Nearly three weeks had passed since the ambush on the Rangers. Lieutenant Berkeley had taken the uninjured men on a short scout, hoping to pick up the trail of the renegades who had attacked them, with no luck. His patrol had just returned late the previous evening, tired and discouraged. Captain Quincy decided there was nothing his company of Rangers needed more than several days of rest.
The wound to Nate’s arm was not quite as serious as Jim had feared. It was healing far more rapidly than he expected, so Nate’s arm was out of the sling, the bandages removed. The bruise on his chest had just about completely faded away. Jim had taken the stitches out of Nate’s scalp and pronounced the bullet graze almost fully healed. The only ill effect which seemed to remain was an intense itching where Nate’s hair was growing back in over the scab.
“Don’t scratch that wound, Nate, or you’re liable to rip it open again, which means it’ll most likely get infected,” Jim warned.
“I’m tryin’ my darnedest not to, but it’s drivin’ me plumb loco,” Nate answered. Already, he was starting to pick up some of the lingo of the Rangers. If you listened close enough, you could detect just the beginnings of a Texas drawl in his voice.
“I know it must be, but you can’t chance tearin’ your scalp open again,” Jim repeated. “It’ll only be a few days before the itchin’ stops, mebbe a week or so at the most.”
Nate and Hoot were at the riverbank, washing clothes, which was not an easy chore. They had removed their boots and socks, rolled up their pants legs and shirt sleeves, and were standing almost knee-deep in the water while they worked. To clean the heavy cotton or woolen garments they and the other Rangers wore, they had to wet the clothes, take a bar of harsh yellow lye soap, rub that into the clothes, then beat or scrub them against one of the rocks along the bank. Once they had gotten as much dirt out as possible, they would rinse the clothes out in the river, then hang them from tree branches to dry. The entire process was tedious, not very effective, and hard on clothes, the abrasive soap and beating on the rocks wearing out fabric long before its time. With the wear and tear it caused on their outfits, the general scarcity of water in west Texas, and being on the move so much, it was no wonder the Rangers seldom actually took the time to do laundry. Most of the time they went for weeks wearing the same soiled clothes, and usually smelled to high heaven of a combination of human sweat, horse sweat, leather, and tobacco smoke. Needless to say, on the rare occasions they were able to stay in or near a town for any length of time, two of their first destinations were the local washerwoman or Chinese laundry to drop off their dirty clothes for cleaning, then the nearest barbershop where they could get shaves, haircuts, and soak in good, hot baths.
“Don’t see why we have to wash everyone’s duds, just because we put salt in place of the sugar,” Hoot complained.
“It was your idea,” Nate answered.
“But you went along with it,” Hoot pointed out. “I couldn’t have done it without your help, since you’re George’s segundo.”
“Yeah, I did,” Nate conceded. “And even though we got stuck washin’ everybody’s clothes, the joke was worth it. I can still see Jeb’s face when he tasted that coffee. It got all twisted up, his lips puckered like he was suckin’ on a lemon, and when he spit that coffee out and it hit Jim’s boots, I thought Jim was gonna pull out his gun and shoot Jeb right on the spot. Then Jim took a swallow of his and…” Nate stopped, laughing so hard at the memory he couldn’t continue talking.
“Yeah, I reckon it was worth it at that,” Hoot agreed. “It did give us a good laugh.”
“I was awful mad when I took a big gulp of my coffee, but now that I think back on it, the stunt was pretty funny. You’re both dang lucky George didn’t tan your hides, though. Nobody messes with his supplies,” Dan Morton said. He’d been lounging on the riverbank, smoking and watching the two youngsters work on the laundry. The pile of dirty shirts, pants, neckerchiefs, socks, and underwear they’d been given was now down to a few articles of clothing. The surrounding trees looked as if they’d been festooned with banners, so many garments were hung from them, flapping in the hot breeze to dry.
“Reckon we are, at that,” Hoot said. He picked up a pair of long woolen drawers from the remaining unwashed clothes, then wrinkled his nose at their smell. The drawers were faded almost white from their original red, were full of holes, and extremely filthy, stains marking their seat. Hoot held them at arm’s length.
“Whooee, these sure stink somethin’ awful,” he exclaimed, adding a curse to emphasize his feelings. “Reckon Shorty hasn’t taken these off for a couple of weeks, at least.”
