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Justin’s eyes swept across the group of Texas Rangers, who lowered their guns as soon as they saw that the riders on the approaching horse were two poorly armed boys. This looked to be a small ranger group to him, a patrol, nothing like the frontier battalion he had hoped for. Two, maybe three Indians lay on the ground, while some of the Rangers huddled around one of their own. They looked busy wrapping a wound.
Each Ranger was dressed differently, but Justin knew some of the faces by sight and would have recognized the others as Texas Rangers by their brisk efficient movements. Most had Colt revolvers at their sides and carbines in their scabbards that allowed for shooting while in the saddle. Every time he saw a group of Rangers something deep inside Justin stirred to be a Ranger too one day, though he knew that was no easy aspiration. These were hard-riding and quick-shooting former cowhands and even gunslingers who had a reputation for attacking with fury, which made them feared by Indians and outlaws alike.
Justin felt a rush of pleasure to see Jobe Jenkins, who had been a part of Sergeant John Jacob Stubbs’ Texas Ranger patrol the last time he’d seen Jobe. Justin had met two of the other Rangers too, Bo and Zed, who had taken Justin into town after the stagecoach robbery that had killed his dad. From the way Jobe stood above the men working on a fallen ranger, it looked like he’d been promoted.
“Jobe, are you a sergeant now?”
Jobe nodded. He had smiled when he had first gotten a good look at Justin and recognized him.
“You’ve got to help us,” Scamp said. “One of the Comanches has Button.”
“Hop off. We’re going to have to do something with Butch here and you might just be it.”
Two of the men were cutting long poles from the nearby trees. They brought them closer and started to fashion a travois.
“Is someone hurt bad?” Justin said. He slid off to the ground from Mr. Dobbs once Scamp had dismounted.
“Well, Butch here sure isn’t hurt good.” Jobe shook his head. “Don’t ask him, though. He still thinks he’s as fit as a borrowed fiddle.” The men moved away from the man on the ground to attach the travois to a sorrel stallion, probably Butch’s horse. Even though he hadn’t been out west that long, Justin knew that Rangers never rode mares. The man on the ground was frowning, and grumbling to himself. He was one of the biggest of them and he’d been hit somewhere around his hip, where riding in the saddle would be hard on him, nearly impossible without great pain.
“You gonna to take him in to town to Doc Willis?” Scamp asked. He moved closer to peer down at the men working on their wounded comrade. Justin stretched his back and legs after being on back of the horse for a spell. He didn’t have Scamp’s experience of years accustomed to horseback. Back east, where he had grown up, he’d ridden in buggies for the most part.
“Well, that’s where I thought you boys might come in handy.”
Scamp looked up at him, confused. Justin, who was quicker to pick up the least nuance, said, “We’d sure like to help, but we have to keep after the brave who took Button. She’s Scamp’s sister.”
“Adopted sister.” Scamp couldn’t help himself.
“We’re not that far from your Aunt Sara’s spread. Your lone Comanche’s probably part of the bunch was camped here.” Jobe waved a hand toward where a couple of the fires that hadn’t been put out in the fracas were still burning with meat sizzling on sticks and dripping into them.
Justin’s stomach felt as hollow as a drum. They’d charged out to Button’s rescue without eating or so much as grabbing a small slab of pone. The smell of beef cooking over the fires that hadn’t been scattered by the little dust-up was heavenly. One of the Rangers went over to a rack and pulled a piece of dripping meat from it. He took a bite, chewed, then grimaced and threw the rest of the piece into the fire. The Comanches never cook with salt. Still, the beef looked and smelled darn good to Justin. He watched Scamp sidle closer to one rack and take a couple of crisping strips of beef and carry them away to put them into the saddle-bags on Mr. Dobbs.
Jobe came closer, knelt down on one knee and looked into the faces of the two boys. “We’re going to have to ride hard to catch up to this band of Comanche renegades we’ve been after. With three braves down and knowing it’s us on their tails they’ll be quite a ways from here by now, even though they’re driving along a remuda of stolen horses. I think we caught them by surprise. It’s a wonder they didn’t have a lookout posted. But we won’t sneak up on them like this again soon unless we ride, and ride hard. That’s where you two come in.”
“Look, you don’t understand. We have to go after Button. Scamp lost the trail just a ways back, but we can pick it up again. We have to get her back.” Justin’s words came out hurried, and over-eager.
“Like as not the lone Comanche you saw will work his way back to the others. And we’ll be on their trail. We’ll do everything we can to fetch back your young Miss Button. Be assured of that. You’d just be in our way and slow us. ‘Sides, we aren’t allowed to have young boys along on a patrol like this. Ranger rules. You’d be doing us a right big favor by getting Butch to where a doc can patch him up. Okay?”
Justin glanced toward Scamp, who looked back at Justin. He supposed his own frown looked much like Scamp’s. He wanted them to go after Button. She should be the Rangers’ first priority, not something for them to think about after they took care of the Comanches. He glanced toward the downed Ranger, could see blood seeping through the wound dressings already.
The other Rangers had the travois fixed to Butch’s horse. They lifted him onto it.
“You gonna let a couple of green sprouts like this drag me through Comanche country?” Butch looked up at Jobe. “I’d sooner walk.” As soon as he said it, he passed out.
“He’s lost more blood that he realizes. A doc sure enough needs to look at that wound, pronto. So don’t you boys dally along the trail. The horse’s name is Jim Bob,” Jobe said. “He’s getting a little long in the tooth, but so was Butch. He’ll get you to town, though. Will you do it for the Texas Rangers?”
“But our sister?”
