[Texas Rangers 05] - Texas Vendetta (28 page)

Big’un had thought it wise not to tell the judge that Jayce might be only one of the casualties, that others might include a couple or three Rangers and possibly even a sheriff. The old man could get downright unreasonable about anything that might bring state investigators in to snoop around. He had some skeletons of his own that were not buried deeply enough for comfort.

Big’un stretched out on the ground to rest while he waited for darkness. He tried not to sleep, fearing part of his crew might quietly slip away. He had some kinfolks who weren’t worth killing, but now and then they were useful to him.

If all of the Confederate Army was like them, he thought, it’s no wonder the damn Yankees whipped us.

He had not gone to war himself. The judge had pulled political strings to shield as many Hoppers as possible from conscription, arranging for Landon men to take up the slack. That served the demands of patriotism and reduced the enemy’s numbers as well.

He waited until the stars were in full array, then prodded his kinsmen into reluctant motion. “The sooner we get the job done, the better chance we’ll have to get out of this county before daylight. There won’t be nobody able to identify us.”

By the time they reached the first houses at the edge of town Big’un saw that he had lost two of his helpers in the darkness.

Harp said, “It’s Wilbur and his no-account brother-in-law. We ought to’ve left them at home.”

Big’un cursed. “When I get through with Wilbur …” He looked fiercely at those who remained. “If the rest of you have got any idea of quittin’, put it out of your mind. I’ll shoot the next man who turns back.” He knew he would not, but it was important that they believed he would. When his temper was up, even the town dogs knew to slink away.

Only a few of the houses showed lamplight. Most folks had gone to bed. Things were working out according to plan. If he and his helpers got the job done quickly they should encounter little trouble from local citizens.

The courthouse and the adjoining old jail were like an island in the center of an open lot surrounded by a wooden fence that sagged in a couple of places. Big’un motioned for the driver to stop the wagon. They could carry the cans of coal oil from here. But first he had to locate and eliminate the watchman who patrolled the streets and periodically circled the courthouse. He waited a few minutes until he saw a man walking along the fronts of the buildings along the square, trying the doors to be certain they were locked.

Few people here were likely to recognize Big’un, but as a precaution he pulled his neckerchief up to cover his face. He stepped into the dark open space between two stores and flattened himself against a wall. He listened to the watchman’s footsteps on the wooden sidewalk. As the shadowy figure crossed the opening, Big’un moved out behind him and clubbed him with the barrel of his six-shooter. He struck a second time to be sure the man remained out of action for a while. He dragged the limp body into the darkness between the buildings and left it.

He returned to where the others waited beside the wagon. “The watchman is out of the way. Now let’s pull the wagon up to block the back door. Then their only way out is the front.”

It took a little pushing and maneuvering to position the wagon over the single step so that the door could not be opened far enough for anyone to pass through.

A man stepped around the corner of the jail and stopped abruptly, drawing a pistol. “What’re you-all up to?”

Before Big’un could think of a reply, a dark figure appeared behind the intruder and slugged him.

Big’un said, “Good work, Bim. He like to’ve caught us before we was ready.” He unhitched the team and motioned for one of the others to lead the mules away. Big’un lifted a can from the bed of the wagon. “Let’s give them walls a good dose of coal oil.”

A cousin who went by the nickname Jaybo argued, “The thought of somebody burnin’ up in a fire gives me the shakes. We could use a rail for a batterin’ ram and bust the door down.”

Big’un resisted an impulse to hit him in the mouth. “Would you want to be the first one to rush in there with three or four guns aimed straight at your gut?”

“If you look at it that way …”

Big’un assumed the argument was finished. “Bim, you watch the back door so no citizen comes and sets them free. The rest of us will take the front. If they try to bust out we’ll shoot them. If they don’t they’ll know what hell is like before they get there.”

Harp said, “Folks’ll come runnin’ to fight the fire.”

“A shot or two in their direction will turn them back. This oughtn’t to take long, dry as that lumber is.”

Big’un tossed a match at the base of the jail’s rear wall. The flames quickly licked their way up to consume the coal oil. He trotted around the side and lighted a couple of places. He motioned for his helpers to join him a few feet from the front door. He started a fire there, then drew his pistol and waited. “This’ll be like pottin’ fish in a water bucket.”

