Lone Star Ranger : A Ranger to Ride With (9781310568404) by James J. Griffin Page B

for,” Jeb said. A
large hole in the man’s shirt, surrounded by blood, showed where
Jeb’s bullet had exited his back. Jeb rolled him onto his back. The
man’s eyes were wide open in the unblinking stare of death.
    “You got him in the stomach, Jeb,” Nate
said. “Your bullet went clean through him. Think he was tryin’ to
rob us?”
    “It’s more likely he was after our horses.”
Jeb muttered a curse. “I hate killin’ a man like that, but he gave
me no choice. Let’s see if we can get an idea who he was.”
    Jeb went through the man’s pockets, finding
nothing which would reveal his identity. Their entire contents were
a few yellowbacks, some coins, a sack of Bull Durham tobacco and
packet of cigarette papers, and some matches.
    “Nothin’ here to help,” he said. “This
hombre must have a horse around here somewhere. Mebbe we can find
somethin’ in his saddlebags.”
    They headed in the direction from which the
would-be horse thief had come. In a thicket of scrub they found his
horse, an emaciated chestnut mare, tied to a stunted juniper. There
was a bandanna knotted tightly around her muzzle so she couldn’t
call out to their horses. Her hide was salt and sweat encrusted.
Bloody spur gouges, still damp, marred her sides. When Jeb pulled
the bandanna off her nose, she whickered pitifully. Jeb cursed.
    “Can’t tolerate a man who’d treat a horse
like this. There’s no call for it. Now I don’t feel so bad about
pluggin’ him.” He stroked the mare’s nose. “Easy, girl. It’s all
right now.”
    “I’m sure glad he didn’t get our horses,”
Nate said. “I can’t stand the thought of Red bein’ treated like
that.”
    “You’re right. I can’t either,” Jeb agreed.
“Plus if he had gotten our horses that means you’n I’d most likely
be dead right now, shot fulla lead. And some of those buzzards that
were feedin’ on that hog this mornin’ would be chowin’ down on us
instead.”
    Jeb went through the saddlebags and gear,
again finding no clue as to the man’s identity.
    “Nothin’ here we can use, Nate,” he said.
“Reckon we’ll haul this hombre to camp with us. We’ll be there
tomorrow just before sundown. Mebbe one of the boys’ll recognize
him. Why don’t you take care of his horse while I wrap and tie his
body in some blankets? Then picket her with our broncs.”
    “All right.”
    Nate untied the mare, then he and Jeb took
her back to where her rider lay dead. The horse shied at the smell
of blood, but Jeb soothed her with his soft voice. He pulled the
saddle off her and while Nate groomed and then picketed her to
graze, Jeb wrapped the body in the dead man’s blankets. Those
chores done, and with it still several hours to sunrise, both lay
back down to get back to sleep.
    Despite the excitement and danger of the
brief gunfight, Nate slept soundly, until Jeb roused him just
before dawn. By the time the sun was just topping the eastern
horizon, they were already back on the trail.

6
     
    It was two hours before sunset the next day
when they reached the Ranger encampment, which was situated in a
hollow at a bend of the San Saba.
    “There it is, Nate. Home, for the next
couple of months, at least. Seems like everyone’s in from the
field. Look it over.”
    The camp consisted of a number of tents
surrounding a firepit. Off to the left was a rope corral which
contained the Rangers’ horses, along with several pack mules. Next
to that was a canvas topped-wagon, which evidently held supplies.
Four men were posted as sentries on high points around the camp.
Since the river ran a bit deeper here, large cottonwood and
towering cypress trees provided welcome shade. One of the men was
emerging from the brush, buttoning his pants, apparently having
just relieved himself. Four men were playing cards in front of one
of the tents. Others were mending clothes or tack, while a few were
stretched out on the ground, dozing. At the river two men were on
the bank washing clothes,