“This man could die.” Jobe looked hard into their eyes. “You wouldn’t want to own that debt. If you can get him to town then we can get riding right now after those Comanches, and, like as not, get your sister back as well.”
They had little choice. Justin gave him a quick nod.
Scamp hesitated, then promised, “We’ll do it.” Jobe’s grin grew as Scamp climbed up in the horse’s saddle.
Justin nodded. He saw that a Winchester’s butt poked out of a scabbard hanging from Jim Bob’s saddle. That made him feel a mite better. He got back onto Mr. Dobbs. They started back out the way they’d come in to where the Indians had been camping.
They’d barely started to move when all of the Rangers mounted, and at a signal from Jobe galloped off, with Bo pulling into the lead to scout the trail.
As soon as they were out of hearing, Scamp said, “You gave up easier than I expected.”
“Who said I gave up?” Justin dug his heels into Mr. Dobb’s back ribs and got the old gelding up to a near trot. In their haste, the butt of the big muzzleloader banged against his leg a time or two. He realized that Scamp had put up with that scabbard swinging against him all the way here and hadn’t complained once.
Scamp led the way with Jim Bob pulling the travois. He picked his way for the smoothest ride for Butch, though the man was still out of it. Just as well. Justin saw him bounce a few times at bumps in the path that would have had him groaning in pain had he been awake.
They went a ways out from the camp until the travois stopped ahead of Justin. Scamp climbed down from Jim Bob. Justin looked around. Yep. This was the spot where they’d lost the trail.
Scamp got close to the ground, frowned as he pressed his face close and moved in a widening circle. He shook his head, stood, and made a choice. He headed off to the right.
Justin sat his horse and waited. Finally, he heard a yell, and Scamp came running back.
“I found it. The trail picked up again once he thought he’d thrown us, and he was moving fast, probably after hearing gunfire at the Comanche camp. He left a pretty clear trail then.”
“What should we do? We promised Jobe that we’d take Butch here to a doctor.” Justin stared off in the direction the Comanche had taken Button.
“First, we eat. I don’t know about you but I feel half fixing to float off the ground.” Scamp dug into the saddlebags on Mr. Dobbs and came out with the pieces of roasted beef he’d snatched from the Comanche fireside. He placed them on the saddle, then brought out a small leather poke. He reached in and from it he sprinkled salt lightly on the beef and rubbed it in. Justin reached for a piece and Scamp took the other.
The meat was crisp, dry and chewy, but with the hint of salt Justin found it almost tasty. He was hungry enough to eat an old shoe, come to that.
“I should be the one to go after Button. She’s my sister after all.” Scamp took a big bite and chewed while looking at the wooded area around them.
“She’s no more your sister than she’s my sister.”
“And you should go because you’re sweet on her?”
“I’m not sweet on her. I just care.” Justin lowered the meat he held. He frowned.
“You think you’re the better fighter in a scrap? We could find out.” Scamp straightened up, tried to look taller than he was.
“Right here and now?”
“Yeah. Ya wanna wrassle?” Scamp crouched with his arms out like a crab.
He was trying so hard to look fierce, but achieved the opposite. Besides, they were best friends. Justin almost laughed out loud, then shook his head. “No. To tell the truth, I don’t think either one of us could whip half a Comanche, much less each other.”
“And I did make a promise to that Ranger.”
“You did at that,” Justin said.
“You think you could handle this Injun if you come across him and Button?”
“Not wrestling, or hand-to-hand. That’s for sure. But a well-placed bullet might do the job.”
Scamp thought and thought, but finally nodded. “I guess I can probably make better time getting to and from town with the travois without rattling Butch here half to death.”
“Okay. That’s settled.” Justin wrapped the rest of the beef strip he held in his handkerchief, anxious to be off.
While he chewed, Scamp said, “Okay, we’ve got that Comanche’s trail. It’s bold enough now that even you could follow it. I’ll just rush this Ranger fella into town and get him doctored a bit while you follow the trail? Soon as I have him in safe hands I’ll ride back at the gallop on Jim Bob here and we’ll take on this Injun together. We just have to get to him before he catches up to the others, but with the Rangers chasing them that may take some doing for him.”
Scamp walked Mr. Dobbs, with Justin in the saddle, and led the way back to where the young Comanche’s trail was clear even to Justin. Then Scamp took off at a run back to where he’d left Jim Bob tied to a mesquite limb.
Justin wove through the tail end of a clump of trees and low brush as he followed the trail Scamp had pointed out. Enough stickers brushed against his legs that he wished he have worn chaps, or even had chaps. He’d come away from the house without a hat as well, and the sun had begun to beat down on his bare head in earnest. The trail he followed led across an open stretch. He looked ahead and saw no sign of Button or the Comanche. He nudged Mr. Dobbs, and the old gelding seemed to sense the urgency and, for the first time, nearly got up to a full gallop.
Now and then Justin had to climb off his horse and peer close at the ground, the way he’d seen Scamp do. Usually the wind had swept a stretch of prints away or long bent brown grass obscured them. But the trail was mostly clear and bold now. The young Comanche seemed sure no one was following him. Justin would have grinned as he climbed back into the saddle except for knowing Button was somewhere out there.
The next time he had to get down for a closer look his heart flew up into his throat. He could make out Button’s footprints following the horse. She was walking behind it. He could see a place or two where she had fallen down and had been dragged a ways before the Comanche had stopped and allowed her to get back to her feet. So she was tied too. He got back onto Mr. Dobbs and pressed ahead faster this time. He felt the heat of an internal fire as anger stirred inside him. The old gelding seemed to sense his mood and broke into a trot as soon as Justin was back in the saddle.