One reason Jim had been hesitant to ride along with the Norman brothers and their foreman was his concern their horses would be unable to keep up with Sam and Soot. However his fears had proven unfounded, as all three of the Rocking N men were well-mounted, Patrick on a blocky palomino mustang, Ronald on a chunky strawberry roan, and Tom on a rangy blaze-faced chestnut. With good horses eager to travel under them, the group made better time than they’d hoped and now, about an hour before sunset, were briefly resting the horses atop a low rise overlooking the Rocking N Ranch. The spread was nestled in a small valley, its buildings and corrals carefully placed for shelter from the almost ceaseless north Texas winds. The setting sun painted the rough-hewn log buildings with a warm glow. On the front porch of the main house a man sat in a rocker, his legs covered by a woolen blanket.
“That certainly is a nice-lookin’ place you boys have there,” Smoky observed as he rolled and lit a quirly.
“We put a lot of hard work into the Rocking N,” Patrick replied. “But it’s been worth it. In another year it’ll be fixed up enough so I’ll finally be able to bring my gal down here from Pennsylvania and marry her.”
“That’s Buzz Coltrain on the porch,” Ronny added. “Sure is good to see him on the mend.” He glanced over at Treloar. “Tom, do you like what you see?”
“The spread looks mighty good to me so far,” Treloar replied, “And I’m just grateful for the chance to hang my hat in one place for a spell. I only hope the men will accept me, bein’ as I’m a newcomer and will be takin’ Buzz’s place.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Patrick assured the new hand, “You’ll do just fine.”
“If you hombres are just about through jawin’, let’s get moving,” Jim impatiently urged. “Smoke and I have got to get another early start tomorrow.”
“Right you are, Lieutenant,” Patrick grinned, sketching a rough salute in jest, “Let’s go!” He dug his spurs into his mustang’s ribs, sending the mount leaping forward, the others strung out behind as they galloped down the hill.
By the time they pounded through the gate and into the ranch yard, Blawcyzk’s paint had pulled ahead by several lengths. From the porch, Buzz Coltrain gazed at the Ranger intently as he pulled Sam to a plunging halt. A moment later, as the rest of the group reined to a halt in front of the house, a Chinese man wearing a clean white apron over his clothes emerged onto the porch to stand alongside Coltrain. Attracted by the commotion, two youthful cowboys came from the bunkhouse to join the rest.
“That sure is some horse you’ve got there, Lieutenant,” Patrick praised with frank admiration as his mustang slid to a stop, “Still able to run like that after puttin’ all those miles behind him.”
“Thanks,” Jim replied, “I’m pretty fond of him.”
Patrick turned his attention to the man in the rocker. “Howdy, Buzz. We’re home.”
“I can see that. I may be crippled up, but I’m not yet blind,” Coltrain softly drawled, the twinkle in his deep gray eyes taking any sting out of his words, “And you sure seemed in an all-fired hurry to get here, the way you ran those horses down that hill. And who the devil are all these hombres you dragged along with you?”
“You’re as ornery as ever, Buzz,” Patrick chuckled. “This here gentleman on the big paint is Ranger Lieutenant Jim Blawcyzk. That’s his pardner Smoky McCue on the steeldust. They’ll be spendin’ the night with us. The other one is Tom Treloar. We’ve hired him on as acting foreman until you’re well enough to work again. After that, Tom will stay on as segundo, as long as you and he hit it off.”
“You mean if I can work again,” Coltrain gently corrected his boss. “There’s no use kiddin’ ourselves. That slug I took in my hip has pretty well ended my ridin’ days. Tom, welcome to the Rocking N. I’m sure you’ll work out just dandy.”
“Thanks,” Treloar quietly replied as he shook Coltrain’s hand, “And I’ll be counting on you to help me learn the routine around here.”
“I’ll do just that,” Coltrain answered, “At least I’ll be doin’ something useful again.” He paused before turning his attention to the two Rangers. “Howdy to you boys too. In case you haven’t already figured it out, I’m Buzz Coltrain. This hombre behind me is Win Chow, the ranch cook. Don’t let his looks fool you. He can cook American and Texan as good as anyone. And these other two are Brad Turley and Wes Adams.” The two cowpunchers nodded their greetings to the Rangers.
