They sat in a circle, quiet and pensive, laid back and relaxed, yet strong and defensive.
Lee Morgan sat thinking, his hat on his knee, 'bout friends he had lost in that war 'cross the sea.
Rick Knuckles lay back, his pistol in his hand, rememberin' Montana, that far northern land.
Allan Sperling hunched over, plaitin' some hide, a stampede string for a hat to be worn with pride.
Lost in their thoughts at the end of the day, this long days ride was not child's play.
They'd pushed their horses, as far as they'd go, chasin' some "mulas" hauling "mota" and "blow."
Comin' up empty, they set up camp, to cook up some vittles, their gear to re-vamp.
Their appointment they'd keep, after some sleep, with those wiley old smugglers, there'd be no retreat.
This war on the border is really no game, they are not looking for fortune or garnering fame.
The rest's lack of gumption at fighting these crimes, had kindled their passion and consumed all their minds.
Fighting off horseback, the job that they love, like Rangers of old, gone to homes up above.
They adapted their tactics from books that they read, of those old horseback Rangers, so long go dead.
Their weapons are ancient, their bosses all fear, but so is their thinking as well as their gear.
They're warriors of old, stuck in the present, to their way of thinking modern methods aren't pleasant.
While lost in their reverie, the coyote cried long and all of his brothers joined in the song.
Far in the distance they heard the note, the screech of an owl from deep in his throat.
Each Ranger looked up, fully alert, at that dreaded sound, like a cry from the dirt, or from some long dead red warrior, spooky yet curt.
From out of the darkness, beyond the fires light, came a hail from a distance, far from their sight.
"Hello the camp!", the strangers voice said, "I'd share in your fire, and perhaps a place for my bed!"
Hands went to guns, at thus startling sound, but before they slapped leather, into the light a stranger they found.
They all drew a gasped breath, as together they seen, the star on his chest that glowed there with a sheen.
It was just the same as the one that they wore, made of hammered old silver, the name "Ranger" it bore.
The stranger's clothing it spoke, of time long gone by, when men rode their horses, as at a bloody trade they did ply.
Chasing down Mexican raiders, Commancheros and such, they had little money, they didn't need much.
He didn't stand tall, his eyes did the talking, a little smile on his face, at the way they were baulking.
"Boys not don't be so nervous, you see I'm your pard, I'm just here a checkin', the name Ranger to guard."
"You call yourselves Ranger after some mighty good men, fighting and scrapping they've always been."
"I've come to find out if to the legend you're true, would Ol' Big Foot Wallace and the others trust you?"
"At the look of your weapons, it's plain to see, that you know what you're doin' and that's real fine to me."
"In my day long ago, while preparin' to fight, sittin' round that fire wouldn't be right."
"Lay down your blankets out there in the brush, and then when your enemy comes with a rush,
you'll get the drop on him, he'll be blinded by light and dead in your sights."
He searched them over, with a practiced look, his eyes spoke of wisdom not learned from a book.
They all just sat there, with stunned looks on their faces, their minds rushing backwards, to far distant places.
"You look real familiar Lee Morgan said, is it really true?, your supposed to be dead, I remember you!"
The stranger he laughed, a genial sound, "I see that you're shocked, but I'm here honor bound, to see that you don't run our name to the ground."
"I'll report back, at the things that I've seen, ........you are true Rangers, this I really mean!"
He turned away, with a wave of his hand and slowly walked backwards, away from this band.
As he was fading, away from their sight, Ranger Rick Knuckles, cried with all of his might, "Who the heck are you, by all that is right, How can you judge us and the way that we fight?"
Then with a laugh, both witty and bright, he said, "Captain John Coffee Hayes at your service this night!"
