heck, no,” Mike answered. “With fifteen kids, and their ma and pa, livin’ in a two room soddy, would you go back, Jeb?”

  “I reckon I wouldn’t, except mebbe for a short visit,” Jeb conceded, laughing. “A. J., how about you?”

  “I come from a small town in Connecticut called Gaylordsville,” A. J. answered. “I have an older sister and a kid brother, along with my ma and pa. There ain’t a whole lot to do in the town, nor anywhere in the state, for that matter, except work on a farm or in a factory, so, with my folks’ blessing, I headed for Texas.

  “I planned on bein’ a cowboy or miner, but I found out there ain’t many mines in Texas, and none of the ranches I tried wanted a green kid from the East. I was ridin’ through Austin when I spotted Ranger Headquarters. I stopped Jones right in the middle of the street, looked at the buildin’ for a few minutes, and said to myself, ‘Heck, why not take a chance?’ I really didn’t expect to be signed on, but Colonel Morton told me he was organizing a new company, and he was lookin’ for youngsters like me. So, here I am.”

  “I can sure vouch there’s not much to do in Gaylordsville,” Sean said. “It’s part of New Milford. My pa was from New Milford, but he moved to Virginia, where he met my ma, before I was born. But we visited back there, to see my grandma and grandpa, a couple of times.”

  “Then you two have somethin’ in common,” Jeb noted. “Zack, what about you?”

  “You know I was a cowboy for the Circle Dot E, down in the Big Bend territory,” Zack answered. “Like Mike, hey, that rhymes, I got sick and tired of babysittin’ cows, day in and day out. There sure ain’t nothin’ glamorous about bein’ a cowboy.” He paused, and shook his head. “It’s not at all like the dime novels picture it. You don’t spend all your time chasin’ desperadoes and Indians. It’s mostly hard, dirty, backbreakin’ work. I especially hated calvin’ time, and doctorin’ sick or hurt cows.

  “And unlike in the books, the gals sure don’t swoon at the sight of you. The only thing about a cowboy that might make ’em swoon is how bad he usually smells of manure, horse sweat, smoke, and his own sweat. So, as soon as I turned eighteen, I lit a shuck for the nearest Ranger post, and signed on. A sergeant named Cody Havlicek wired Austin to see about puttin’ on a new man. They told him to put me on, but to send me straight to Austin. So here me and Julio—he’s the horse I bought from the Circle Dot E—are, with you fellers.”

  “Where’d you hail from?” Jeb asked.

  “Up north,” Zack answered, with a shrug of his shoulders. Jeb didn’t press him further. Out here in Texas, unless you had a good reason, you didn’t question a man too closely about his background. Austin would have checked to see if Zack was a wanted man, so he had no worries on that account.

  “Trace, how’d you wind up in Texas?” Jeb next asked. “Unless I’m mistaken, I think I hear a trace of Ireland in your voice, along with some other accent I can’t quite place.”

  “You’re correct, Lieutenant,” Trace answered.

  “Jeb.”

  “All right, Jeb. My family was forced to emigrate from County Mayo in Ireland during the Great Famine of the late 1840s and early 1850s. That’s when the potato crop failed due to disease. British landlords forced thousands and thousands of Irish peasants off their little tenant farms, turning them out in the cold with no shelter, and little if any food, despite there being food enough—except it was all being sent to England, even while people were dyin’ of hunger in the streets. Over a million Irish died during the Famine, as can best be determined. So, for many folks, it was emigrate or die.

  “My whole family immigrated to America. We landed in New York City. The places where we were allowed to live were, in many ways, even worse than the conditions in my native land. We were crowded into cramped, filthy, stinking tenements, sometimes two or three families living together in two rooms. Sickness and death were everywhere. My sainted mother and father, with their dying breaths, told me to head West. As soon as they were buried, some of my sisters and brothers and I did just that.

  “We all set out for different places away from New York, except for the littlest, who were too young to handle the trip. They were left with another family, who we considered our aunt and uncle, although they weren’t really kin.

  “After I went to Confession and asked the priest to beg forgiveness for me from the Lord, because I had to leave my baby sisters and brother behind, I spent a nickel for the ferry across the Hudson River to New Jersey, then started walking west. I wasn’t certain where I was going at first, but wherever it was, I knew it wouldn’t be a place as damp and cold as Ireland, or as crowded and dirty as New York.

  “I’d been walking for nearly two weeks, when in a town so small that I can’t even recall the name of it, I came across a man who told me Texas w
as where I could make my fortune. I told him I didn’t want a fortune, just to earn an honest day’s pay. He told me I was a fool, so I thanked him for the advice, then went on my way, but now with a destination in mind.