“I guess I’ll have to set five more places for supper,” Win Chow grunted, his expression unchanging. “Supper will be on the table in an hour. Don’t be late or you’ll go hungry tonight.” He fixed the Normans with an icy stare. “That also goes for you, boss men.”
“He means it, too,” Ronny chuckled. “So if we want our chuck tonight we’d best get these horses cared for and ourselves washed up. Rangers, there’s a couple of empty stalls for your horses, or if you prefer you can just turn them out in the corral.”
“I think our broncs will appreciate a stall for the night,” Jim replied. “Just show us where to put them.”
“Sure, Lieutenant. We’ll have them settled in right quick.” Patrick answered as he turned his palomino toward the barn. “Right this way.”
The tired horses were soon rubbed down and turned into stalls with a full measure of grain and hay, Sam as usual getting his peppermint from Jim. Once that was done, the men washed up at the bench in back of the barn, then headed for the house.
“You are two minutes late,” Win Chow scolded, “I was giving you one more minute then your supper was going to feed the hogs.”
“Win Chow hates to have his grub get cold waitin’ on anyone,” Patrick explained with a chuckle, as they took their seats at a long board table and began to dig into the meal. The cook had prepared thick beefsteaks, accompanied by peas, carrots, and, instead of the usual fried potatoes, rice.
“First time I’ve eaten rice in a coon’s age,” Smoky observed as he heaped his plate high with the starchy white grain. “Last time was way over in east Texas, close to the Louisiana border. Have to say I haven’t missed it all that much.”
“Rice is very good for you,” Win Chow retorted. “Much healthier than potatoes. You eat Ranger, or no apple pie and coffee”
“I’m eating it, I’m eating,” Smoky hastily rejoined. “It’s real good too, Win Chow.” As on most ranches, when it came to mealtime the cook ruled with an iron hand. Win Chow was no exception.
The conversation around the supper table was the usual ranch discussion of cattle prices, weather, and rustlers, along with the Normans and their hands catching up on what had transpired while they were gone. Patrick noted to his satisfaction that Tom Treloar seemed to be accepted without question by Coltrain, Turley, and Adams. Once the meal was finished the men settled on the porch with cups of strong black coffee, several of them building and lighting quirlies.
“I’ve got the rest of the boys out combin’ the back breaks along the river for some of the stock that wanders out that way,” Coltrain explained in answer to Ronny’s inquiry as to what the rest of the Rocking N hands were doing. “They’ve already gathered quite a few cows, and are holding ‘em in that box canyon north of the breaks. We should have a nice bunch ready to ship by the time they’re finished.”
“That’s good thinkin’,” Ronny answered, then told Treloar, “Tom, I reckon we should ride out there in the morning and introduce you to the rest of the boys”
“That sounds right to me,” Treloar agreed, as he tipped back in his chair to roll and light a cigarette. “I just hope I can do as good a job as I hear Buzz has done for you fellas.”
“You’ll do all right,” Coltrain assured him. “And a young fella like yourself might even come up with some new ideas.”
“Well, we’ll see,” Tom answered. “In the meantime I’d like to get some shut-eye.”
“I think we’re all ready for that,” Patrick agreed. He turned to the Rangers. “Lieutenant, Corporal, you can take your pick of the empty beds in the bunkhouse. We’ll see you first thing in the morning.”
“Sure thing,” Jim responded. “And thanks again for your hospitality.”
“Don’t mention it,” Patrick replied. “We’re glad to have you.”
“We still appreciate the hot meal and beds,” Jim answered. “Good night. See you at breakfast.”
Blawcyzk, McCue, Treloar, Turley, and Adams were quickly undressed and stretched out on their mattresses in the airy Rocking N bunkhouse. Brad Turley proved exceedingly garrulous, talking virtually nonstop as they got ready for bed, still conversing as they settled under their blankets. When his conversation turned to the subject of yet another stagecoach robbery in the lower Panhandle, Jim and Smoky’s interest was instantly piqued.
“I know you two are headed up that way to try and find whoever’s behind all the robbin’ and killin’ up there,” Turley continued without pause before they could even question him. “All I know is that it’s gotta be a mighty mean bunch pulling off those holdups. They don’t care who they kill, even women and kids, as long as they don’t leave any witnesses.”
“Brad, have you heard anything about some cavalry being involved?” Jim questioned.
“I’ve heard that story, sure,” Turley replied. “Anyone who knows about the robberies does. That’s all it is, though … a story. It could be anyone … even some Rangers.”
