[Texas Rangers 03] - The Way of the Coyote (31 page)

"They ain't really wantin' to catch me and have an open fight, especially Clyde Oldham. He wants to dry-gulch me where I wouldn't have a chance."

"Why don't you hightail it for Mexico, or maybe Arizona?"

"Been wantin' to, but my pockets are empty. My old daddy has some gettin'-away money waitin' for me, but they keep a guard around his place so that I dassn't try to go in." He turned to Shanty. "That's why I've come to your place. I need a favor from you."

Rusty said crisply, "I don't see where Shanty owes you any favors. You tried once to run him off of his place."

"I have repented my ways."

Shanty asked, "What's the favor?"

"My old daddy works several nig-fellers like you. I don't think the police would take much notice if another one was to show up there. It's hard to tell you people apart. My daddy could give you the money, and you could fetch it here to me. I'd pay you for your trouble."

Shanty said, "Your old daddy don't have no use for the likes of me. How come you think he'd trust me with his money?"

"I'd write a note for you to give him."

Firmly Rusty said, "Shanty, the Oldhams know who you are and where to find you. If they caught on to what you were up to they might damned well kill you. At least they'd see to it that you never got out of jail."

Andy had stood back, listening, saying nothing. Now he spoke. "Shanty don't need to go. I will."

Rusty turned on him. "Why? Why you?"

"Anything to bedevil them Oldhams." He rubbed the quirt mark on his face. It still burned at times. "They owe me."

Rusty argued, "It'd be just as risky for you as for Shanty. They'd grab you by the collar as soon as you showed up."

"But I wouldn't show up, not to where they could see me. I sneaked into a Comanche tepee and got Billy out without wakin' anybody. I ought to be able to slip into the Brackett house without stirrin' up the police."

Rusty disapproved, but he soon saw he was going to lose the argument. He said, "I'll ride with you, then. I want to be close by in case you need help."

"No. You stay here. All of you stay here. This is a job I'd best do by myself, the coyote way."

A
ndy could barely make out the house as a thin cloud stole most of the limited light from a quarter moon. Farley Brackett had told him three times, "Don't forget, my old daddy's bedroom is in the southwest corner. If you go into the wrong one my mother or my sister are liable to holler."

Andy had become impatient with the advice. Farley seemed to consider him slow in the head. He suspected that Farley was not especially concerned about Andy's safety. He wanted to get his money as quickly as possible and run.

Farley had said, "I just wisht I could shoot me one more state policeman before I leave. Clyde Oldham would be my pick. Or Buddy if I couldn't get Clyde."

Rusty asked, "What is it you like so much about shootin' police?"

"I don't rightly know. Maybe it's the way they jump when they're hit. Anyway, they're all Yankees at heart. Texas could do with a lot less of them."

Andy stopped a hundred yards out and tied the reins to a tree. He reasoned that the guards would have moved close to the house at dark. Before he put down his full weight he tested each step for twigs that might crack or gravel that might slip underfoot. Shortly he saw a flash of fire as someone lighted a cigarette. Good. He had
that
guard located.

The cloud drifted on, uncovering the moon, though the light remained dim. Andy moved sideways to put more distance between him and the guard he had spotted. He stopped abruptly as he caught a movement and heard a voice.

"Silas, you got any tobacco? I'm plumb out."

The guard he had seen first moved toward the voice. "Yeah, but be careful when you light it. If the captain sees it, we'll all catch hell."

"Reminds me of an officer I had in the army. Mad about somethin' all the time. He's sure got it in for them Oldhams."

"With good reason. We almost had Farley Brackett, 'til Buddy charged in before we was ready and got his horse knocked out from under him. Damn, but that Farley's a crack shot."

"At least Buddy's better than Clyde. Never saw a man who could disappear so quick when he hears a gun go off."

While the two guards continued their conversation, Andy circled around them. He was almost to the back of the house. He worried over a dim patch of moonlight he had to cross before he could reach the porch. He worked along carefully in the shadow of a shed, looked hard in all directions, then passed quickly through the stretch of open ground. He stopped in the darkness of the porch, listening for any indication that someone had seen him. He could still hear faintly the guards' conversation. The only other sound was crickets in the trees.

