Nate awakened the next day even before George arrived to rouse him. He sat on the edge of his bunk, yawned and stretched, scratched his belly, then picked up his shirt and shrugged into it. Before buttoning the shirt and tucking it into his denims, he pulled on his socks and picked up one of his boots. He slid his foot into the boot and felt something slithering inside. He shouted in terror, jumped up, and kicked the boot off. It sailed across the tent and hit Dan Morton’s head with a thud, landing next to him on his covers.
“What the…?” Dan shouted.
“Sn… Snake! Nate yelled. He pointed to the reptile crawling out of his boot onto Dan’s blanket.
With a yell and curse of his own, Dan leapt from his bunk. The blanket went flying, snake with it.
“How’d that thing get in here?”
“I dunno, Dan. It was in my boot.”
“Snakes’ll do that, lookin’ for a warm place to hide, but they won’t generally do that in weather this hot. And they hunt durin’ the night. Why would that varmint want to crawl in your boot?”
“I think I know the answer,” Jim Kelly said, from under his blankets. He pointed at Hoot Harrison, who was still in bed, shaking with mirth.
“Hoot?” Dan said.
“What?”
“You put that snake in Nate’s boot, didn’t you?”
“Who, me?” Hoot turned to face the others, his eyes wide with innocence. “Why would I do that to ol’ Nate here? We’re buddies, pardners. Besides, it was just a little ol’ garter snake. Couldn’t hurt anybody, ’cept mebbe a mouse.”
“I’ll kill you, Hoot,” Nate growled.
“Simmer down, Nate,” Jim ordered. “It was just a prank. All rookies get pranks pulled on ’em. But it’s also a good lesson. Snakes and scorpions like to crawl into a man’s boots at night. The inside of a boot is warm and dark, a perfect hidin’ place for those critters. Always shake out your boot before stickin’ your foot in it. That’ll save you from a nasty bite. At least this mornin’ there was no real harm done.”
“Except scarin’ me out of ten years of my life,” Nate retorted.
“Same here,” Dan added. “And a knot on my head where Nate’s boot hit it. He picked up his blanket and gently shook it. The snake fell out and shot under the bottom of the tent wall.
“Now, see what you did, you two? You scared my pet snake so bad he ran away,” Hoot said. “He was more frightened than y’all were.”
George poked his head in the tent.
“What’s goin’ on in here? Nate, you about ready?”
“Just a little excitement,” Jim said. “Nothin’ to worry about.”
“I’ll be right with you, George,” Nate added. He retrieved his boot, pulled it and its mate on, buttoned his shirt and tucked it in, then jammed his Stetson on his head and headed to help prepare breakfast.
***
Later that morning Nate was in the corral along with Dakota Stevens, who acted as the company farrier. While grooming Big Red that morning, Nate had discovered his horse’s right hind shoe was loose.
“I don’t expect you to be a horseshoer, Nate,” Dakota said as he picked up Red’s foot and inspected it, “but it’s not a bad idea to know how to tack a shoe back on if your horse throws one in the middle of nowhere. I always recommend a man carry a couple of extra shoes, some horseshoe nails, and a hammer in his saddlebags, just in case. Trimmin’ knife, too, and small rasp, if you’ve got the space. Shoe pullers and tongs’d take up too much room, but you can trim a hoof with your pocket knife in an emergency.”
“How about my Bowie knife?” Nate asked.
“Too big. A Bowie’s meant for fightin’, not much else.”
Dakota checked all of Red’s feet.
“Nate, his shoes are pretty worn. I’m gonna replace all four of ’em for you. Won’t be able to hot shoe him like a regular blacksmith, since I’ve got no forge, but they’ll stay on until you get to town, even if that’s a month or two from now.”
“I appreciate that, Dakota. How much am I gonna owe you?”
“Me? Nothin’. But you’ll owe the State of Texas two bucks for the shoes. Cap’n Dave’ll take it out of your pay. Now, you watch close while I get to work.”
Dakota took a pair of hoof nippers and, placing one end on each side of a shoe, clipped Red’s feet until all four shoes were removed.