  “I only found out later the man who told me I could make my fortune in Texas was a notorious carpetbagger named Solomon Roberts. He had made his fortune by doing almost the same thing as the landlords back in Ireland. He bought up land that had been sold for taxes cheaply, then re-sold it for a large profit. He kept buying more acreage, either for taxes, or by using his bully boys to force those who didn’t want to sell to take his offer or be burned out or shot, until he was a rich landholder. I don’t know what became of him, but if there is any justice, he was murdered by someone whose land he stole, or was finally convicted of his crimes.

  “When I discovered who he was, I vowed to become a policeman, and try to fight men like Roberts. I got a job as a probationary constable in Austin. I stayed at that until I learned as much as I could, and saved up enough money to buy my own gun, horse, and saddle. I made certain to have sufficient funds to afford a good horse, and Duffy, my bay, has certainly proved himself. I’ve been with the Rangers for five months now, mostly doing prisoner escorts, or helping the sheriffs in the counties around Austin when they need extra help. It was a complete surprise to me when Colonel Morton informed me I was being assigned to a new company, and would be riding for west Texas.”

  “That’s some story, Trace,” Jeb said. “Newt, what’s yours?”

  “Mine ain’t quite as long as some of these other fellers,” Newt answered. “I’m a native Texan, born in Bandera, that’s a cattle town about fifty miles or so northwest of San Antonio. Like Mike, Trace, and Zack, I was a cowboy. But every Texan has heard of the exploits of the Rangers, and almost every boy growin’ up in Texas dreams of joinin’ on with the outfit when he gets old enough, includin’ me. Most of ’em don’t, of course. They either change their minds when they get older, never get the chance, or can’t make it as a lawman. I’m one of the lucky ones.

  “Since I’ve got no kin, because the fever took my whole family two years back, as soon as I turned eighteen I applied, and was accepted. I figured for thirty a month and found, I’d rather chase outlaws than cattle. It seems a lot more excitin’.”

  “That’s true, but cows don’t generally shoot back at you, or try to sink a knife in your guts,” Jeb said, chuckling.

  “I reckon you’re right about that, but cows, particularly those ornery longhorns, sure can gore you to death, or trample you into the dirt,” Newt answered. “I’d rather take my chances facin’ a man with a gun than a locoed cow, anytime. To finish my story, I was with a patrol out of Fort Worth, until I was ordered back to Austin, and assigned to this one. My horse, Dorado— that’s Spanish for gold—and me are sure lucky. He likes roamin’ as much as I do. There, you have it.”

  “Thanks, boys,” Jeb said. “It seems we have a Ranger company from A to Z. Anthony, A. J., to Zack. Now, before we turn in for the night, there is one other thing we have to get out of the way. Since you five are all new to the Rangers, you’ll have to be initiated. I know for certain A. J. hasn’t been, since he just joined up, and I’m willin’ to bet the rest of you haven’t been, either, since you’ve been on the move quite a bit. Even if you have, you need to be initiated into this company, since every one has a different initiation. So, we’re gonna do that right now. Nate, do you remember yours?”

  “I sure do,” Nate answered, with a sly smile on his face.

  “Then you also recollect you were promised that you could be the first to start the next new man’s initiation,” Jeb answered. “We’ve got a bit of a chore ahead of us, since we’ve got not just one, but five. I think we’ll go in alphabetical order, by first names. That means A. J. is first. A. J., stand up, and walk to that sandy spot over there. The rest of you new boys, line up behind him. You’ll also have to take part in givin’ A. J. his initiation, then you’ll get your turns. Sabe? And A. J., once yours is over and done with, you’ll have the chance to help initiate your four new pardners.”

  The four other newcomers murmured their understanding.

  “Good.”

  Once A. J. was in place, Jeb said to him, “A. J., you can make this as easy, or as hard, on yourself as you want. But there’s no avoidin’ it. You’re about to receive the pink belly treatment.”

  “The pink belly treatment? What the heck is that?” A. J. asked.

  “It’s when your pards slap you on the belly until it turns red as an Indian’s,” Jeb explained. “You have two choices. Either unbutton your shirt and lie down, or some of your pards will hold you down. It’s up to you which way you’d rather.”

  “I sure ain’t gonna take this lyin’ down,” A. J. answered. “I’m not gonna just let the rest of you pound on my gut…not without a fight.” He lunged, attempting to make an escape, but Eli and Hoot were already in place. They grabbed his arms and wrestled him to the ground. Gavin and Caden each grabbed A. J.’s ankles, holding him down. Despite his ferocious struggles, A. J. was effectively pinned.

  “Now, Nate,” Jeb ordered.

  “Yessir, Lieutenant,” Nate answered, with a grin. He leaned over A. J., and unbuttoned his shirt. He then delivered a powerful smack with the palm of his hand to the middle of A. J.’s belly. A. J.’s body jerked from the stinging pain, but he didn’t cry out.

