Carl was up with the sun, but rather than bring the boys around, he waited until they roused on their own. Hoot awakened first. The sun’s rays streaming through the window landed directly on his face. He moaned, started to sit up, then fell back with a curse.
“What fool pulled up the shade?”
“I did. ’Bout time one of you woke up,” Carl said.
“Who the devil are you?” Hoot answered. “And where the heck am I?”
“I’m Carl, remember? Carl Swan. Got you and your friend there out of the Dusty Trail before you got into real trouble.”
“My friend?” Hoot looked to where Nate was sprawled alongside him. “Oh, yeah. Nate. What d’ya mean, real trouble?”
“You don’t recollect anything that happened last night?”
“We had supper, then a couple of drinks. That’s all I remember. Boy howdy, that red-eye must’ve been stronger’n I realized.” Hoot rolled onto his left hip, then clamped his hands to the sides of his head. “Ow!”
“You feelin’ a mite poorly, son?” Carl asked, stifling a laugh.
“A mite? My head feels like it’s gonna split in two, my mouth’s full of cotton, and my belly’s doin’ flips.”
“That’s ’cause you had more’n a couple of drinks. You don’t remember any ladies?”
Hoot shook his head, then yelped when pain shot through his skull.
“Ladies? I sure don’t.”
“I surmised as much.” Carl stood up, went to the washstand, and picked up the pitcher. “Guess I’d better wake up Nate.”
He dumped the pitcher of water over Nate’s head. Nate spluttered, yelled, and sat up, too quickly. He hung his head between his knees until the room settled down.
“Time to rise and shine, Nate,” Carl said.
“I can’t move,” Nate answered. “Someone stuck an old, dirty sock in my mouth. Must’ve hit me over the head with a hammer, too. And my guts. Feels like someone stuck a knife in ’em. Mebbe several.”
“That all?” Hoot said. “Mine feel like a Comanche ran his lance clean through ’em.”
“You happen to recall anythin’ about last night, Nate?” Carl asked.
“Yeah. We had supper, then some whiskey, and some gals came up to us. Then a couple of cowboys tried to pick a fight.”
“Well, at least you’re in a bit better shape than Hoot. Far as what hit you, it was the whiskey you boys drank. Might want to go a bit easier on it next time. You’re both lucky you didn’t get yourselves killed. Now get yourselves cleaned up a bit and we’ll go for some breakfast.”
“I don’t think I can eat a thing,” Nate said. “Don’t think I can ever move again, neither. Lemme just lay here and die.”
“Neither do I,” Hoot added. “Reckon I’d like to lay here and die peaceable, too.”
“You’ve gotta get some food in your stomachs, along with plenty of black coffee,” Carl said.
“Wait. What time is it?” Hoot asked.
“Probably about nine o’clock,” Carl answered.
“No! It can’t be,” Hoot said. “Nate, we’re gonna be in trouble. We should have picked up the supplies and been on our way back to camp right now. We’d better get movin’. Mebbe with any luck we’ll still get back to camp tomorrow, just a bit late.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to climb onto Big Red, let alone stay in the saddle,” Nate objected.
“We’ve got no choice,” Hoot answered. He stood up, pressed a hand to his middle, stumbled over to the wash bench, and splashed the water still in the basin on his face.
“You boys headed back to the Ranger camp?” Carl asked.
“Yeah. We’re gonna try, anyway,” Hoot answered.
“I reckon I’d better tag along with you. Try’n keep you from gettin’ in any more trouble. Nate, remember that offer Jeb made me to join up with the Rangers?”
“After you helped him with the Stevenson outfit? Yeah, I sure do.”
“You think the invitation still stands?”
“I don’t see why not. I’m certain it does.”
“Good. I just might take him up on that. Now, like Hoot says, we’d better get goin’. It’s gonna be mighty rough on both of you, but gettin’ up and out in the fresh air is the best cure for what ails you. And next time you decide to try liquor, you might want to remember how you feel right now.”
“There ain’t ever gonna be a next time,” Nate declared. “At least, for a long while.”
“We’ll see about that,” Carl answered. “Nate, soon as you’re ready, we’ll be on our way. It might not be a bad idea for you two to get outta town in case there’s any questions about what happened last night.”
“Thought you said nothin’ much happened,” Hoot said.
“There wasn’t. But that don’t mean the marshal might still want to talk to you about gettin’ drunk and disorderly,” Carl answered. “He could probably arrest you for breach of peace, if he was of a mind to. Better you’re gone before he gets the chance.”
***
After breakfast at the Coffee Cup, where Carl insisted the boys fill their bellies with scrambled eggs, toast, and lots of hot, black coffee, Nate and Hoot were feeling only a bit more like themselves. Every step they took as they headed to retrieve their horses started hammers pounding on anvils in their brains.
Colin Harper, the hostler at the livery stable, watched with amusement while Nate and Hoot attempted to saddle and bridle their horses. They had particular difficulty getting the pack saddle on Walton. The big mule stood patiently through their fumbling attempts, but snorted his annoyance several times, and gave them a look which seemed to convey his disgust.
“I heard these two got really drunk last night, Carl,” he said. “Seems like what I was told was an understatement.”