“You’ve got a good horse here, Nate,” he said. “Lotta horses’ll try to kick a farrier to Kingdom Come. Red’s standin’ nice and calm. Only wish he wouldn’t rest his nose on my back and doze off while I’m bent over workin’ on him. His head’s heavy, and those whiskers tickle.”
“You want me to shave those off?”
“No! You just leave ’em be. A horse needs those whiskers. They help him feel his way if he’s gettin’ into a tight spot, or if there’s somethin’ under the grass where he’s grazin’. Never trim the hair from inside his ears nor bob his tail, neither. The hair helps keep dirt and bugs outta his ears, and his tail’s the only protection he’s got against flies and skeeters. I hate those high-falutin’ folks who bob their carriage horses’ tails, thinkin’ it looks pretty. Poor horse has no way to defend itself from bites and stings. Now watch. I’m gonna trim the excess from Red’s hooves and frogs. You want to remove any dead tissue or excess hoof, but you don’t want to trim too close. You can cripple a horse if you do.”
Dakota took a curved-bladed knife and removed dead tissue from Dakota’s frogs and trimmed the edges of his hooves.
“Now, I’m gonna rasp ’em down nice and even. You want the same length all around.”
He took a large rasp and filed down the hooves.
“Now, we put the shoes on. I’ll hold ’em up to Red’s feet, take ’em and pound ’em with a hammer for a good fit if I have to, then nail ’em on. Watch close when I do that.”
Dakota fitted the first shoe to Red’s left forehoof.
“I generally start with this foot and work my way around. Most riders check their horses’ feet in that order. You?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Now look close. You put the nails in these holes. Drive ’em in like so. You want ’em to come out of the wall just about here.”
Dakota hammered six nails into place.
“Next you turn around, pick up his hoof so it’s in front of you, then bend down the ends of the nails and file ’em smooth, along with the hoof wall.”
Nate watched as Dakota finished the first hoof, then dropped Red’s foot to the ground.
“You think you can handle this? If your horse throws a shoe, either you do or you’ll walk. Can’t chance cripplin’ a good horse for life by ridin’ him with one unshod hoof.”
“Yeah. I think I’ll be able to manage.”
“Good. I’ll finish up here, then you can turn Red loose.”
Andy Pratt wandered up while Dakota was nailing the last shoe in place. Next to Nate and Hoot, he was the youngest Ranger in the company, nineteen years old. He was a redhead, with a smattering of freckles across his face and green eyes which always seemed to have a hint of devilment sparkling in them. He was leading his black gelding.
“Howdy, Nate. Howdy, Dakota.”
“Andy,” Dakota said.
“Howdy yourself Andy,” Nate answered.
“Nate, I’ve been admirin’ that sorrel of yours. Sure is a fine lookin’ animal,” Andy said.
“Thanks, Andy.”
“Por nada. I’d bet he’s real fast, too. Not as fast as Jeb’s paint, of course. Dudley’s the fastest horse in this company, mebbe even in all of Texas.”
“He’s also the most spoiled,” Dakota muttered.
“Boy howdy, that’s for certain,” Andy agreed. “But Nate’s horse, there, looks plenty fast. Only thing is, he’s not as fast as my Diablo here, I’d wager.”
“I dunno,” Dakota said. “This here Big Red looks like a mighty fast horse.”
“He’s still not as fast as my Diablo,” Andy insisted.
“I’d say he is,” Nate answered.
“Only one way to prove it,” Andy replied. “We’d have to race each other. You agreeable?”
“What about Cap’n Dave? Would it be all right with him?”
“Heck, we have horse races all the time. Gives us somethin’ to do while we’re hangin’ around camp. The boys’ll even place bets to make things a bit more interestin’. Not that anyone’d be fool enough to bet on your sorrel. Diablo’ll leave him in the dust. What d’ya say, Nate?”
“You and your horse have just been challenged, Nate,” Dakota said. “You gonna let him talk about your cayuse like that?”
“Me, maybe, but not my horse. When and where, Andy?”
“This afternoon, four o’clock. Course’ll go around the boundaries of the camp. You can walk it out beforehand to get the feel of it. So, we’re on?”
“We’re on. And I ain’t worried about eatin’ Diablo’s dust. You’ll be lucky to stay close enough to Red to even see his heels.”
