The Westerners Read online

  Other books by Zane Grey:

  THE GOLDEN WEST

  WOMAN OF THE FRONTIER

  RANGERS OF THE LONE STAR

  LAST OF THE DUANES

  THE RUSTLERS OF PECOS CITY

  SPIRIT OF THE BORDER

  THE BUFFALO HUNTER

  LAST RANGER

  LAST TRAIL

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2000 by Zane Grey, Inc. “The Ranger” first appeared in Ladies’ Home Journal (10/29-2/29). Copyright © 1929 by The Curtis Publishing Company Copyright © renewed 1957 by Zane Grey, Inc. “Lightning” first appeared in Outing Magazine (3/21/10). Copyright © 1910 by The Outing Publishing Copany. Copyright © renewed 1938 by Zane Grey. “The Camp Robber” first appeared in McCall’s (10/28). Copyright © 1928 by The McCall Corporation. Copyright © renewed 1956 by Zane Grey, Inc. “The Westerners” first appeared as “Loose Bridles” in THE CAMP ROBBER AND OTHER STORIES (Walter J. Black, 1979). Copyright © 1979 by Zane Grey, Inc. “Monty Price’s Nightingale” first appeared in Success Magazine (4/24). Copyright © 1924 by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. Copyright © renewed 1952 by Zane Grey, Inc. “On Location” first appeared inTHE CAMP ROBBER AND OTHER STORIES (Walter J. Black, 1979). Copyright © 1979 by Zane Grey, Inc. “Death Valley” first appeared in Harper’s Weekly Magazine (4/22/20). Copyright © 1920 by Harber & Bros., Inc. Copyright © renewed 1948 by Zane Grey, Inc. “Strange Partners at Two-Fold Bay” first appeared in American Weekly (June 1955). Copyright © 1955 by The Hearst Corporation. Copyright © renewed 1983 by Zane Grey, Inc. “Of Whales and Men” by Loren Grey first appeared THE WOLF TRACKER (Santa Barbara Press, 1984). Copyright ©1984 by Loren Grey.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by AmazonEncore

  P.O. Box 400818

  Las Vegas, NV 89140

  ISBN-13: 9781477833278

  ISBN-10: 1477833277

  This title was previously published by Dorchester Publishing; this version has been reproduced from the Dorchester book archive files.

  Table Of Contents

  The Ranger

  Lightning

  The Camp Robber

  The Westerners

  Monty Price’s Nightingale

  On Location

  Death Valley

  Strange Partners at Two-Fold Bay

  Of Whales and Men

  The Ranger

  I

  Periodically of late, especially after some bloody affray or other, Vaughn Medill, Ranger of Texas, suffered from spells of depression and longing for a ranch and a wife and children. The fact that few rangers ever attained these did not detract from their growing charm. At such times the long service to his great state, which owed so much to the rangers, was apt to pall.

  Vaughn sat in the shade of the adobe house, on the bank of the slow-eddying, muddy Río Grande, outside the town of Brownsville. He was alone at this ranger headquarters, for the very good reason that his chief, Captain Allerton, and two comrades were laid up in the hospital. Vaughn, with his usual notorious luck, had come out of the Cutter rustling fight without a scratch.

  He had needed a few days off, to go alone into the mountains, and there get rid of the sickness killing always engendered in him. No wonder he got red in the face and swore when some admiring tourist asked him how many men he had killed. Vaughn had been long in the service. Like other Texas youths, he had enlisted in this famous and unique state constabulary before he was twenty, and he refused to count the years he had served. He had the stature of the born Texan. And the lined, weathered face, the resolute lips—grim except when he smiled—and the narrowed eyes of gray fire, and the tinge of white over his temples, did not tell the truth about his age.

  Vaughn watched the yellow river that separated his state from Mexico. He had reason to hate that strip of dirty water and the hot mesquite-and-cactus land beyond. Like as not, this very day or tomorrow he would have to go across and arrest some Mexican or fetch back a stolen calf or shoot it out with Quinela and his band, who were known to be on American soil. Vaughn shared, in common with all Texans, a supreme contempt for Mexicans. His father had been a soldier in both Texas wars, and Vaughn had inherited his conviction that all Mexicans were greasers. He knew that this was not really true. Villa was an old acquaintance, and he had listed among men to whom he owed his life, Martiniano, one of the greatest of Texas vaqueros.