“Word sure spreads fast in this town. I’m guessin’ it was their first time samplin’ whiskey. Sure hope they remember the after effects,” Carl said. “Heck, just about every man goes on a tear once in a while, but these boys are still too young. Well, looks like they’re finally ready. See you around sometime, Colin. C’mon, Diablo.”
Carl led his stocky black gelding out of its stall.
“Good luck with the Rangers, Carl,” Colin said. “Adios. Nate, Hoot, same to you.”
Hoot and Nate merely mumbled their replies. It only took a few minutes for the ride to the general store.
“Thought you boys were gonna be here earlier,” Chet Thomas said, when they walked in.
“We were, but got to feelin’ a little poorly,” Nate answered.
Thomas peered at them over the spectacles perched on the end of his nose. It was apparent from the boys’ bedraggled appearance exactly why they were “feeling poorly”.
“I see. Well, your order is ready. It’s right by the front door. All you need do is pay for it, then you can load it on your mule,” Thomas said. “Carl, I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“No need, Chet,” Carl answered. “I’m headin’ out with these boys. Gonna join up with the Rangers. All I need is some jerky and cartridges. Mebbe a couple pounds of coffee, too.”
“I’ll get those for you,” Thomas said. “Joinin’ the Rangers, huh? ’Bout time you decided to do somethin’ useful, instead of just ridin’ the grubline. You’re too good a man for that, Carl. You only need to try’n keep your temper in check. That’s already cost you what, two, three good, steady, ranch hand jobs?”
“Four.”
“Four. Well, perhaps the Rangers are just what you need. I sure hope so.”
“So do I.”
“Mr. Thomas, we really need to get on the trail,” Hoot said. “Here’s your money.”
Thomas counted the payment and placed it in his cash drawer.
“Thanks, boys. Soon as I get Carl’s things, I’ll help you load up.”
“No need,” Hoot said. “Givin’ us a hand gettin’ the stuff outside will do just fine.”
“All right.”
***
Once the supplies were on the sidewalk in front of the store, Hoot instructed Nate on how to load a pack saddle.
“You put the soft stuff on first, Nate,” he explained. “That’s a lot easier on your animal’s back. It also helps prevent anythin’ hard, like say the handle of a fryin’ pan or the corner of a crate, from jabbin’ him in the back. Soft goods like sacks of flour act like paddin’ to protect your animal. You don’t want anythin’ rubbin’ against his skin and irritatin’ it, or worse somethin’ pokin’ him and causin’ him to try’n shake off the load. You can lose a lotta supplies that way, possibly end up with a wrecked saddle, mebbe even cripple up a good pack mule. So you put the soft packages against his back. Also, you have to make sure the load’s even. Got to try to balance it so the weight’s about the same on each side. Comprende?”
“Comprende?”
“Do you understand?”
“Oh. Yeah, I think so.”
“Good. Now, once the soft packages are in place, then you add the rest of the load. Heaviest things first, of course, then the lighter stuff after that. Lightest, most breakable goods go on top. Then you cover everything with a tarp, and lash that in place, along with the load. Usually we use a diamond hitch. Here. I’ll show you how to do that.”
It took several tries before Nate got the hang of making the diamond hitch. Of course, it didn’t help with both he and Hoot still being hung over, suffering the aftermath of the previous night’s drinking binge. Both of them fumbled in their attempts to tie the knots. Carl had to finally step in and help them. But somehow, with the boys’ efforts, or more accurately despite them, the supplies were loaded on Walton and tied in place. The three men mounted, and rode slowly out of San Saba, heading west.
“Sandy, you even think of buckin’ and you’ll be dog food,” Hoot warned his horse. He and Nate were both riding hunched over in their saddles, swaying back and forth. They had just left the city limits when Nate’s saddle slipped underneath his horse. He hung under Red’s belly for a moment, holding on to the saddle horn for dear life, then lost his grip and tumbled to the road. Luckily, Red was able to dance around his fallen rider, avoiding putting a hoof in Nate’s belly or crushing his chest. Nate landed on his back with a thud, all the air knocked out of him. He lay there, staring up at the sky and struggling for breath. Big Red looked down at him as if he were a complete fool. If Nate didn’t know better, he’d have sworn the horse was saying, “What the heck are you doin’ down there, kid? You’re supposed to be on my back, not underneath my belly.”
“You all right, Nate?” Carl asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m all right,” Nate answered. He added a curse. “Doggone saddle was loose.”
“It wouldn’t have been if you’d made sure the cinch was tight before you mounted,” Carl pointed out. “Not makin’ certain of that’s a real greenhorn mistake.”
“It’s Red’s fault. He blew up his belly,” Nate said.
“It ain’t nobody’s fault but yours,” Carl answered. “Don’t go blamin’ your horse for your mistakes. Now, get back up, get the saddle back in place, make sure the cinch is tight, and get back on your horse. We’re wastin’ daylight while you’re just lyin’ around. As it is, you’re darn lucky your horse didn’t run off, and wreck the saddle while he did. Even luckier he didn’t kick you in the head and bash your brains out. It’s really fortunate you’ve got a good, calm animal there.”
Muttering under his breath, Nate rolled onto his belly, then pushed himself to his hands and knees, until his head stopped spinning and he could once again breathe freely. He grabbed Red’s reins, rolled the saddle back in place, and yanked up the billet strap, hard. Red jerked his head around and nipped Nate’s shoulder. Nate lifted his hand to slap Red’s sensitive muzzle.