  “Go ahead, Hoot,” Nate said.

  ****

  Half-an-hour later, after all the new recruits had received their pink bellies and been tossed in the river, and the initiation was concluded. Everyone gathered around the fire, which had burned down to hot coals, for one last cup of coffee.

  “Boys, I’m glad to see every last one of you fought like the devil against the pink belly treatment,” Jeb said. “That shows you’ve got the guts to be a Texas Ranger. If any of you hadn’t fought, well, let’s just say I’d be mighty disappointed. That’s one reason we have these initiations, even though they can be kind of rough. But, they help show if a man has the spunk to take on whatever’s ahead. You five just proved you do. So, finish up your coffee, then hit your blankets. We’ll ride out at sunup. We won’t set a watch tonight. There shouldn’t be any trouble in this area. And we’d hear anyone comin’, unless it was a Comanch’, in which case it wouldn’t really matter. He’d be after the horses, so would be in and out before we even realized it.”

  The men picked up their bedrolls and chose spots to place them. Hoot rolled his blankets out next to Nate’s.

  “Boy howdy, I’m plumb wore out,” he said. “Not to mention there’s a hole in my pocket where there should be a gold eagle. Thanks for nothin’, pard.”

  “I was wonderin’ when you’d start talkin’ to me again,” Nate said, laughing. “I’m sure glad you ain’t still sore at me.”

  “Nah. Not over five bucks,” Hoot said. “Don’t forget, I got a big raise when I was promoted to corporal. Ten whole dollars a month. Now, I dunno about you, but I’m gonna get me some sleep.”

  “I’m gonna turn in, too. I’m also worn out,” Nate answered. “Plus, I was sure worried, until we rode out this mornin’, that Colonel Morton or General Spalding would find out my true age.”

  “Nate, I told you not to worry about that, didn’t I? Yet you nearly gave yourself away, ya idjit, when you turned bright red when Morton mentioned ages,” Hoot said. “Don’t forget, Cap’n Quincy turned in your papers when you first joined us, with your age given as unknown. They’re on file in Austin. Morton or Spalding would have no reason to question those, unless you gave ’em one. And even then, with so few men willin’ to join the Rangers, I doubt it would matter to them how old you are, even if they did find out. So, don’t bring it up again. Now, g’night, Nate.”

  “G’night, Hoot.”

  Nate pulled his blanket up to his chin. Even though days in this part of Texas were blazing hot this time of year, the temperature usually dropped quickly at night, so it could get downright chilly. Fi
ve minutes later, he was sound asleep.

  4

  The next day, Jeb set an easier pace, so the men and horses were still relatively fresh when they reached the town of Llano, at just about four in the afternoon. They rode up to the town’s livery stable and dismounted. The hostler, an elderly, gray-bearded, bow-legged man who was sitting on a barrel in front of the barn, idly whittling at a piece of wood, looked up, spat a brown stream of tobacco juice into the dust, and greeted them with a toothless grin.

  “Howdy, gents,” he said. “I reckon you’d be wantin’ stalls for your horses. I sure hope so. Business has been kinda slow lately.”

  “We sure are,” Jeb confirmed. “Rubdowns, and a good grainin’ and feedin’ for all of ’em. Plenty of water, too. We had a hard ride yesterday, and we’ve still got a long way to go.”

  “Well, I ain’t got that many stalls, but there’s a good sized corral out back that’ll hold all those cayuses, as long as they don’t start fightin’ and knock the fence down,” the hostler answered. “My handle’s Harve Smith. I’ll take good care of your animals. You won’t have to worry about that. Fifty cents a night each, which includes brushin’ ’em out, a bucket of oats, and all the hay and water they can eat and drink. Is that satisfactory?”

  “It sure is,” Jeb answered. “I’m Jeb Rollins, and this is my segundo, Hoot Harrison.” Hoot nodded to the livery man. “I’m not gonna bother you with the rest of the fellers’ names,” Jeb concluded.

  “I’d never remember ’em all anyway,” Smith answered, with a laugh that was more of a cackle. He squinted as he looked over the men. “Got a bunch of young’uns with you, eh? You mind if I ask where you’re headed?”

  “Not at all,” Jeb answered. “My brother and I run a ranch about forty miles west of Fort Stockton. We were short hands, and good cowboys and wranglers are hard to find out there right now. Even hirin’ Mexican vaqueros is nigh to impossible. Those men that are around don’t seem to want to listen to directions or follow orders. So, we decided to have me ride into Austin, find some young fellers who would be interested in gettin’ away from the city, wanted to learn how to handle cows and wrangle horses, and teach ’em ourselves. I found quite a few kids who were interested, and chose the ones you see here. They seemed the most likely to stick.”