***
At four o’clock, every Ranger was gathered to watch the race between the newcomer, Nate, on his sorrel Big Red, and Andy on his black, Diablo. Even the sentries had been allowed to leave their posts. Excitement had been building all afternoon, and wagering continued up to the last minute. Tex Carlson had been given the task of keeping tracks of the bets. Nate and Andy were at the starting line, their horses snorting and prancing. Captain Quincy called for quiet.
“Andy, Nate, you’ll start when I fire my pistol. You know the course, out of camp, up the hill to the dead oak, around that, left across the top of the ridge, outside the split trunk cottonwood, then back down to the finish line here. No shortcuttin’, or that man gets disqualified. Jump the start and you’re disqualified. Are all bets placed, Tex?”
“All but yours, Cap’n.”
“I have to maintain complete impartiality as commanding officer of this company, so I can’t show favor by placing a bet on one man or the other.”
“You could bet on both, Cap’n ,” Phil Knight shouted, to laughter. “Couldn’t lose that way.”
“I couldn’t win either, you chucklehead,” Quincy retorted. He pulled his pistol from its holster and pointed it into the air.
“Andy, are you ready?”
“Ready, Cap’n.”
“Nate?”
“Ready, Cap’n.”
“Good. Bring your horses up to the line.”
Diablo and Big Red were moved into place.
“Good. Set. Go!”
Quincy fired, and both horses broke into a dead run. Diablo was slightly ahead when they reached the base of the rise, but Red overtook him and pulled ahead slightly as they climbed the hill. When they turned to race across the top of the ridge, they were neck and neck, manes and tails flying, both riders low over their necks, slapping them with the reins and urging them on.
Shouts of encouragement rose from the Rangers.
“Go, Andy!”
“C’mon, Nate!”
“You’ve got him now, Nate!”
“Stay with him, Andy!”
The yells grew louder as the horses rounded the cottonwood and pounded for the finish line. Diablo had the inside when they rounded the tree and moved ahead, but Red pulled even once again. It was still anyone’s race. The Rangers yelled louder, clapping and cheering as they urged the riders on.
There was a boggy stretch at the bottom of the hill, a shallow, mostly dry creek. Andy and Nate pushed their horses even harder as they neared the finish. Diablo and Big Red hit the edge of the creek, and at the same moment, planted their hooves and stopped without warning. Andy and Nate sailed over their horses’ heads, landing on their backs, the wind knocked out of them. Nate ended up in a patch of prickly pear, while Andy slid through the mud and hauled up against a large clump of ocotillo. Their horses stood on the edge of the creek, snorting and blowing.
Nate and Andy were still lying where they fell, struggling for breath, when the other Rangers rushed up.
“Andy! Nate! You all right?” Captain Quincy called.
“Yeah… yeah, I think so,” Andy answered. “Dumb horse.”
“Neither one of those horses ain’t so dumb,” Ken said. “Can’t blame ’em for stoppin’ like that, since they weren’t sure what the footin’ would be when they hit that mud.”
“Boy howdy, that’s for certain,” Tim added. “They had no idea how deep the water in that creek was, either. With the clouds and sky reflectin’ in that water, it probably looked ten feet deep to your broncs. Heck, I’d have stopped short and sent you boys flyin’ if I’d been Red or Diablo. That’s why folks say horses have horse sense. Most of ’em know better than to get themselves into a pickle they can’t get out of.”
“I reckon these two don’t need a lecture right about now,” Captain Quincy said. He offered Nate a hand up.
“How about you, Nate? You hurt?”
“Nah. I think… everything’s in one piece.”
“Jim, we’d better get both these youngsters back to the camp so you can check ’em over, just to be sure,” Quincy ordered. “Ken, Tad, Tim, Tom, give Jim a hand. Bill, Hank, get their horses.”
Andy and Nate were pulled to their feet. Both moaned. They walked stiffly back to the camp. When they sat down, both cried out in pain.
“Just what I expected,” Jim said, laughing.
“What?” Quincy asked.
“Both these boys ended up in some cactus. Their backsides are full of needles. I’m gonna have to pull those out.”