“Don’t you even think of hittin’ that horse, unless you want me to do the same to you, boy,” Carl warned. “He didn’t do anythin’ wrong, so don’t go takin’ your mad out on him. Only one you should be angry at is yourself. Well, and mebbe your friend here, for lettin’ you get so liquored up last night.”
“Hey, Nate didn’t need any encouragement,” Hoot protested.
“Mebbe not, but you didn’t try’n stop him,” Carl answered. “Instead, you got as drunk as he did, and whether you realize it or not, you both came awful close to gettin’ yourselves bellies full of lead. You’re both dang lucky I was there to stop you before you did somethin’ real foolish. Drunk as you were, if you’d gone for your guns those cowboys would’ve plugged you before you even cleared leather. You’d be six feet under right about now.”
“We don’t need a lecture from you, Carl,” Nate said.
“Mebbe not, but you sure need one from somebody. Since I’m the only one around here, I’ll have to do. Then again, mebbe I should’ve just let you learn the hard way. Meantime, you gonna get back on that horse and start ridin’ again, or not?”
“All right, all right.” Nate pulled himself back into the saddle and jabbed his heels into Red’s ribs, putting him into a trot. The jouncing gait sent waves of agony through Nate’s skull, so he quickly pulled the horse back to a walk.
They had gone about a mile when Hoot spoke up.
“Nate, remember we promised the Lopez family we’d try and swing by on our way back? We still gonna do that?”
“I reckon we should,” Nate answered. “Carl, we’re supposed to stop by a ranch we ate at on our way into San Saba. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure, as long as the folks’ll have me.”
“I’m sure they will. They’re fine people,” Nate said.
“Yeah. And the missus puts out some prime chuck, too,” Hoot added.
“That sounds great. Even though it ain’t been all that long since breakfast, my belly’s complainin’,” Carl said.
“Mine sure ain’t lookin’ for grub,” Hoot said. “It’s just complainin’. But a stop for water and a bit of rest before we push on sure sounds fine.”
“Good. Then we’ll head for the Lopez place,” Nate concluded.
As they rode along, the blazing hot Texas sun took its toll on Nate and Hoot. Their headaches intensified, and their stomachs kept churning. Their mouths were once again dry as flannel, and their vision blurred. Both boys felt a great sense of relief when the Lopez ranch came into sight.
“That the place we’re headed for?” Carl asked. “Up ahead, about a mile or so?”
“That’s it. The Box L,” Nate answered. “Won’t be long until we get there. And it won’t be a minute too soon for me.”
“Boy howdy, that’s for certain,” Hoot added. “I don’t think I can ride much further.”
When they reached the Box L, Nilla and Keytl came rushing to meet them, barking a warning. Mrs. Lopez came onto the porch, holding a Winchester.
“Nilla, Keytl, get back here!” she ordered. She shaded her eyes to observe the approaching horsemen.
“Who’s that ridin’ in?” she called.
“It’s just us, Miz Lopez,” Nate called in return. “Hoot and Nate. Remember we promised to try’n stop by again on our way back through? Got a friend with us.”
“I sure do. C’mon in. Nilla, Keytl, I said get back here and stop that infernal barkin’. You remember these boys.”
Nate, Hoot, and Carl rode up to the porch. They touched two fingers to the brims of their hats in greeting.
“It’s good to see you again,” Nate said. “This here’s Carl Swan.”
“Ma’am, I’m right pleased to meet you,” Carl said. “Sure hope we ain’t puttin’ you to too much trouble.”
“Pish tosh. It’s no trouble at all feedin’ hungry folks. We’re always glad for the company.”
“Then I’m obliged, ma’am.” Carl answered. He couldn’t help but smile.
“Get outta those saddles and light and set a spell,” Mrs. Lopez ordered. “Nate, Hoot, you know where to put your broncs and find feed for ’em. After that, you can show Carl where to wash up. I’ll set out soap and towels for you. You’re a bit too late for dinner, but I can round up somethin’ to hold you over until suppertime.”
“There’s no need to go to all that trouble, Miz Lopez,” Hoot said. “Nate and I are feelin’ a tad sick. We’ll just clean up, then rest until supper.”
“You are lookin’ a bit peaked,” Mrs. Lopez replied. “Must’ve been somethin’ you picked up in town. Well, take care of your horses and clean yourselves up, then I’ll show you to the bunkhouse. You’ll stay the night, of course. Braeden and Frank will be right pleased to see you again. They’re out with the rest of the crew right now, drivin’ in a bunch of cows, but they’ll be back in plenty of time for supper. You’ll get to meet all the boys then. Several of the ranches around here are puttin’ together a good-sized shippin’ herd. We’re throwin’ in with them. We’re gatherin’ our herd today, then tomorrow we’ll drive ’em over to where the main herd’s bein’ held. Day after tomorrow, they’ll start drivin’ the cows to the railhead. In the meantime, how about you, Carl? Are you also feeling ill, or would you like something to eat?”
“I can stand a bite or two,” Carl answered.
“Good. Then soon as I show you where to roll out your blankets you come up to the house with me. I’ve got beef stew and coffee keepin’ warm on the stove, along with some prickly pear cobbler.”
“That sure sounds fine to me,” Carl said.
