6

Two days after leaving town, they came across the hoof prints of several horses, both shod and unshod.

“What d’ya think, Clay?” Jim asked.

Clay dismounted and studied the tracks.

“I’d say we’ve either got a bunch of renegades, Indian and white, or else some Comanches who’ve been raidin’ and stealin’ horses,” he answered. “Either way it means trouble.”

“Looks to me like they’re not all that far ahead of us,” Jim observed. “Let’s see if we can catch up to ‘em.”

Clay climbed back into his saddle. They pushed their horses into a hard gallop.

Two miles later, they topped a rise to see their quarry surrounding a small ranch. They were keeping up a steady volley of gunshots. Several men lay dead in the yard, while from the house others were returning the raiders’ gunfire.

“Let’s even up the odds a bit,” Jim said.

“All right,” Clay agreed.

They pulled the Winchesters from their scabbards and urged their horses down the hill at a dead run. Halfway down the slope, they pulled in the horses and opened fire, raking the raiders with a hail of lead. Three of them were knocked from their saddles, with Ranger slugs in their backs. Others turned to meet the unexpected threat, only to fall with bullets in their chests.

Another rider burst from the scrub, adding his own accurate shooting to that of the Rangers. He put a bullet through the belly of a renegade who had drawn a bead on Clay’s stomach, just as he pulled the trigger. His aim spoiled by the slug’s impact, the outlaw’s shot went wide as he slumped over his horse’s neck, then tumbled to the dirt.

Completely rattled by the unexpected attack from behind, the remaining outlaws whirled their horses and ran. Two of the survivors returned the Rangers’ fire, only to be cut down. The rest disappeared into the thick brush.

“Leave ‘em go,” Jim ordered. “They could pick us off one by one real easy in those thickets. Let’s check on the folks inside.”

Their unexpected ally reined up alongside them.

“Bet you’re surprised to see me,” Dade French grinned.

“You might say that,” Jim drawled. “Where the devil did you come from?”

“And where in blue blazes did you get that outfit you’re wearin’?” Clay demanded. “You’re dang lucky one of us didn’t plug you.”

Their Ranger partner was clad in buckskin leggings and moccasins, his upper torso only half-covered by a open leather vest. A battered U.S. Army campaign hat was perched on his head, while he carried a bow and quiver slung over one shoulder.

“We’d better explain ourselves to these ranchers first,” Jim ordered. “They’ll still be a mite jumpy.”

With the shooting stopped and the raiders fled, several men had emerged from the house. They had their guns trained on the threesome.

“Appreciate the help, but would you hombres mind statin’ your business,” one of them called.

“We’re Texas Rangers,” Clay answered. “Came across the tracks of those renegades and followed ‘em. Seems like we caught up to ‘em in the nick of time.”

“I reckon you did,” the rancher replied. “ You fellas saved out bacon, that’s for certain. You’re on the Triangle H. I’m Bob Harte. These are my boys, Beau and Brent. My wife Ellie and daughter Sally are inside.”

“Sergeant Jim Huggins, Rangers Clay Taggart and Dade French,” Jim responded.

“Glad you came along. But Mister, you sure don’t look like any Ranger I’ve ever seen,” Harte challenged Dade.

“I’ll explain as soon as we take care of things here,” Dade answered.

“Once the wounded are inside and treated, we’ll help you bury the dead,” Jim added.

Clay dismounted. He walked up to one of the dead raiders and rolled the body onto its back.

“Looks like we’ve got another mixed bunch. This jasper’s white,” he noted.

“I figured as much,” Jim replied. “Let’s get to work.”

“All right. Lemme introduce you to the rest of my men,” Harte replied. “You can put your broncs into that second corral.”

Mike, Dusty, and Spook were unsaddled and turned into the enclosure.

The introductions were completed, the wounded taken into the house and cared for. The dead cowboys from the Triangle H were buried in carefully dug graves, the dead outlaws dumped into a common pit, but prayers spoken over all. Once that was done, the Rangers and the crew from the Triangle H washed up. Dade changed back into his normal trail garb. Everyone headed inside for supper.

Mrs. Harte and her daughter had set a table overflowing with beefsteaks, potatoes, vegetables, bread, butter, and plenty of hot coffee. They refused to allow any discussion until everyone had eaten their fill.

After the meal, they settled in the parlor with cups of coffee, most of the men smoking.

“All right, Dade. You’ve stalled long enough. Explain those Indian duds,” Jim demanded.

“Sure,” Dade agreed. “I was sleepin’ a couple nights back when a big Comanche warrior jumped me. He nearly got my scalp, but I managed to stick my knife between his ribs. I was gettin’ ready to roll his body into a ravine when I decided I should dress in his clothes, since they make me look even more like a half-breed. Figured I might have a better chance of stumblin’ across some of the hombres we’re after ridin’ around like a part Indian, part white man. I stripped out of my clothes, stuck ‘em in my saddlebags, and put on that Indian’s outfit.”

“How’d you find us?” Clay asked.

“Pure dumb luck,” Dade explained. “I happened upon the tracks of those renegades’ horses, same ones you were following. It was just fortunate timing we all turned up in the same place at the same time.”

“We’d better explain things to the Hartes,” Clay said.

“We are a mite puzzled,” Bob admitted.

“We’ve been assigned to track down the hombres attacking the railroad’s crews building the line to Snyder,” Clay explained. “Also, to take care of any other renegades we chance to find.”

“I decided to have Dade work incognito, since he can pass as a half-breed or Mexican real easy,” Jim took up the narrative. “He’s done that many times. We split up, and Dade’s been poking around on his own. As he said, it was coincidence we all arrived here at just about the same time.”

“A very fortunate coincidence,” Sally Harte added. She was gazing unabashedly at the darkly handsome French.

“You really look much better in your regular clothes, sir,” she said.

“Why, thank you, ma’am, but my name’s Dade, not sir.”

Sally blushed.

“Bob, would any of you have an idea who might be tryin’ to stop the railroad, or why?” Jim asked the rancher.

“Not a clue,” Harte admitted.

“Everyone’s real pleased at the idea of the line goin’ through,” Brent added.

“My brother’s right,” Beau concurred. “It’ll make shippin’ our cattle a lot easier, only havin’ to drive ‘em to a railhead in Snyder, plus getting supplies should be faster and easier.”

“We’ll also be able to travel without having to depend on the stage line,” Ellie added.

“Everyone around here feels that way?” Clay asked.

“Everyone we know,” Bob confirmed.

“Well, someone’s sure tryin’ to shut down the railroad,” Dade answered. “All we have to do is figure out who.”

“You can’t do much about that tonight,” Bob replied, “So why don’t you Rangers bunk here until mornin’?”

“Sounds reasonable,” Jim agreed. “We’ll just spread our blankets out in the bunkhouse, if that’s agreeable.”

“It sure is,” Bob said. “You’ll get a good night’s sleep, and a good breakfast before you ride out.”

Clay yawned and stretched.

“Speakin’ of sleep, I’m ready for some.”

“I reckon we all are. Let’s call it a night,” Jim answered.