Andy had turned in early, but he was not having a restful night. The folded quilt that served in lieu of a mattress did little to hide the fact that beneath it lay wooden slats that got no softer no matter how he turned. Farley Brackett occasionally broke into fits of loud snoring.

Rusty did not snore, but now and then he spoke a few words in his sleep. One word Andy recognized was “Josie.” Though Rusty never spoke of her anymore, Andy sensed that she was still much on his mind. A couple of women here in town looked a little like her from across the street. Andy had noticed that Rusty seemed momentarily startled each time one of them appeared.

He managed to doze off and on, but the spells were shortlived. He worried about what was to become of Scooter. The boy was able to walk without the crutches Jayce had fashioned for him, though the effort was awkward and caused him considerable pain.

Scooter’s father was hiding out there somewhere. Of that, Andy was sure. As soon as the boy healed enough to travel, Lige Tennyson was likely to steal him away. And to what? An outlaw life, probably, and most likely a short one. Andy had been considering the possibility of beating Lige to the punch, of taking Scooter where his father would never find him. Andy would have to resign as a Ranger, but he would be willing to pay that price. He would never be able to compensate Rusty directly. If he could do for Scooter what Rusty had done for him, however, that would be repayment of a sort.

And where could he take the boy? The Ranger camp had served as a temporary shelter, but it could not offer what he needed over the long term. The Monahan family kept coming to mind. They were generous, openhanded people who once had all but adopted Andy as one of their own. Surely they would do the same for another boy badly in need of a stable home and a sense of direction. And they lived far to the northwest, up in the Fort Belknap country of west-central Texas. Lige would have no idea where to begin looking.

It had been Flora’s habit to spend most of the day at the jail, caring for Scooter and talking to her husband through two sets of bars. She would retreat to the boardinghouse at suppertime, not returning until morning. Tonight, however, she knocked urgently on the front door shortly after dark. “It’s Flora,” she said. “I’ve got somethin’ to tell you-all.”

Andy waited to see if someone else would get up and find out what she wanted. Farley grumbled, “Badger Boy, go let her in.”

Andy’s cot was farthest from the door, but he knew he could not outwait Farley. He had gone to bed with his clothes on, all but his boots. He lifted the heavy crowbar that blocked the door. “Anybody out there besides you?” he asked Flora. He was mindful of the possibility that someone might use her to gain entry and free Jayce, or kill him.

“Nobody,” she said. “But somebody may be comin’.”

She stepped inside, and Andy closed and barred the door. She said, “Scooter’s daddy just came to see me at the boardin’house.”

“Old Lige? How did you come to know him?”

“He’s never been far from town. He noticed me comin’ and goin’ from the jail, so he followed me to the boardin‘house and introduced himself. Every day he comes and asks me about his boy. Tonight he saw somethin’ he didn’t like, and he asked me to give you-all a warnin’.”

“About what?”

“He was camped in some timber just outside of town. A while before dark some men came with a wagon and stopped to rest awhile. Big’un Hopper was leadin’ them. The old man doesn’t know what they’re up to, but it can’t be anything good.”

Rusty had left his cot and stood nearby, listening. “Where’s Lige now?”

“Somewhere close, you can bet. He’s worried on account of his boy.”

One of Tom Blessing’s temporary deputies had been sleeping in an open cell. He pulled on his boots and said, “I’ll go take a look around.”

Rusty said, “Much obliged. If you see or hear anything suspicious, give us a holler.”

The deputy took a rifle from the office’s gun rack. He said, “You-all want to bar the door behind me?”

Flora walked out with him. Andy set the crowbar in place.

Farley stretched out on his cot. “It’d take half the Yankee army to bust these heavy doors open. I’m goin’ back to sleep.”

Scooter had listened quietly. He said, “That’s my daddy she was talkin’ about. Did she say he’s here?”

Andy said, “Somewhere around. He ain’t forgot you.”

He wished Lige would.

Andy had no intention of going back to sleep. Thinking he heard low voices outside, he left the cot and walked to the window. At first he saw nothing, for the night seemed pitch black. He stepped back and stumbled into a tin can filled with ashes, substituting for a cuspidor. It clattered and rolled across the floor.