“We’re obliged for the hospitality, but we really can’t stay until mornin’,” Hoot said. “We’ve got to get back to our outfit by tomorrow night.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Lopez said. “You and Nate aren’t well. A good night’s sleep along with some good food in your bellies will do you a world of good.”
“Besides, from where you tell me the camp is, we can’t get there by tomorrow night anyway,” Carl pointed out. “We got too late a start, and we’ve been movin’ real slow, with you two being under the weather.”
“But what’ll Cap’n Quincy have to say?” Nate asked.
“Don’t worry about him. Lots of things can happen to delay a man by a day or two,” Hoot said. “He’ll be mad, but we’ll come up with somethin’ to calm him down. Once we explain why we’re late gettin’ back, he’ll understand. There’s no point ridin’ our horses into the ground, or mebbe havin’ one break a leg steppin’ into a prairie dog hole in the dark. Better to get back to camp a day late than not at all.”
“Fine. There’ll be no more arguments,” Mrs. Lopez said. “You’ll spend the night, and that’s that.”
The horses were settled, then Nate, Hoot, and Carl went to the washbench alongside the bunkhouse, where they quickly cleaned up. Once they were finished, the woman led them inside.
“Any of those four bunks on the far end ain’t taken, so pick any one of those you’d like,” she said.
“Boy howdy, those sure look good,” Hoot said. He dropped his gear alongside the nearest of the indicated bunks, and flopped face down on the bunk, not even bothering to pull off his boots or gunbelt.
Nate chose the one across from Hoot. He also dropped his saddlebags alongside the bunk, but sat down on its edge and pulled off his boots and gunbelt before lying back on the straw-stuffed mattress.
“Wake me up for supper, Carl… maybe,” he said.
“Mebbe I’ll just let you lie there and starve to death,” Carl answered, chuckling. He put his gear on the bunk next to Nate’s.
“Mrs. Lopez, I’m ready for that stew,” he said.
“Just follow me,” she replied.
On their way to the house, Mrs. Lopez eyed Carl narrowly.
“Unless I miss my guess, those two boys sampled some whiskey in town last night, didn’t they?”
“They sure did, but it was more than just some. From what I understand, they started with tequila at supper, then downed almost a full bottle at the saloon. Don’t reckon they’ll try it again right away, though. I think they’ve had enough for a spell.”
“I certainly hope you’re right, Carl. But sometimes it takes boys a while to smarten up. Let’s hope Nate and Hoot are brighter than that.”
***
Nate and Hoot slept soundly the entire afternoon. They didn’t hear Carl return to the bunkhouse and settle in for an afternoon nap, nor even woke up when the crew of the Box L drove a herd of fifty-two steers into the pasture. Neither the pounding of hooves, the bawling of the cattle, the whinnying of the horses, nor the whooping and hollering of the cowboys disturbed their slumber. It was only when the men boiled into the bunkhouse, yelling, joking, and laughing, that the two boys finally awakened. Nate sat up with a start, while Hoot rolled off his bunk and landed on the floor with a thud.
“Seems we have some company, boys,” Pete Dorney, the ranch foreman, said. “Looks like Mrs. Lopez’s takin’ in strays again.”
“Those ain’t strays,” Braeden said. “That’s Nate and Hoot. Remember I told you about that ol’ brindle steer causin’ ’em a heap of trouble? Told you they’d be comin’ back again. Howdy, Nate. Howdy, Hoot.”
“Howdy yourself, Braeden,” Nate said. Hoot was still rubbing the back of his head, where it had hit the floor.
“You gonna stay long?” Braeden asked.
“Just for tonight. We’ve gotta be on our way come mornin’,” Nate answered.
“You all right, Hoot?” Braeden asked.
Hoot stood up, and pressed the lump rising at the base of his skull.
“I reckon. Seems like it’s just a bump. Hurts like the dickens, though.”
“Seein’ as these two ain’t inclined to introduce me, I reckon I’d better do that myself,” Carl said. “The name’s Carl. Carl Swan.”
“I’m Frank Lopez. Pleased to meet you.” Mr. Lopez and Carl shook hands. “Guess I’d better introduce the rest of the men. This here’s Pete Dorney, my foreman, then we have Earl Schuster, Matt Perkins, and Joaquin dos Santos. The tall string bean is Charlie Thomas.”
Introductions were completed with handshakes all around.
“Where you boys headed, if you don’t mind my askin’?” Pete said. “If you do, just say so.” Sometimes asking a man where he’d come from, or where he was headed, was considered impolite… especially if that man had reason to keep his destination a secret.
“Not at all,” Hoot answered. “We’re with a company of Rangers camped a little more’n a day’s ride west of here. We’re on our way back to camp after pickin’ up supplies in San Saba.”
“You’re Texas Rangers?” Mr. Lopez said. “Sure could’ve fooled me. I never would have guessed.”
“That’s the general idea,” Hoot answered. “Although Nate’s still a probationary Ranger. He’s gotta prove himself before Cap’n Quincy takes him on permanently.”
“And, I’m not a Ranger, at least not quite yet,” Carl explained. “I’m ridin’ back with these boys to join up with the outfit.”
“Golly. Real Texas Rangers!” Braeden exclaimed.
“That’s right,” Hoot said, with a smile.
From the cook shack came the sound of a metal rod being banged against the triangle hanging from its eaves.