“Shorty Beach? More likely he hasn’t taken them off for six months,” Dan said, laughing. “No one can exactly remember the last time he took a bath, either. I believe it was when he finally got to stinkin’ so bad the entire company threw him in the Nueces, clothes, hat, boots, gun, and all.”
“Well, I sure ain’t washin’ ’em,” Hoot said. “There ain’t enough soap in Texas to get the stench out of ’em.”
Hoot tossed the offending underwear in the river. He watched the current pull it downstream, until it was caught on a half-submerged log.
“Shorty’s gonna be real mad you let those get away,” Dan warned. “Not to mention he’ll be awful chafed after sittin’ his saddle for a few hours without ’em under his denims.”
“Mebbe that’ll teach him to clean up once in a while,” Hoot said. He picked up a shirt and dunked it in the river, then began scrubbing it.
“Watchin’ you boys work has plumb worn me out,” Dan said. He pinched out his cigarette and tossed the butt into the river. “I think I’ll just mosey on up to our tent and grab me some more shut-eye.”
“You go ahead and do that,” Nate said. “Hoot and I are just about done here, anyway.”
“Yeah, and once we are I plan on shuckin’ outta my clothes and takin’ a swim,” Hoot said.
“That goes for me too,” Nate added.
“You can swim, Nate?” Dan asked. “Hoot here’s a pretty good swimmer, but most of us aren’t. I can’t swim a lick myself.”
Like almost everyone of the era, most cowboys could not swim, and indeed many of them had an innate fear of deep water. They usually preferred taking a bath in a small creek or stream. When they bathed in a river or pond, they generally stayed close to the bank, in the shallows.
“I can swim some,” Nate answered.
“Huh. That’s real good to know,” Dan answered, suddenly interested. “You think you can outswim Hoot?”
“I don’t rightly know. I’ve never seen him swim.”
“Well, why don’t we find out?” Dan suggested. He sensed a wagering opportunity, something he looked for every chance he got.
“You mean a race?” Nate said.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Dan replied. “You and Hoot finish washin’ those clothes, while I gather the rest of the boys. I’ll have ’em back here in, say, half an hour. We’ll place a few bets, then see who’s the faster swimmer, you or Hoot. That agreeable to the both of you?”
“Suits me fine,” Hoot said.
“Nate?”
“I’m not certain. I’d imagine Hoot is as quick as a trout,” Nate said, hesitating. “Sure don’t want to look bad losin’ to him.”
“You tryin’ to back out?” Hoot challenged.
“I dunno. I guess. Aw, what the heck. Why not? Just hope I don’t make too big a fool of myself,” Nate answered.
“Good, it’s all settled. I’ll be back in half an hour, mebbe a bit less. You two be ready by then,” Dan said.
“We will be,” Hoot assured him.
***
Thirty minutes later, every man of the Ranger company, including George, the cook, and Percy Leaping Buck, the scout, was gathered on the riverbank. Nate and Hoot stripped off their clothes, tossed them on the bank, and waded into the middle of the San Saba, where the water was a little less than chest deep.
The race having been Dan’s idea, he took charge.
“Hoot, Nate, see that cottonwood leanin’ out over the river?”
“Yeah, Dan,” Nate said.
“The one that looks like it’s hangin’ on for dear life? That the one?” Hoot asked.
“That’s it. You’ll swim up to that tree, reach up and touch that low-hangin’ branch, turn around and swim back here. Finish line is where Shorty’s drawers are hung up on that snag.”
“And whoever loses sure better get ’em and bring ’em back,” Shorty ordered, adding a string of curses for good measure.
“Shorty, I think I speak for every Ranger in this company when I say those boys did us all a favor by turnin’ those drawers loose. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they swam away all on their own. And they most likely either killed or chased off every fish for a mile downstream,” Captain Quincy said. “Either retrieve ’em yourself and wash ’em out, find your spares if you’ve even got any, or do without until we get to a town and you can buy some new ones.”
“But Cap’n—” Shorty sputtered, as the rest of the men laughed.
“But nothin’,” the captain answered. “Dan, are all the bets placed?”
“They sure are, Cap’n.”
“Then let’s start this race.”
“All right. Nate, you ready?”
“Ready, Dan.”
“Hoot?”
“I’m ready.”
“Good. Set. Go!”