“Easy, Smoke,” Jim cautioned, as his partner was ready to leap out of bed and attack the Rocking N cowboy for his observation. “If we didn’t know for a fact there aren’t any Rangers in the territory besides us right now, we’d have to consider that possibility. Not that it makes your remark any easier to swallow, Turley!” Jim snapped.
“No offense meant, Lieutenant,” Turley quietly replied. “I was just making the point no one has any idea where to look for these renegades, or who they are.”
“I think you’ve said more than enough for one night, Brad,” Wes Adams spoke up sleepily from his bunk. “We’re all tired. It’s high time to get to sleep.”
“Your pardner’s got the right idea,” Smoky agreed as he rolled onto his stomach. “Good night!”
Turley was still talking softly as Jim said his evening prayers. Even as the rest of the men drifted off to sleep, Turley’s voice still continued ringing in their ears.
Several hours later, the men were roused from their sleep by a horse galloping into the yard and the urgent shouts of a frantic rider. Instantly awake, they pulled on jeans and boots, then grabbed their pistols before racing out of the bunkhouse. Slumped over the neck of an exhausted sorrel gelding was a badly wounded cowboy, a splotch of crimson staining the back of his shirt. He slowly slipped off of his horse and thudded face-down to the dirt as the Norman brothers pounded down the porch steps.
“Toby!” Patrick exclaimed as he rolled the injured man onto his back, revealing a face of no more than seventeen or eighteen. “What the devil happened? Who shot you?”
“Rustlers!” the waddy gasped out. “They hit us just as most of the men were beddin’ down. We were drygulched without any warning, and they had those cows runnin’ before we even knew what was happening.”
“What about the rest of the men, Toby?” Ronny anxiously asked.
“All … all dead,” Toby choked out. “I would’ve been too, if I hadn’t played possum. Guess those rustlers figured I was done for with this bullet in my back. Reckon … reckon … they figured … right.”
“No, they didn’t,” Patrick assured the young cowboy. “You’re gonna pull through.” Win Chow and Buzz Coltrain had come onto the porch. “Win Chow, get Toby inside the house and tend to him. You’re gonna have to dig the slug out of his back. Wes, help Win Chow get Toby onto my bed. Then get right back here.”
“Right away, boss,” Win Chow responded, as he came down the steps and slid his hands under the wounded man’s shoulders, while Wes grasped Toby’s ankles. “I’ll fix him up, you’ll see. Once that bullet is out, I’ve got herbs from my country that will pull any poisons from his blood. Toby boy will be just fine.”
“You’re goin’ after those cussed cattle thieves and murderers, ain’t you?” Coltrain asked.
“We sure are,” Patrick answered, a deadly glint coming into his pale eyes as he watched Toby carried into the house. “Tom, Brad, get dressed and have your horses saddled in ten minutes. Fetch a couple of shovels too.” He glanced over at Jim and Smoky. “Are you Rangers ridin’ with us?”
“From what Buzz said at supper, your cattle were bein’ held north of here,” Jim replied, “That’s on our way. We’ll side you.” Jim carefully avoided mentioning he and Smoky would ride with the Rocking N crew to hopefully not only capture the rustlers but also avoid the lynching which was certain to happen if the enraged cowmen caught up to the renegades without the law present.
“Bueno”, Patrick replied as he glanced at the pale gray light of the false dawn streaking the eastern horizon. “It’ll be light enough to see tracks real soon. And those rustlers won’t be able to travel as fast as they’d like, pushin’ that herd. With luck we’ll catch up to ‘em before sundown. Let’s get to the horses.”
“Sure wish I could ride with you,” Coltrain wistfully remarked from where he stood, leaning against the porch rail to support his injured hip. “I’d teach those bushwhackin’ sons a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget.”
“We’d feel better if you were sidin’ us Buzz,” Ronny responded. “But since that’s not possible you’ll be a big help by keepin’ an eye on Toby along with Win Chow, and watching the place for us.”
“I’ll do just that,” Coltrain reassured him, “And I’ll grab some grub for you fellas while you saddle the horses. It’ll be ready for you by the time you’re done.”
While Coltrain packed sacks of cold beef and leftover biscuits and Win Chow began to work on Toby, the rest of the men hurriedly finished dressing, then saddled their horses. Fifteen minutes later, seven men bent on justice trotted their mounts northward from the Rocking N.