“Supper’s ready. We can talk while we eat,” Mr. Lopez said. “Let’s go get our grub.”
“That’s if Nate and Hoot’s stomachs are up to keepin’ down food,” Carl said.
“Oh? You boys feelin’ a tad sick?” Mr. Lopez asked. “You do seem a bit pale, like mebbe you’re a little under the weather. Did you by chance pick up a stomach misery, or eat some bad chuck back in town?”
“No, that’s not what ails ’em. They picked a fight with John Barleycorn in the Dusty Trail Saloon last night,” Carl explained.
“I see. And from the looks of ’em both, I’d say John Barleycorn won, hands down,” Mr. Lopez answered.
“He surely did,” Carl replied. “He surely did.”
***
Like many ranchers, the Lopez family took their meals with their hired hands, so they joined the crew for supper. The afternoon’s rest had done Nate and Hoot a world of good. Their appetites had returned with a vengeance, and they were ravenously hungry. They ate their fill of beefsteaks, boiled potatoes, squash, turnips, and bread and butter, with dried apple pie for dessert, and plenty of black coffee. After supper, they and the Box L cowboys headed back to the bunkhouse. Joaquin picked up a guitar from behind his bunk, and Charlie pulled a harmonica from his shirt pocket. They played several tunes, including “Buffalo Gals” and “Turkey in the Straw”, then some favorite hymns, including “Farther Along”, while the rest of the men played cards. Hoot, Nate, and Carl joined the game. Nate had learned his lessons well, and proved to be an astute poker player. By the time everyone was ready to turn in for the night, he had won most of the pots. Since he and his partners needed to get an early start the next morning, plus the Box L men would be starting the herd to the gathering spot as soon as possible after first light, by ten o’clock the lights were turned out, and everyone settled in their bunks. Half an hour later, the only sounds were the soft snoring of men deeply sleeping, and the occasional creak of a bed as a man rolled over.
***
Nate was jolted out of a sound sleep by the noises of pounding hoofbeats, shouting men, the frantic barking of Nilla and Keytl, and gunfire. He rolled out of bed, landed on his knees, then came to his feet. Disoriented in the almost complete darkness of the bunkhouse, he fumbled for his gun. All around him, men were screaming and yelling in confusion, as bullets thudded into the walls of the building.
“It’s a raid!” Pete Dorney shouted. “Grab your guns, boys! Give ’em what for!”
Nate finally found his gunbelt, which was hanging from a nail behind his bunk. He grabbed it, pulled his gun from the holster, and started for one of the windows. As he rounded his bunk, he collided with one of the other men. They both went down in a heap. Hoot, also racing for a window, tripped over them and fell, landing on top of Nate.
“What the—” he said.
“Get offa me, Hoot.” Nate jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow, then shoved him aside. They both, along with the other fallen man, leapt to their feet and found empty places at the windows. The rest of the men were already shooting at the horsemen attacking the Box L.
“Any idea how many of ’em there are, Pete?” Joaquin shouted.
“Too dark to see. Ten or fifteen, at least, best I can tell,” Pete answered. “They knew what they were doin’. There’s no moon tonight, so it’s hard to spot ’em.”
From across the yard, gunshots began ringing out from the main house.
“Frank and Mrs. Lopez have gotten in on the fight,” Pete said. “We’ve gotta try and keep these hombres from gettin’ into the house. If they do, the Lopez family won’t have a chance.”
“What about Braeden?” Nate asked.
“I don’t doubt these men wouldn’t hesitate one minute to shoot Braeden down, along with his grandpa and grandma,” Pete answered.
“But he’s just a kid.”
Pete shot, and grunted in satisfaction when his bullet made a hit. One of the attackers slumped over in his saddle, turned his horse, and rode out of the fight.
“Got one, anyway. Far as Braeden bein’ a kid, that won’t make a difference, Nate. Heck, you don’t appear to be all that old, and they wouldn’t worry about gunnin’ you down. They’d do the same to Braeden. Only way to keep that from happenin’ is killin’ enough of these men they decide it ain’t worth losin’ that many for a few lousy cows.”
More bullets thudded into the bunkhouse, splintering boards and shattering windows. Suddenly, a circle of light appeared in the yard, as two torches were lit. One of the raiders, holding one of them, broke away from the rest of the group, galloping his horse toward the bunkhouse. Another, carrying the other torch, raced for the house.
“They’re gonna try’n fire the buildings!” Pete yelled, adding a curse. “We can’t let ’em do that.” He took careful aim at the man heading for the bunkhouse, pulled the trigger on his rifle, and fired. The bullet took the man squarely in his chest and knocked him out of the saddle, but not before he was able to throw the torch. It sailed in a long arc and landed directly in front of the bunkhouse door. At the same time, a shot from the house hit the second torch bearer in his stomach. He sagged over his horse’s neck, losing his grip on the torch. It struck the horse’s shoulder, and as the flame scorched its hide, the horse screamed in terror and pain. It reared high, dumping its rider, then ran off.
“That didn’t work,” Matt shouted. “Got ’em both. Yeehaw!”
“But we’ve gotta get that torch away from the door, before the place catches fire,” Earl said. “I’ll get it.”