  Brooding never got Vaughn anywhere, except in deeper. This drowsy summer day he got in very deep, indeed, so deep that he began to mourn over the several girls he might—at least he believed he might—have married. That seemed long ago, when he was on fire with the ranger spirit, and would not have sacrificed any girl to the agony of waiting for her ranger to come home—knowing that someday he would not come. Since then, sentimental affairs had been few and far between; and the last, dating to this very hour, concerned Roseta, daughter of Uvalde, foreman for the big Glover ranch just down the river.

  Uvalde was a Mexican of quality, claiming descent from the Spanish soldier of that name. He had an American wife, owned many head of stock, and, in fact, was partner with Glover in several cattle deals. The black-eyed Roseta, his daughter, had been born on the American side of the river, and had shared advantages of school and contact seldom the lot of señoritas.

  Vaughn ruminated over these few facts as excuse for his infatuation. For a Texas ranger to fall in love with an ordinary greaser girl was unthinkable. Certainly it had happened, but it was something not to think about. Roseta, however, was extraordinary.

  She was pretty, and slight of stature—so slight that Vaughn felt ludicrous, despite his bliss, while dancing with her. If he had stretched out his long arm and she had walked under it, he would have had to lower his hand to touch her glossy black head. She was roguish and coquettish, yet had the pride of her Spanish forebears. Lastly, she was young, rich, the belle of Las Animas, and the despair of cowboy and vaquero alike.

  When Vaughn had descended to the depths and end of his brooding, he discovered, as he had before, that there were but slight grounds for hopes which had grown serious. The sweetness of a haunting dream was all that could be his. Only this time it hurt more. He should not have let himself in for such a catastrophe. But as he groaned in spirit and bewailed his state, he could not help recalling Roseta’s smiles, her favors of dances when scores of admirers were thronging after her, the way she would single him out on occasions. “Un señor grande,” she had called him, and likewise “handsome gringo,” and once, with mystery and havoc in her sloe-black eyes . . . “You Texas Ranger . . . you bloody gunman . . . killer of Mexicans!”

  Flirt Roseta was, of course, and doubly dangerous by reason of her mixed blood, her Spanish lineage and her American development. Uvalde had been quoted as saying that he would never let his daughter marry across the Río Grande. Some rich rancher’s son would have her hand bestowed upon him; maybe young Glover would be the lucky one. It was madness of Vaughn even to dream of winning her. Yet there still abided that much boy in him.

  Sound of wheels and hoofs interrupted the ranger’s reverie. He listened. A buggy had stopped out in front. Vaughn got up and looked round the corner of the house. Significant was it that he instinctively stepped out sideways, his right hand low where the heavy gun-sheath hung. A ranger never presented his full front to bullets; it was a trick of old hands in the service.

  Someone was helping a man out of the buggy. Presentl
y Vaughn recognized Colville, a ranger comrade, who came in assisted, limping, and with his arm in a sling.

  “How are you, Bill?” asked Vaughn solicitously, as he helped the driver lead Colville into the large whitewashed room.

  “All right . . . fine, in fact . . . only a . . . little light-headed,” panted the other. “Lost a sight of blood.”

  “You look it. Reckon you’d have done better to stay at the hospital.”

  “Medill, there ain’t half enough rangers to go . . . ‘round,” replied Colville. “Cap Allerton is hurt bad . . . but he’ll recover. An’ he thought so long as I could wag I’d better come back to headquarters.”

  “Uhn-huh. What’s up, Bill?” rejoined the ranger quietly. He really did not need to ask.

  “Shore I don’t know. Somethin’ to do with Quinela,” replied Colville. “Help me out of my coat. It’s hot and dusty. . . . Fetch me a cold drink.”

  “Bill, you should have stayed in town if it’s ice you want,” said Vaughn, as he filled a dipper from the water bucket that stood in a corner of the room. “Haven’t I run this shebang many a time?”

  “Medill, you’re slated for a run across the Río . . . if I don’t miss my guess. Something’s on foot, shore as shootin’.”

  “You say . . . alone?”