Both youngsters hit the water in long, shallow dives. Hoot came up five feet in front of Nate, his arms churning wildly. Nate settled into long, smooth strokes. Before they had gone ten yards, he had overtaken and passed Hoot. He was fifty feet ahead when he stretched up his left arm to touch the low-hanging branch, then dove back under the water to reverse direction. He surfaced twenty feet downstream, while Hoot still had not yet reached the turn.
The other Rangers had been hollering and yelling when the race began, but now fell almost silent, realizing it had been over before it even started. Nate reached the finish over a hundred feet before Hoot. He turned back to the waiting men and emerged from the river, not even breathing hard. Hoot didn’t bother to continue to the end, but came out of the water just behind Nate. He hunched over, struggling for breath.
“Seems we have a winner. Nate Stewart,” Captain Quincy said.
“Appears he was runnin’ a sandy on us. Pullin’ a bluff, weren’t you, Nate? I ain’t never seen anyone swim like you,” Dan said.
“No, I wasn’t lyin’, leastwise not by Delaware standards,” Nate said. “I was born and raised along the Delaware River. Most of my friends could swim a lot better’n I can.”
“You’re joshin’,” Hank Glynn said.
“No, I sure ain’t. In fact, I recollect the time a bunch of us was swimmin’ when a whale came round the bend.”
“A whale? You mean like in Melville’s Moby Dick?” Jim asked. He was a student of the classics.
“Well, it weren’t white, but it was darn sure as big as that white whale, mebbe bigger. Must’ve been two hundred feet long and weighed a couple of tons, at least,” Nate answered. “Anyway, we saw that whale a-comin’, its huge mouth open, ready to chomp down and swallow any of us it could catch. We started swimmin’ like Satan himself was after us, which of course, we figured that whale was. We outswam him, too. All of us but one, my best friend Hugh Dickinson. Hugh’s a bit on the heavy side, you see, so he couldn’t keep up with the rest of us. That whale caught him and swallowed him in one gulp.”
“You sayin’ a big fish done ate your friend, Nate?” Joe Duffy said. He spit a stream of tobacco juice into the dirt. “I’m not believin’ a word you’re sayin’.”
“It’s true. That whale ate Hugh. Just like in the Bible. Remember when Jonah was in the belly of the whale? Same thing happened to Hugh.”
“So the whale killed your buddy?” George asked.
“Didn’t say that. Next thing we knew that whale started spoutin’. Ol’ Hugh popped out of its blowhole, and shot up in the air with the water that thing was shootin’ out. He kept swimmin’ on top of that fountain until the whale quit blowin’. He came back down, landed on its back, and rode him like you boys would ride a buckin’ horse. Stuck with that whale until it was worn out, keeled over, and died. Bunch of folks got together and towed the carcass to shore. We had a fish fry that fed the entire city of Wilmington for a week. Poor Hugh didn’t get to eat any of that whale, though.”
“Why not?” Jeb asked.
“Because when that whale rolled onto its back he got stuck under it and drowned. Darn shame after all he’d been through, gettin’ eaten up, then swimmin’ through its belly until he could escape out the blowhole. Poor Hugh.”
Nate stopped, sniffled, and wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. The men stared at him, incredulous, knowing his story was a whopper, yet, none of them being from the coast, in fact most of them never even having seen the ocean or Gulf of Mexico, not quite certain he wasn’t telling the truth.
Captain Quincy broke into laughter.
“Nate, are you sure you’re not a native son of Texas?” he asked.
“No, Cap’n. Born and raised in Delaware, like I told you. Why?”
“Because that windy you just told is as tall a tale as any I’ve ever heard from any Texan. You can swap lies with the best of ’em, son.”
“You don’t believe my story, Cap’n?”
“Not for one bit. Even if it is a fish story. Now, it’s high time to get back to work. Anyone here bet on Nate?”
There was a shaking of heads and a chorus of no’s, except for one.
“I bet on Nate,” Ken Demarest said. “Looks like I’m the only one, so I win the entire pot. Thanks, boys. The money’ll sure buy me a good time next town we hit.”
“You bet on Nate? How come?” Dan asked.
“Because like he says, he’s from Delaware, on the East Coast. Any of you had half a brain you’d have realized he was most likely a swimmer. And he sure proved me right. Your first sarsaparilla’s on me, Nate.”
“Thanks, Ken.”