Already, flames were licking hungrily at the dry wood of the door and siding. Crouched low, Earl opened the door. He reached for the torch, but was a perfect target in the firelight. Two shots sounded. Earl screamed, grabbed his chest, and fell, landing atop the torch. The acrid odor of scorched cloth and flesh filled the air as his body smothered the flames. “They got him,” Charlie said, with a string of oaths. He grabbed Earl’s ankles, pulled him back inside, and slammed the door shut. He rolled the dead cowboy onto his back. Blood stained his shirtfront where one bullet had taken him in the chest. The other had struck him just under his right eye, shattering the cheekbone.
“We can’t worry about Earl now,” Pete ordered. Bullets resumed smashing into the bunkhouse. “If we don’t stop these men, we’ll all be joinin’ him, real soon.”
As the battle continued, the bunkhouse filled with powder smoke, making it difficult to see. The acrid smoke burned the men’s throats, making it almost impossible to breathe, and irritated their eyes, causing them to water and blurring their vision. They were sweat-soaked, with dirt and powder smoke residue streaking their faces. The raiders, ever shifting their horses, made poor targets in the moonless night, even though facing gunfire from two directions, while the thick log walls of the bunkhouse and main house gave the Box L men and the Lopez’s good protection against their attackers’ bullets. Apparently, the loss of two of their men had discouraged the outlaws from attempting to fire the buildings again, for no more torches were lit and thrown. Instead, it appeared they had decided to try and overwhelm their victims by sheer firepower. The fight raged on, neither side having a clear advantage. The cowboys, Nate, and Hoot became like machines, those using pistols thumbing back the hammers and pulling the triggers of their guns until all six chambers were empty, then hurriedly ejecting the spent cartridges, reloading, and getting back into the fray. The men handling rifles levered and fired, levered and fired, until the barrels became too hot to touch.
“How much ammunition do you have in here, Pete?” Carl shouted. He and Charlie had taken up positions at the same window, alternately shooting, then ducking the outlaws’ return bullets.
“We’ve got plenty,” Pete answered. “Enough to kill all those varmints out there, anyway.”
He no sooner answered than Charlie fell back, with a long sigh. His body arched, then went slack. A bullet had torn through his belly and lodged in his spine.
Joaquin cursed. “They’re gonna pick us off, one by one, and wear us down.”
“Then we’ll take as many of ’em with us as we can before we’re finished,” Matt answered.
Nate was on one knee behind a bullet-shattered window. He squinted at a rider on a light-colored horse who came galloping through the smoke and dust swirling around the yard.
“It’s him!” he shouted, as he recognized the rider. He fired a hasty shot, then ran for the door and jerked it open.
“Nate!” Hoot yelled. “You gone loco? You’re gonna get yourself killed!”
“This is the same outfit that murdered my family. There’s the pale-eyed Satan on that white horse,” Nate shouted back, as he dove to his belly, and several outlaw bullets plowed into the doorframe, or ripped through the air to bury themselves in the bunkhouse’s back wall. Nate took careful aim at the gang leader and fired. Just as he did, another of the raiders lost control of his panicked horse, and cut in front of Nate’s target. Instead of hitting the pasty-faced outlaw leader in his chest, Nate’s bullet pierced the other man’s side and tore through both his lungs. He toppled to the ground.
“Let’s get outta here,” the leader ordered. “Didn’t figure on this many bein’ here, and puttin’ up this much of a fight.” He ripped his horse around, giving Nate a clear shot at his back. Nate steadied his American, thumbed back the hammer, and pulled the trigger. His shot took the leader high in his back and knocked him off his horse. One of his men, seeing him fall, whirled his horse, and as the leader came to his knees leaned far over in the saddle, grabbed the pale-eyed outlaw’s hand, and pulled him up behind him. With the wounded man clinging to his waist, he galloped after the rest of the fleeing gang. The leader’s white horse followed after them.
Nate leapt to his feet and dashed for the barn, ignoring the shouts for him to stop. He raced into the stable, grabbed his saddle, blanket, and bridle, as well as his Winchester. He threw the blanket and saddle on Big Red, tightened his cinches, having learned his lesson about how a loose cinch can lead to disaster, then shoved the rifle in its boot and slipped the bridle over Red’s ears and slid the bit in his mouth. He pulled himself into the saddle and sent Red pounding out of the barn, in desperate pursuit of the fleeing outlaws. His mind and heart set on one thing, revenge on the men who had murdered his family in cold blood, he nearly ran over Hoot, who had chased after him. Hoot had to leap aside to avoid being trampled under Red’s flying hooves.
“Nate. Stop. Get back here!” Hoot hollered. “You can’t go after that whole outfit all by yourself.” He cursed, and slammed his hat to the dirt in frustration as Nate disappeared into the night.
“What the devil does that fool kid think he’s doin’?” Pete asked, as he caught up to Hoot.
“He thinks he’s gonna get the men who killed his folks,” Hoot answered. “But all he’s gonna do is get himself shot to pieces.”
“Then we’d best saddle up, and try to give him a hand,” Pete said. “Matt, you stay here and see what help Frank and Mrs. Lopez need. Tell ’em what we’re up to. Keep an eye out in case some of those renegades decide to circle back and try again. The rest of you, saddle your horses.”
***
Red was fresh, having been fed and then rested, while the outlaws’ horses had already been ridden hard for quite some distance. Even though they had a fairly good head start, Nate was rapidly closing the ground between himself and the gang.