The back door was open for ventilation, so he need not worry about noisy hinges. Inside the house, he found himself in a hallway that extended all the way to the open front door. He saw the dark outline of a guard sitting on the edge of the front porch.

The floor creaked under his weight, giving him a moment's pause until he saw that the guard was not responding. He decided that nervousness exaggerated his perception of the noise.

Jeremiah Brackett slept in the southwest corner room, Farley had said. The doors to two other bedrooms opened into the hallway. Bethel and Elnora Brackett slept in those, he reasoned. He had no wish to awaken them. Startled, they might cry out and bring the guards running in.

His eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. He could make out a bureau with a mirror on it and a pitcher and bowl. Brackett's bed was pulled up next to the deep window for fresh air. Brackett snored softly.

Andy touched his shoulder and leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Mr. Brackett. Wake up."

The farmer jerked. His snoring ended abruptly with a choking sound. He raised up from his pillow, looking around wildly.

"No noise, Mr. Brackett," Andy whispered. "There's a guard sittin' on your front porch."

"Who are you?" Brackett demanded hoarsely. "If you're here to rob me you've come to a poor place."

"You remember me. I'm Andy Pickard, from over at Rusty Shannon's."

"The Indian boy? What do you want?"

"I've come on an errand for Farley. He says you've saved some gettin'-away money for him."

Brackett seemed to have awakened fully. He swung his legs out of the bed and set his feet on the floor. "How do I know you're doin' this for Farley? How do I know you're not here to take the money and light out with it?"

Andy reached into his shirt pocket. "Got a letter from him to you. He was aimin' to send Shanty, but I've come instead."

"Shanty? That darkey?" The thought seemed to puzzle Brackett. He unfolded the letter but could not read it in the poor light. He reached toward a lamp.

Andy said, "I wouldn't light that. Might cause the guards to come in and see what's goin' on."

Brackett tried holding the letter close to the window but still could not read it. "I'll have to take your word. I reckon if you weren't honest, Shannon wouldn't have put up with you for so long."

He pulled a pair of trousers over his bare legs and half buttoned them. "The money's in the parlor, hidden in the back of a drawer."

"I hope you can get it without rousin' up the guard on the porch."

Brackett's weight made the floor squeak more than it had under Andy. Andy stood in the hallway, his back to the wall beside the parlor door, and watched the guard. The slump of the man's shoulders indicated that he might be asleep, but Andy knew he could not count on that.

He heard the desk drawer slide, wood dragging upon wood. It rattled as Brackett reached inside. Andy heard the drawer being closed again, slowly and carefully.

All the caution went for nothing, because Brackett knocked something off of the desk. It crashed on the floor. Andy's heart leaped.

He heard a woman's startled cry from one of the bedrooms. The guard jumped to his feet, pistol in his hand. Mrs. Brackett came into the hallway, carrying a lighted lamp. Andy desperately signaled for her to blow it out, but it was too late. The guard stood in the front door, eyes wide.

Andy recognized Buddy Oldham.

Jeremiah came out of the parlor. Buddy took a quick glance at him and jumped off of the porch. He turned and fired a wild shot into the hallway. He shouted, "Git him, Clyde. It's Farley Brackett!"

Andy realized that in his confusion Buddy had mistaken the father for the son. Both Oldhams fired again. Elnora Brackett gasped and dropped the lamp. It smashed, spreading kerosene on the floor. Flames hungrily followed the flow.

Clyde Oldham shouted, "We got him. Shoot! Shoot!"

A dozen shots exploded from the darkness, smashing into the walls.

Bethel rushed from her bedroom and gasped in horror. She ran to her mother, twisted on the floor. Andy helped her drag Elnora away from the flames.

Jeremiah hobbled to the door, waving his arms. "Stop firing! You've hit my wife!"

Andy heard the thud of a bullet as it caught Jeremiah in the chest. It was followed by another. The farmer grabbed at the door facing, sighed, and fell, his body sliding down the wall.

Andy lay flat on the floor and motioned for Bethel to do the same. He shouted, "Quit firin'. Farley Brackett's not here."