“Not quite so fast, Ken. I bet on Nate also,” Percy Leaping Buck said.
“You, Percy?”
“Yep. Something told me the boy was a child of the water. Call it my Tonkawa intuition.”
“Guess I’d better thank you too, Percy,” Nate said. He turned to Hoot.
“Good race, Hoot.”
“Yeah, if I’d been a turtle,” Hoot answered. “Mebbe you can give me a few pointers on swimmin’ some time.”
“Be happy to.”
“Good, that’s settled,” Captain Dave said. “Nate, Hoot, get dressed, then come to my tent. I’ve got a job for the two of you.”
“A job? Anythin’ special?” Hoot asked.
“I’ll explain what it entails once you’re at my tent.”
***
“Cap’n Dave?”
“C’mon in, boys.”
Captain Quincy’s tent flap was opened. Nate and Hoot ducked through it and stepped inside.
“Have a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Quincy was seated behind the folding table which served as his desk. There was a stack of papers on it. He dipped his pen into the inkwell, signed the last one, blotted it, then placed it on top of the stack. He slid the papers into a leather pouch and tied that shut. He leaned back in his chair, pulled his pipe out of his pocket, filled it, and lit it. After taking a long puff, he finally spoke.
“I imagine you two are a mite curious about this job I’ve got for you.”
“You might say that, Cap’n,” Hoot answered.
“It’s probably not what you’re imagining. I want you boys to go into San Saba. These reports I just finished are long overdue getting to Headquarters, especially the notifications about the deaths of six of our men. I really should have sent someone several days ago, but with being short of manpower I didn’t have anyone to spare. However, these can’t be delayed any longer. You’ll also need to take one of the pack mules and pick up supplies and foodstuffs. We’re starting to run short. George will have a list for you. What do you say? Do you want the job?”
“A chance to ride into town? Heck, yes, Cap’n,” Hoot said. “But why me’n Nate here? Some of the other men are bound to be upset they didn’t get the job.”
“There’s several reasons I want you and Nate to make this trip.” Captain Dave answered. “As far as the others, don’t worry about them. I’ll handle the men. Now, as to why I’m handin’ you this job, first, you’re both young-lookin’, so no one should suspect you’re Rangers, at least that you are, Hoot. Nate, don’t forget you’re still a probationary member of the outfit.”
“I won’t, Cap’n.”
“Good. Anyway, the two of you look like you’re a couple of farm boys leavin’ home for the first time, so I doubt anyone’ll think you’ve got anything worth stealin’, and most likely won’t bother you. Nate, I’m sure Jeb’s probably told you this already, but there’s always renegades on the prowl who’d like nothin’ better’n to put a bullet in a Ranger’s back. Since, like I said, you two are the youngest lookin’ in the company, I believe you’ve got the best chance of getting to San Saba and back unmolested. However, I also believe you can handle any trouble if some does come your way. Second, this trip will give Nate a chance to stop by his home, and visit his folks’ graves. I figure you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Nate?”
“I… Yes, I sure would, Cap’n. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. You can also check on your affairs while you’re in San Saba, since I don’t know when you’ll get another chance. I also want to see if you can handle another long ride with no problems, Nate. In addition, I need to see if both of you can work away from the company if necessary, and handle any problems on your own, like Rangers. This trip will help show me if you can. It should take you two days to reach San Saba. Take a full day to get these dispatches and reports in the mail, check to see if there are any letters or telegrams from Austin, and pick up the supplies. Then get a good night’s rest, and start back the next morning. You should be back here five days after you leave. Any questions?”
“You want us to leave tonight, Cap’n?” Hoot asked.
“No. Get a full night’s sleep, and start out just after sunup. I’ll make certain George has some breakfast ready. I wouldn’t have handed this assignment to you if I thought either of you couldn’t handle it,” Captain Dave said somberly. “If you don’t believe you can do it, say so right now.”
“Nate’n I’ll do just fine, Cap’n,” Hoot assured him.
“I know you will. Just remember to conduct yourselves as Texas Rangers at all times. I don’t want either of you disgracin’ the outfit. Now, make sure your horses and gear are ready for a long run, then take it easy for the rest of the day. Hit the sack right after supper, so you’ll be rested and ready to ride at first light. Dismissed.”
“Thanks, Cap’n, for your confidence in me,” Nate said.