Unnoticed by the Box L crew as they fought for their lives, a storm had been building in from the northwest. Lightning, which had been flickering on the horizon, accompanied by the low rumble of far-off thunder, was now striking much closer, its brilliant flashes rending the towering clouds like so many demons’ pitchforks. Thunder now crashed and boomed, reverberating through the stifling atmosphere and off the rocks and cliffs. Concentrating on the men in front of him, Nate noticed none of that. He kept Red at a killing pace as he moved in on his quarry. As soon as he was in range, he’d put a rifle bullet in the back of the pasty-skinned, pale-eyed son of Satan clinging to one of his partners, riding slumped against him. Evidently, Nate’s first slug had badly wounded the gang leader. His second would finish him off. Nate would make certain of that.
The horse carrying both men began to slow, evidently worn out from the hard pace and the weight of two men. Nate jerked Red to a sliding halt, pulled his Winchester from its boot, threw it to his shoulder, and aimed squarely at the middle of the gang leader’s back. He levered a bullet into the chamber and started to pull the trigger. Just as he did, a bolt of lightning struck the top of a cottonwood tree alongside the trail. The charge split the tree, then jumped to the rifle’s barrel, setting off the ammunition inside the Winchester. The rifle exploded in Nate’s hands. Nate was jolted out of the saddle, and Red shocked unconscious. Boy and horse were thrown to the ground, stunned senseless, as a torrent of rain began to fall.
***
Nate awakened in an unfamiliar bed, covered by a clean white sheet. He felt flushed, as if he had a slight fever. He had a dull headache, and the tips of his fingers, as well as his toes, felt tingly and half-numb. His trigger finger seemed especially sore. He turned his head, to see Hoot dozing in a chair alongside him.
“Hoot,” he called. “Hoot.”
“Huh? What? Nate, you’re awake. Don’t move,” Hoot ordered. “I’ll go get Miz Lopez.”
“What happened?” Nate began. “Did those—”
“Just keep shut until I come back.” Hoot stopped him. “We’ll explain everything then.”
Hoot rushed out of the room. Nate looked around. The angle of the sunlight streaming through the window indicated the time as shortly after sunrise. He settled his head back on his pillow. His first thought was a bitter one. The men responsible for the murders of his family had once again made good their escape, through a fluke chance act of nature. How much more luck could those filthy murderers have?
A few minutes later, Hoot returned, along with Mr. and Mrs. Lopez, Pete, Braeden, and Carl. Everyone, except for Mrs. Lopez, began talking at once.
“Hush! You all just keep still until I can check this boy,” Mrs. Lopez ordered. The room fell silent.
“There, that’s more like it. Nate, how are you feeling?” she asked.
“Not too bad. Just kind of jumpy, and my head hurts a little. What happened? And whose room is this?”
“It’s mine,” Braeden said. “I’m bunkin’ with the men until you’re feelin’ better.”
Braeden had a bandage wrapped around his head.
“What happened to you, Braeden?” Nate asked. “You didn’t get shot, did you?”
Braeden shook his head. “Nah. I got hit by a piece of flying glass when a bullet broke one of the windows, that’s all. Cut my forehead a little. I’ll be fine.”
“As far as what happened to you, Nate, you were struck by lightning,” Hoot said. “When we found you, we thought you were a goner. You were lyin’ in the mud and rain like you was dead.”
“Yeah. It was a lucky thing it looks like the bolt hit a tree first, then jumped from that to you,” Carl added. “Otherwise, if you’d been struck directly, you’d most likely have been fried like a beefsteak.”
“Big Red!” Nate exclaimed. “How’s Jonathan’s horse? How’s Red?”
“You mean your horse, don’t you?” Hoot said.
“Yeah. I guess I do,” Nate answered.
“Your horse is doin’ just fine, son,” Mr.Lopez assured him. “He’s got some burn marks, and lost some hair, but he’ll be okay. Your rifle’s ruined, though. The lightnin’ blew it to pieces.”
“The stock, with your brother’s initials on it, was still all right, though,” Hoot added. “It’s just a bit singed. You’ll need to buy a new rifle. When you do, you can replace its stock with the one from your brother’s gun. That way he’ll still be ridin’ with you, at least, sorta.”
“I thought I told you all to hush until I checked Nate,” Mrs. Lopez scolded. “Now, just hush up, every one of you.” She took Nate’s wrist to check his pulse.
“That’s fine. Your heart’s beatin’ nice and strong,” she said. She dropped Nate’s wrist and placed her hand on his forehead.
“That’s also good. You don’t seem to have a fever.”
“Yeah, but he is lookin’ like a full-blooded redskin,” Pete said, laughing.
“What d’ya mean?” Nate said.
“I’ll show you. Be right back,” Braeden answered. He headed out of the room and down the hall.
“I’ve gotta get out of this bed, and get after those men,” Nate said.
“You’re gonna rest for another day, and that’s an order,” Mrs. Lopez replied.
“But—”
“But nothing.”
“It’s too late to go after them anyway, Nate,” Hoot said. “They’re long gone. The best thing we can do now is get back to camp as quick as we can, then have Cap’n Quincy send out a patrol to try’n find ’em.”