Farley’s gruff voice demanded, “Don’t you know we’re tryin’ to sleep?”

“Sorry.”

Farley recognized the voice. “I might’ve known it was you, Badger Boy. For God’s sake, go back to bed.”

Andy was about to when he saw a flickering light reflecting upon the ceiling. He swung back toward the window. “Fire!” he shouted. “There’s a fire outside.”

Farley said, “You’re crazy.” But he got up and looked for himself. “By God, Rusty, the place is on fire.”

With that Rusty was on his feet too. He quickly pulled his boots on. Recognizing the possibility of trouble, he had been sleeping in his clothes, as had the others. Tom Blessing was also up from his cot.

Andy lifted the crowbar out of its brackets and dropped it to the floor. He pushed the front door partway open. Blistering flames leaped into his face, and he jerked back instinctively. A bullet struck the facing, followed by another, which thumped into the heaviest part of the door. He pulled the door shut.

Rusty said, “That Hopper bunch. They knew they couldn’t break in. They’re tryin’ to burn us out.”

Andy trotted to the back door. He could push it only a few inches before it bumped against something solid. The opening was too small to squeeze through. Someone outside fired a shot that splintered the frame. He said, “They got the back door blocked.”

Farley strapped his gun belt around his waist. “Be damned if I’ll stay here and burn.”

Tom said, “The front door is the only way out, and they’re waitin’ for us there. But we’ve got no choice.”

Rusty said, “Scooter can’t make it on his own, and Jayce is locked in a cell. We can’t leave him there to die.”

Farley said, “They’re goin’ to hang him anyway.”

Andy said, “I can carry Scooter.”

Farley said, “If you let Jayce out he’ll run like a scalded dog.”

Rusty repeated, “We can’t leave him to burn.”

“He will anyway, soon as the devil gets ahold of him.”

From behind his bars Jayce shouted, his voice on the edge of desperation, “Get me out of this trap.”

Tom tossed his keys to Andy. “We’ll take our chances on him. Turn him loose.”

Eye-stinging smoke was already boiling up in the section that contained the cells. Jayce coughed heavily. Andy swung the cell door open and said, “You’re on your honor.”

Jayce made no response except to lower his head and cough into his hands. Once he was out of the cell area he said, “Let me defend myself. Give me a gun.”

Tom Blessing said, “You know we can’t do that.”

“I ain’t goin’ out there empty-handed.” Jayce stepped to Tom’s desk and opened a drawer. He withdrew a pistol and spun the cylinder to see if it was loaded. “Now, are we goin’ out there, or are we goin’ to roast like a beef on a spit?”

Rusty accepted the situation without argument. “We’ll go out shootin’ and make them duck their heads. Andy, you follow close with Scooter. We’ll be between you and them. Maybe they won’t even see you.”

Andy felt guilt about letting others stand the greater risk, but he knew if the boy tried to hobble out on his own, he would not get far past the door.

Farley gave a rebel yell and flung the door open. His pistol blazed. Tom and Rusty and Jayce burst out just behind him, firing at shadows. Andy crouched low, carrying Scooter in his arms.

Andy had heard Rusty say that rapid fire did not have to be accurate so long as it made the enemy keep their heads down. The Rangers and Jayce had cleared the door and were halfway to the fence before the Hoppers regained their wits enough to fire back.

An angry voice shouted, “Shoot, you cowardly sons of bitches. Shoot.”

Andy would bet a month’s pay the voice belonged to Big’un.

Someone in the Hopper line cried out like a hurt dog.

In the center of the yard was a well with a windlass and a circular stone wall three feet high. Andy dropped behind it. “Flatten out, Scooter, and pull your legs in.”

He peered over the rim of the well, seeking a target. He fired once to no apparent effect.

He could hear excited shouts from over in town. Aroused citizens were beginning to respond to the fire and the shooting.

The Hoppers had lost their advantage. Now with the blazing building behind them, their silhouettes became targets. Rusty fired, and Andy saw a man fall. Then Rusty went down. Andy’s heart jumped, and he fired at the spot where he had seen a pistol flash.

A rifle opened up from just beyond the perimeter fence. Someone had joined the Rangers in their fight.