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Outside, Pinchot only looked at Wes as they walked across the street toward the Amarillo Inn.
Finally Wes glanced at him. “What? Somethin’ on your mind?”
“No sir.” He paused, then said, “Well, yes sir. Why me?”
“You don’t wanna go?”
“Oh, sure I do. But between me, Lawson and Mendoza—”
“And Mac and Stilson and Stanton—don’t forget them.”
Pinchot nodded. “And them, why’d you choose me?”
As they stepped up on the boardwalk, Wes stopped and said, “Simple, like I said in the meeting. The captain might need those other Rangers. Four Crows is still out there. And of the first three you named, you’re the most ready. Mendoza’s okay, but you’re a little faster and more accurate with your gun. Lawson’ll probably make a good Ranger, but he needs a little more polishin’, and a trip like this ain’t the place to get it.”
As Wes turned and walked through the front door of the Inn, Pinchot followed him.
As Wes put his first boot on the bottom step of the stairs, Pinchot said, “Well, I’m glad you think I’m ready.”
Wes stopped and looked back at him. “Well, what put that stupid idea in your head?” Then he glanced up the stairs, then at Pinchot again. “C’mon. We don’t have a lot of time. I’ll talk while we’re walkin’.”
As they started up the stairs side by side, Wes said, “You’re a long way from bein’ ‘ready,’ whatever that means. Get that idea out of your head. About the time you think you know it all, you’ll collect an arrow in the chest.” They stepped on the landing. “Which way’s your room?”
Pinchot pointed to the right.
“Good. Mine too.” They started in that direction. “I just said you’re faster and a little more accurate with your gun. But there’s always more to learn about stayin’ alive.”
Pinchot stopped and pointed. “This is my room.”
Wes nodded. “Okay. You know what’s goin’ on so I’ll leave it up to you what to pack. When you’re done, meet me at the livery stable.”
Pinchot nodded and turned away to open his door.
Wes said, “Pinchot.”
Pinchot turned back, his eyebrows arched with a question.
“Look, if you ask questions when you have ‘em and watch what me and the others who’ve been here awhile do, you might survive. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
“I understand. Thanks, Ranger Crowley.”
“Yeah, well, call me Wes, all right?”
Pinchot grinned. “Yes sir, Wes.”
Wes shook his head as he turned and headed for his room.
*
Dust flew, illuminated in tiny sparkles by the sunlight coming through the window, as Wes flopped each of the three blankets in his bedroll. Then he spread them on the bed, one atop the other, and rolled them tightly.
He should have told Pinchot to wait for him when he was finished. Since they were taking the train, the boy might not even remember to bring his bedroll, but he’d need it after they got to Brownsville.
Still, it was too late to do anything about it now. If need be, he’d just have to send Pinchot back for it, if there was time. If not, he’d have to pick up some new blankets in Brownsville.
He packed one extra set of long johns and two extra sets of jeans and shirts as well as other possibles in the right saddle bag, then checked the other one. It was empty except for a few slices of jerky he’d picked up somewhere. But they shouldn’t need much in the way of food until they got down there. Probably he’d have to switch from carrying biscuits to tortillas. Brownsville was right on the Mexican border if what he’d heard was true. Probably they wouldn’t recognize a biscuit down there if it bit them. They should have stores of jerky though. At least he hoped they would.
He checked both his Colts to be sure they were loaded. Of course, they both were loaded, but he’d gotten into the habit of double-checking them. He carried the older one—the one Mac’s dad had given him—in the right holster. In the left holster was the one he’d bought less than a month ago just before he and Blake Stanton rode north to figure out how Four Crows had disappeared. So far, he hadn’t fired it except in practice.
He opened the drawer in the washstand, picked up four spare cylinders, already loaded, into the empty left saddle bag. Then he slung his saddle bags over his right shoulder, picked up his Winchester with his left hand, trapped his bedroll under his left arm, and grasped the doorknob.
He turned it.
*
“Ready to go, Wes.”
Wes flinched, his eyes went wide and his Colt was in his right hand. He almost shrugged his saddle bags off his shoulder.
Jeremy Pinchot was standing across the hall, a broad grin rapidly disappearing from his face. His eyes were wide too. “Dang, Wes, I never saw your hand move!” As they were the day he’d walked into the dining room downstairs, his saddle bags were draped over his right shoulder, and he carried his Winchester and his blanket roll on the left side.
Wes holstered his Colt and frowned as he released a breath. “Don’t do that, understand?”
Pinchot nodded. “Yes sir.” Then he frowned. “Do what?”
“Ambush a man right outside his door. That’s a good way to get dead.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Lesson number one: As a Ranger, you never know what’s gonna happen in the next second. Always be ready.” Wes gestured. “That’s why we carry our saddle bags over our right shoulder, right? So we can draw if we have to.”
“Oh. I just carry mine there ‘cause they feel better on that side.”
“No sir. Always leave your gun hand free.” Wes looked down the hall. There was nobody there to witness what had happened. He looked at Pinchot again. “When you visit the range again, it wouldn’t hurt to carry your saddle bags and practice pullin’ that hogleg while you’re wearin’ ‘em.”
“Yes sir. I’ll do that.”
“All right. Let’s get on down to the livery stable.”
As they walked, Wes asked a series of questions regarding what Pinchot had packed.
All the boy’s answers were satisfactory.
At the stable, they saddled their mounts, led them outside and rode to the train station.
The train arrived a few minutes later.
After they boarded the horses, Wes took his Winchester out of the saddle scabbard and turned away.
Pinchot said, “You’re taking your carbine too?”
As he came to the ramp, Wes stopped. Without looking back, he said, “Lesson number two: Always take your guns with you. They’re the primary tools of your trade. Would a carpenter choose between a saw and a hammer?”
“No sir.”
Wes nodded and stepped out on the ramp.
The conductor, a heavy-set balding man who looked to be in his late 40s, saw Wes coming. “You’re going south with us today, Ranger?”
Wes nodded and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Me and my friend here. For a few days in fact. All the way to Brownsville.”
The conductor grinned. “That’s an almost 5-day trip. I’ll set aside a sleeping compartment for the two of you. You’ll have only the best of everything.”
Wes stopped. “Well, thanks for that. Much appreciated, Mr. ...?” He extended his right hand.
The conductor smiled. As they shook, he said, “Hutchings. Sam Hutchings. Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks, Mr. Hutchings.” Wes gestured as Pinchot came up beside him. “And this is Ranger Pinchot.” Wes grinned. “We ain’t got nearly enough to do up here, so we’re gonna go south to help out for a while.”
Mr. Hutchings shook Pinchot’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.” Then he looked at Wes again. “It’s truly an honor, sir. I hope I’ll get to see you both on the return trip too.”
Wes took his meaning. “So do we, Mr. Hutchings. So do we.”
Pinchot followed as Wes stepped up into the car.