“Hoot’s right, son,” Carl added. “That storm which nearly killed you was a real whopper. Most times, rain ain’t heavy enough to completely wash out tracks, but the one last night cleaned out any sign of those renegades. We’d have no idea which way to take after ’em. We’d end up just goin’ around in circles, chasin’ our own tails. Or worse, ridin’ straight into an ambush.”
“Besides, from what I saw, you nailed their leader pretty good, right in the back,” Pete said. “My guess is he’s already dead. Normally, I don’t approve of backshooters, but in this case I’m willin’ to make an exception. Skunks like those deserve a bullet, no matter which direction it comes from.”
“I still say I’m goin’ after ’em, soon as I’m outta this bed,” Nate declared. He set his jaw, stubbornly.
“And you will. But you’ve gotta go about it the right way, Nate,” Hoot said. “You can’t find ’em on your own. We’ll head back to camp, tell the other men what’s happened, then we’ll search for ’em long as we have to, until we come up with ’em.”
“You know your friend’s right, Nate,” Mr. Lopez said.
Nate sighed. “I guess so. But it really gnaws at my guts.”
“And it will, until those men are run to ground. But they will be,” Pete said.
Braeden ran back into the room. He held a lady’s hand mirror, which he handed to Nate.
“Here ya go, Nate. Take a look.”
Nate couldn’t help but stare when he gazed at his image in the mirror. His hair was singed, and his eyebrows were completely burned off. His skin was as red as the boiled lobsters he’d seen in some of Wilmington’s better restaurants. He broke into a laugh.
“I guess I do look like an Indian.”
“That’s better. You’re laughing. It’s a good sign,” Mrs. Lopez said. “Are you hungry?”
Nate suddenly realized he was ravenous.
“I sure am,” he answered. “In fact, I’m feelin’ plumb starved.”
“That’s the most wonderful sign of all. Breakfast will be ready soon. I’ll make up a plate and bring it in to you. After that, we have to bury poor Earl and Charlie. The rest of the men are out digging their graves.”
“I know Earl and Charlie got killed,” Nate said. “Did anyone else?”
“No,” Pete said. “No one else got even a scratch, except for Braeden.” He looked at Carl and shook his head. “I still can’t figure it, Carl. You’re a lot huskier than Charlie. In fact, you’ve got yourself a pretty good-sized gut there, so you make a pretty big target, while Charlie was skinnier’n a bean pole. Had no stomach at all. Yet he’s the one that got a bullet in his belly. Don’t make no sense.”
“You can’t make sense out of somethin’ like that,” Carl answered. “Guess it just wasn’t my time, but it was Charlie’s. I reckon the Good Lord decided to call Charlie home.”
“I guess you’re right,” Pete said. “And we gave better’n we got. We did for at least four of those men, mebbe one or two more, plus I’m certain a couple of ’em are carryin’ our slugs in ’em. I’d still give my right arm to have two good men like Earl and Charlie back in place of those renegades, though.”
“That’s enough talk for now. Nate still needs his rest,” Mrs. Lopez ordered. “Nate, I’ll be back soon with your breakfast.”
“If it’s all the same to you, ma’am, I’d rather eat with the men, then be there for Earl and Charlie’s burying,” Nate said.
“You would? Are you certain you’re up to it, son?” Mr. Lopez asked.
“I sure am. And it wouldn’t be right if I weren’t there. Those two men died tryin’ to stop the same outlaws who murdered my folks. It’s only fitting I be there for them.”
“I suppose it will be all right,” Mrs. Lopez said. “Nate, the clothes you were wearin’ got scorched and ruined, but we found your spare ones in your saddlebags. They’re on top of Braeden’s dresser. Soon as we leave, you can get dressed, then come to breakfast.”
“All right.”
Nate lay in bed for a few moments after the others left, murmuring a prayer of thanks that he’d survived, and a more fervent one that he would catch up with the pale-eyed son of Satan outlaw leader he’d just shot, and be able to finish the job. He threw back the sheets and headed for the dresser to get his clothes.
As he dressed, he became aware he was injured a bit more severely than he’d realized. His trigger finger was blistered and oozing, where it had been burned when the lightning charge traveled down his rifle’s barrel and hit the trigger. In addition, he had several blisters on his butt, where the lightning had heated the rivets of his denims’ pockets and burned the skin underneath. At least those were high enough on his rump he’d still be able to sit in a saddle.
There were also several more blisters low on his belly, a large one from his belt buckle, smaller ones where the metal buttons that held his denims’ fly shut had scorched his flesh. Those also would be an irritation; but, with luck, not much else. More worrisome was the blister low in his groin, where the rivet which held the crotch of his denims together had absorbed much of the charge. Every step Red took would be certain to irritate that burn even more. Well, it didn’t matter, Nate vowed. He’d pad that burn and coat it with salve as best he could, but nothing was going to keep him from riding out the next morning. Absolutely nothing.
***
The burial service for Earl Schuster and Charlie Thomas was brief and simple. Frank said a few words, then Mrs. Lopez read the 23rd Psalm. Once she was finished, Earl and Charlie’s bodies were lowered slowly into the graves, then covered with earth. After two wooden crosses were set in place, everyone filed away. There would be no work done at the Box L this day.
Nate spent the rest of the day sleeping, except for the noontime meal, and supper. He wanted to regain as much strength as possible before resuming the journey back to the Rangers’ camp.