  “How else, unless the rest of our outfit rides in from the Brazos. . . . Anyway, don’t they call you the ‘lone-star ranger’? Haw! Haw!”

  “Shore you don’t have a hunch what’s up?” inquired Vaughn.

  “Honest, I don’t. Allerton had to wait for more information. Then he’ll send instructions. But we know Quinela was hangin’ ’round, with some deviltry afoot.”

  “Bill, that outfit is plumb bold these days,” said Vaughn reflectively. “I wonder, now.”

  “We’re all guessin’. But Allerton swears Quinela is daid set on revenge. Lopez was some relation, we heah from Mexicans on this side. An’ when we busted up the Lopez gang, we riled Quinela. I reckon he’s laid that to you, Vaughn.”

  “Nonsense,” blurted out Vaughn. “Quinela has another raid on hand, or some other bandit job.”

  “But didn’t you kill Lopez?” queried Colville.

  “I shore didn’t,” declared Vaughn testily. “Reckon I was there when it happened, but I wasn’t the only ranger.”

  “Wal, you’ve got the name of it, an’ that’s as bad. Not that it makes much difference. You’re used to bein’ laid for. But I reckon Cap wanted to tip you off.”

  “Uhn-huh. . . . Say, Bill,” replied Vaughn, dropping his head, “I’m shore tired of this ranger game.”

  “Good Lord, who ain’t? But, Vaughn, you couldn’t lay down on Captain Allerton right now.”

  “No. But I’ve a notion to resign when he gets well an’ the boys come back from the Brazos.”

  “An’ that’d be all right, Vaughn, although we’d hate to lose you,” returned Colville earnestly. “We all know . . . in fact, everybody who has followed the ranger service knows . . . you should have been a captain long ago. But them pigheaded officials at Houston! Vaughn, your gun record, the very name an’ skill that makes you a great ranger, have operated against you there.”

  “Reckon so. But I never wanted particularly to be a captain . . . leastways of late years,” replied Vaughn moodily. “I’m just tired of bein’ eternally on my guard. Lookin’ to be shot at from every corner or bush! Why, I near killed one of my good friends, all because he came sudden-like out of a door, pullin’ at his handkerchief!”

  “It’s the price we pay. Texas could never have been settled at all but for the buffalo hunters first, an’ then us rangers. We don’t get much credit, Vaughn. But we know someday our service will be appreciated. . . . In your case, everythin’ is magnified. Suppose you did quit the service? Wouldn’t you still stand ‘most the same risk? Wouldn’t you need to be on your guard, sleepin’ an’ wakin’?”

  “Wal, I suppose so, for a time. But somehow I’d be relieved.”

  “Vaughn, the men who are lookin’ for you now will always be lookin’, until they’re daid.”

  “Shore. But, Bill, that class of men don’t live long on the Texas border.”

  “Hell! Look at Wes Hardin’, Kingfisher, Poggin . . . gunmen that took a long time to kill. An’ look at Cortina, at Quinela . . . an’ Villa. . . . Nope, I reckon it’s the obscure relations an’ friends of men you’ve shot that you have most to fear. An’ you never know who an’ where they are. It’s my belief you’d be shore of longer life by stickin’ to the rangers.”

  “Couldn’t I get married an’ go ‘way off somewhere?” queried Vaughn belligerently.

  Colville whistled in surprise, and then laughed. “Uhn-huh? So that’s the lay of the land? A gal! Wal, if the Texas Ranger service is to suffer, let it be for that one cause.”

  Toward evening a messenger brought a letter from Captain Allerton, with the information that a drove of horses had been driven across the river west of Brownsville, at Rock Ford. They were in charge of Mexicans and presumably had been stolen from some ranch inland. The raid could be laid to Quinela, although there was no proof of it. It bore his brand. Medill’s instructions were to take the rangers and recover the horses.

  “Reckon Cap thinks the boys have got back from the Brazos or he’s had word they’re comin’,” commented Colville. “Wish I was able to ride. We wouldn’t wait.”

  Vaughn scanned the short letter again and then Sled it away among a stack of others.