The firing tapered off, then stopped. The two guards who had been in the backyard rushed into the hallway from the far end. They wasted only a few seconds surveying the situation. One went to the front door and called to his companions, "It's over with. We got two people shot in here."

The other guard trotted into the nearest bedroom and returned with a heavy quilt to spread over the flames. He stomped on the quilt until the fire was snuffed out.

Clyde Oldham entered the hallway, trembling with excitement. "We got him. We got him." Buddy followed, pistol in his hand. It was still smoking.

Andy's fear receded. In its place came outrage. "You sorry son of a bitch, you shot Farley's mother and father. Farley ain't here. He never was."

Buddy argued, "But I saw him."

"You saw Jeremiah, and you killed him."

Clyde recognized Andy for the first time. "You're Rusty Shannon's Indian."

Defiantly Andy said, "I'm nobody's Indian."

Someone found another lamp and lighted it. A policeman of severe countenance motioned for the holder to lower it while he looked first at Jeremiah, then at Elnora. She was still alive and moaning. He gave Clyde Oldham a look of loathing.

"All you did here was kill an old man and wound an old woman. I've had as much of your bungling as I can handle, Clyde. You're off the force."

Clyde demanded, "You're firin' me?"

"Damn right. And take your quick-triggered brother with you. I'll be at the courthouse in the morning to pay you off. Then I never want to see either one of you, ever again."

Buddy argued, "But Captain, I was certain—"

"Git, before I take a notion to shoot you myself."

Bethel knelt and took her mother's hand. Elnora squeezed Bethel's fingers. Her eyelids fluttered open. She turned her head painfully and looked toward her husband. Her voice was barely audible. "Is he—"

"Yes, Mama, he's gone."

Elnora closed her eyes against a flow of tears. "I'm sorry I treated him badly. I wish ..."

She sobbed softly. Bethel laid her arm across her mother and cried.

The police captain growled, "It was so damned unnecessary." He cut his gaze to Andy. "Who are you? I don't remember I ever saw you before."

"Name's Andy Pickard."

"What were you doing here?"

Under the circumstances, lying came easy. "I was lookin' for a job. They asked me to spend the night."

The captain gave him a critical study. "Do you always sleep with your clothes on?"

"Yes sir, most of the time."

The captain shook his head in disdain. "It'll take forty years for this part of the country to become civilized." He looked down at Bethel. "We'll see what we can do about your mother's wound, then carry her to town. Can you get one of your hands to hitch a team to your wagon?"

A black woman hesitantly entered the front door, her husband close behind her. "Lord God," she cried. She rushed to Bethel's side.

Bethel told the man to fetch a team and hitch up the wagon as the police captain had said.

The captain gave directions as two policemen carried Elnora into her room. He asked Bethel, "About your father ... you want to bury him here or in town?"

"Here," she murmured. "Here's where he belongs."

The captain turned to his men. "Well, don't just stand there. Get that old man up from the floor. Carry him into that room yonder. The least we can do is to lay him out like a Christian."

Andy followed Bethel into the room where the police had carried her mother. She studied Andy as if she were seeing him for the first time. "What were you doin' here?"

He made sure none of the rangers could hear him, then explained his mission for Farley. "Your dad was fetchin' some money for him out of the parlor. It's probably in his pocket."

Bethel's voice went hard. "I almost wish they
would
catch him. It was him and his wild ways that caused all this."

"I heard the war turned him thataway."

"A lot of other men went to war without goin' outlaw. Anyway, it won't do any good to give him the money now. He won't leave 'til he's evened the score for this."

"How many more state police has he got to shoot?"

"Two, at least. The Oldhams." Bethel turned to the black woman. "Flora, I want you to go and bring all the hands. We've got a lot to do. We've got to let our neighbors know."

Andy stopped in the door and stared down the hallway toward the darkness of the front yard. "I dread goin' back and tellin' your brother what happened."

"It's mostly his doin'."

Andy saw a dark figure step up onto the porch and enter the hallway into the lamplight. It was Rusty. Andy met him halfway. "You oughtn't to be here," he said urgently. "There's police all over the place."