“Just prove it wasn’t misplaced, son. That’s all I ask.”
“Right, Cap’n.”
***
With his excitement in anticipation of the upcoming trip to San Saba racing through his head, Nate had trouble falling asleep that night. He finally gave it up as a bad job, so got out of bed, dressed, and headed for the riverbank. He waved to the sentries on duty as he crossed the campground, then settled with his back against a cypress trunk. For quite some time, he sat and watched the San Saba as it slowly flowed northeastward to its confluence with the Colorado. His reverie was broken by a slight sound behind him. Instinctively, he reached for the S & W American on his right hip and started to pull it from its holster.
“Easy, Nate. It’s only me. Hoot.”
Nate stopped with his gun half out of leather, then slid it back into the holster. He chuckled to himself as he did. He hadn’t even realized he’d strapped on his gunbelt. Obviously, the lessons he was learning from the Rangers were taking hold. He’d just naturally put on his weapon when he dressed, without even thinking about it.
“Hoot. What the devil are you doin’, sneakin’ up on me like that? You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.”
“Didn’t figure you’d be that jumpy right here in camp, pal,” Hoot said. “Wasn’t plannin’ on gettin’ drilled by one of my own pards.”
“Yeah, that would have been pretty embarrassin’ if I’d shot you,” Nate said. “Kind of hard to explain, too.”
“Might’ve been embarrassin’ for you, but it would have been a whole lot worse for me, if you’d put a bullet through my guts,” Hoot retorted.
“I guess you’re right at that.”
“You guess? You just guess, Nate? I can guarantee it. What’re you doin’ out here, anyway?”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d sit out here for a spell. Been thinkin’ about my family. Still miss ’em somethin’ fierce.”
“’Course you do,” Hoot said. “Same goes for me. I’ll tell you about my folks sometime.”
“I’d like to hear about ’em,” Nate said. “What’re you doin’ up and around? I thought you were sound asleep. You were sure sawin’ logs.”
“I woke up, noticed you were gone, and wanted to make sure you were all right. Are you?”
“Yeah. Just restless. A lot of things have happened to me over the past few weeks.”
“Boy howdy, I’ll say they have. If you want to talk about any of ’em, I’m here to listen.”
“I appreciate that, Hoot. Not right now. I am glad for the company, though. Let’s just watch the river for awhile.”
The moon was nearly full, so it bathed the entire landscape in its silvery light. There was a thin mist over the San Saba, which looked like a silver ribbon draped across the land. The moonlight cast an eerie luminescence on the crosses marking the graves of the six fallen Rangers, which were just upstream from the camp. Nate and Hoot sat in silence for over an hour, each absorbed in his thoughts. A slight breeze came up, stirring the mist and shifting the shadows.
“Nate?”
“Yeah, Hoot?”
“You believe in haints?”
“Haints? What d’ya mean, haints?”
“You know, haints. Ghosts. Spooks.”
“Oh, you mean haunts.”
“That’s what I said, haints.”
Nate laughed softly. He still wasn’t entirely used to the soft Texas drawl.
“I’m not certain. There’s places in Wilmington they say are haunted. I even went into one. Me and Jonathan snuck out of our house one midnight and went to this old warehouse that’s supposed to be haunted by the spirits of some British soldiers hung there durin’ the Revolutionary War. Sure felt like it was a place full of ghosts, all cold and clammy, with cobwebs hangin’ everywhere, and the wind moanin’ through the busted windows and holes in the roof. Didn’t see none, though. All we did was catch a cold, and our hides tanned when our ma found out what we’d done. Sure, like the Good Book says, I believe we all have a spirit or soul, but as far as dead folks comin’ back and hauntin’ places, I’m just not sure. Why?”
“’Cause I sure believe in ’em. Take a look over yonder.”
Hoot pointed to the Rangers’ graves. The mist danced eerily over them.
“That? That’s just the mist,” Nate said. He laughed nervously.
“Mebbe it is, and mebbe it ain’t,” Hoot answered. “Just mebbe it’s the ghosts of our pardners, comin’ back to visit their old friends. And mebbe the ghosts of the outlaws we killed are out there right now, too, comin’ after them and us. Don’t know about you, but I ain’t takin’ any chances. I’m headin’ back to our tent and gettin’ under the covers with my pillow over my head.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Nate said. Both boys lunged to their feet and headed back to camp on the run.