“Oh, no you ain’t,” Andy protested.
“Same goes for me,” Nate added.
“Neither of you have a choice,” Jim answered. “If I don’t pull those spines out they’ll only work their way in deeper, which’ll hurt a lot more. And, if they fester, you’ll be in real trouble. Now, drop your denims and drawers and lie on your bellies while I get my instruments.”
“Cap’n?” Andy said.
“Jim’s the doctor. Do what he says.”
Reluctantly, their faces red, Andy and Nate did as instructed. To their chagrin, the rest of the Rangers couldn’t resist poking fun at their predicament.
“You two both look like pincushions, there’s so many spines stuck in your backsides,” Jim said. “I guess I’ll start with you first, Nate.”
With tweezers and pliers, he began to remove the offending spines from Nate’s bottom. Nate yelped and winced with every tug. Blood oozed when Jim removed some of the deeper spines.
“Hey, Nate, Andy. You don’t mind us needling you a little, do you?” Lieutenant Bob asked.
“These boys got stuck, no ‘butts’ about it,” Joe added.
“Got a little behind in their work,” Shorty said.
“Should’ve turned the other cheek… I mean, cheeks,” Ed put in.
“Men, I’d like to propose a toast to our two flyin’ comrades,” Jeb said. He raised an imaginary glass. “Bottoms up!”
“If y’all would just shut up, we’d appreciate it,” Andy muttered. “Better still, why not just leave me’n Nate alone in our misery?”
“Not a chance,” Jeb answered. “We couldn’t leave our pardners all alone and without companionship when they’ve been hurt so bad, could we, fellers?”
“No, not a chance.”
“Not at all.”
“Wouldn’t be fittin’.”
“There you have it, boys,” Jeb said. “We’ll be stayin’. Only one question. Who won the race? I guess it was a tie.”
“I dunno,” George said. “Nate flew farther before hittin’ the dirt, so I’d say he won.”
“But Andy slid farther, so I’d say it was him,” Hoot replied.
“No sure way to tell,” Captain Quincy said. “Of course, we could have Jim count the number of cactus needles he pulls out of their backsides. Man with the most needles wins.”
“I sure ain’t sittin’ here countin’ how many spines I pull out of these two idiots,” Jim said. “Their horses are smarter than they are.” He paused. “And that’s enough cracks about ’em.”
“Then we have no winner. Tex, just give everyone back their money,” Quincy ordered. “Jim, finish up here. Rest of you, back to work or whatever you were doin’. You men on sentry duty, back to your posts. We’ve left the camp unguarded long enough.”
“All right, Cap’n.”
Jim finished pulling the spines out of Andy and Nate, then coated their wounds with ointment.
“You can pull your pants back up now,” he said. “But you won’t be sittin’ real easy for a couple of days, that’s for certain. I’d recommend you sleep on your bellies, too. Keep from irritatin’ your butts more’n necessary. G’wan, get outta here.”
“Whose bright idea was this, anyway?” Andy asked, as he and Nate redressed.
“It was yours,” Nate pointed out.
“Oh. Yeah. It was. Want a rematch?”
“Not a chance. Let’s leave it as it was. We’ve both got real fast horses.”
“Sounds good to me. You ran a good race, Nate.”
“So did you, Andy.”
***
Nate had trouble sleeping that night, between the pain in his backside and assorted bruises he had from hitting the ground. Still, he did manage to fall asleep after some time. He woke up about two in the morning, got out of bed, and walked over to where Hoot lay snoring.
“Hoot.” He shook Hoot’s shoulders. “Hoot!”
“Huh? What you want, Nate?”
“Not me. Cap’n Quincy. Hank saw some Comanches prowlin’ around. The captain wants you right now. He’s gettin’ up a patrol to go after ’em.”
“Comanches?” Hoot jumped out of bed and grabbed his boots. He stepped into one. His foot pushed into a soft, squishy, smelly mass.
“What the…” Hoot pulled his foot out of the boot and looked with disgust at the slimy substance coating his foot. “Horse manure. Nate, you…”
“I reckon that makes us even, Hoot. No more snakes?”
“No more snakes. No more manure? Deal?”
“Deal.”