  “Strange business, this ranger service,” he said ponderingly. “Horses stolen . . . fetch them back! Cattle raid . . . recover stock! Drunken cowboy shootin’ up the town . . . arrest him! Bandits looted the San ‘Tone stage . . . fetch them in! Little Tom, Dick, or Harry lost . . . find him! Farmer murdered . . . string up the murderer!”

  “Wal, come to think about it, you’re right,” replied Colville. “But the rangers have been doin’ it for thirty or forty years. You cain’t help havin’ pride in the service, Medill. Half the job’s done when these hombres find a ranger’s on the trail. That’s reputation. But I’m bound to admit the thing is strange an’ shore couldn’t happen nowhere else but in Texas.”

  “Reckon I’d better ride up to Rock Ford an’ have a look at that trail.”

  “Wal, I’d wait till mawnin’. Mebbe the boys will come in. An’ there’s no sense in ridin’ it twice.”

  The following morning, after breakfast, Vaughn went out to the alfalfa pasture to fetch in his horse. Next to his gun, a ranger’s horse was his most valuable asset. Indeed, a horse often saved a ranger’s life when a gun could not. Star was a big-boned chestnut, not handsome except as to his size, but for speed and endurance Vaughn had never owned his like. They had been on some hard jaunts together. Vaughn fetched Star into the shed and saddled him.

  Presently Vaughn heard Colville shout, and, upon hurrying out, he saw a horseman ride furiously away from the house. Colville stood in the door, waving.

  Vaughn soon reached him: “Who was that fellow?”

  “Glover’s man, Uvalde. You know him.”

  “Uvalde!” exclaimed Vaughn, startled. “He shore was in a hurry. What’d he want?”

  “Captain Allerton, an’ in fact all the rangers in Texas. I told Uvalde I’d send you down pronto. He wouldn’t wait. Shore was excited.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “His gal is gone.”

  “Gone!”

  “Shore. He cain’t say whether she’d eloped or was kidnapped. But it’s a job for you, old man. Haw! Haw!”

  “Yes, it would be . . . if she eloped,” replied Vaughn constrainedly. “An’ I reckon not a bit funny, Bill.”

  Vaughn hurriedly mounted his horse and spurred him into the road.

  II

  Vaughn’s personal opinion, before he arrived at Glover’s ranch, was that Roseta Uvalde had eloped, and probably with a cowboy or vaquero with whom her father had forbidden her to associate. In some aspects Roseta resembled the vain daughter of a proud don
. In the main, she was American bred and educated, but she had that strain of blood which might well have burned secretly to break the bonds of conventionality. Uvalde himself had been a vaquero in his youth. Any Texan could have guessed this, seeing Uvalde ride a horse.

  There was excitement in the Uvalde household. Vaughn could not get any clue out of the weeping folks, except that Roseta had slept in her bed, had arisen early to take her morning horseback ride. All Mexicans were of a highly excitable temperament, and Uvalde was an example. Vaughn could not get much out of him. Roseta had not been permitted to ride off the ranch, which was something that surprised Vaughn. She was not allowed to go anywhere unaccompanied. This certainly was a departure from the freedom accorded Texan girls; nevertheless, any girl of good sense would give the river a wide berth.

  “Did she ride out alone?” queried Vaughn in his slow Spanish, thinking he could get at Uvalde better in his own tongue.

  “Yes, señor. Pedro saddled her horse. No one else saw her.”

  “What time this morning?”

  “Before sunrise.”

  Vaughn questioned the lean, dark vaquero about what clothes the girl had worn and how she had looked and acted. The answer was that Roseta had dressed in vaquero garb, looked very pretty, and full of the devil. Vaughn reflected that this was easy to believe. Next he questioned the stable boys and other vaqueros. Then he rode out to the Glover ranch house and got hold of some of the cowboys, and lastly young Glover. Nothing further was to be elicited from them, except that this thing had happened before. Vaughn hurried back to Uvalde’s house.

  Uvalde himself was the only one here who roused a doubt in Vaughn’s mind. This Americanized Mexican had a terrible fear that he did not divine he was betraying. Vaughn conceived the impression that Uvalde had an enemy, and he had only to ask him if he knew Quinela to get on the track of something. Uvalde was probably lying when he professed to fear Roseta had eloped.

  “You think she ran off with a cowboy or some young fellow from town?” inquired Vaughn.