Renegades (4 page)

The figure moved into the light, and Frank edged his hand away from the Colt, hoping that Roanne Williamson hadn't noticed his reaction.

She was too sharp-eyed to have missed it, though. “I'm sorry, Mr. Morgan,” she said. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

Frank smiled. “If I'm to call you Roanne, then you have to call me Frank. And I didn't mean to be so jumpy. I reckon it's a habit.”

Roanne had put on a lace shawl, drawing it around her shoulders against the faint chill in the air. They were far south, but it was November, after all. Frank thought the shawl looked nice against her dark hair and the blue dress she wore.

As she came closer, she said, “I imagine the life you've led makes you quite cautious.”

“I keep my eyes and ears open,” Frank admitted. “Fact is, I should have heard you coming before you got to the barn.”

“I don't make a lot of noise. Even though I live in town now, I was raised on a ranch. When I was a little girl, one of the hands was a 'breed who taught me to be as stealthy as an Indian. It was quite thrilling . . . when it wasn't dangerous.”

“I expect so. But you said you live in town? I thought you lived here on the Rocking T with your sister and her family.”

“I visit frequently, but my home is in San Rosa. I have a little dress shop there. It won't ever make me rich, but there's enough trade so that I do all right.” She hesitated, then said, “At least, I did.”

“What do you mean by that?” Frank asked, his curiosity getting the better of his natural politeness.

Roanne shook her head. “Nothing. I'm just tired. It's been a long day But I like to get a breath of fresh air before I retire for the evening.”

“So do I,” Frank said. “That's why I came out here.”

She smiled. “Yes, the air in the parlor is anything but fresh after Cecil and the boys fire up those cheroots of theirs. Tonight, of course, they have Captain Wedge with them, too.”

Frank thought he heard something in her voice when she mentioned the Ranger, a certain coolness. He said, “The captain seems fond of you. I didn't mean to poach on his territory when I went to hold your chair for you.”

“Believe me, you didn't. Although I think I should resent being referred to as territory.”

“Just a figure of speech,” Frank assured her. “I didn't mean any offense.”

“None taken.”

“Your sister and brother seem to get along well enough with Captain Wedge,” Frank commented.

“He commands a troop of Texas Rangers,” she said coolly. “What would you have them do when he comes to their home?”

“So you're saying there is some friction between them?”

Roanne shrugged eloquently. “Captain Wedge is a lawman. Cecil respects that. Cecil is also a naturally hospitable man. And I really don't want to talk about Captain Wedge anymore.”

Frank was still puzzled by her attitude, but he knew that if he pressed her on the matter, she would probably say good night and leave the barn. He didn't want that. He enjoyed her company.

“Where's this ranch you grew up on?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Over on the Nueces River. Even brushier country than around here. Nothing but longhorns could ever live on it, let alone thrive.”

Frank nodded. “I know what you mean. I've seen that
brasada
over there.”

“Where are you from, Frank?”

“I grew up in Parker County, up in north Texas. A good long way from here.”

Roanne's lips curved in a smile. “Yes, Texas is a big place. They say you can ride for weeks and still not leave the state.”

“True enough if you're going in the right direction,” Frank said.

“But you've been a lot of other places in your life, haven't you?”

“Pretty much everywhere west of the Mississippi, from the Rio Grande to the Milk River up in Montana.” A touch of wistfulness crept into Frank's voice as he answered her question. He hadn't had a real home in so long that he had almost forgotten what it was like before he returned to Parker County a few months earlier. And things had changed so much there that it wasn't really like coming home.

“Do you think you'll ever settle down and stay in one place?”

Frank reached down and scratched Dog's ear for a moment, giving himself a chance to gather his thoughts. As he straightened, he said, “I reckon nearly every man thinks that about himself, even the drifters like me. We believe that the day will come when the urge to always be moving on will leave us. It's just a matter of time and finding the right place. But time runs out and the right place is still somewhere over the next hill, and before you know it, there aren't any more chances.”

“That's a sad way to look at it,” she said in a half whisper, obviously moved by his answer.

“Sad but realistic,” Frank said.

“But what about you?” she pressed. “Your chances haven't run out yet.”

“Not so far. But nobody ever promised us tomorrow, either.”

She looked at him for a long moment and then said, “You're not at all the sort of man I thought a famous gunfighter would be, Frank.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” he said with a smile.

“That's the way I meant it.” She drew the shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I'd better be getting back inside. Good night.”

He tugged on the brim of his hat. “Good night, ma'am . . . I mean, Roanne.”

She smiled, turned, and walked back to the house. Frank stayed there in the barn for a few minutes, giving her a chance to go up to her room before he went in. Then he returned to the house and found that the brandy-and-cigars session in the parlor had broken up. Cecil Tolliver was waiting for him, sitting alone in a chair in front of the fireplace, rolling a cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other.

“I'll show you to your room,” Tolliver said as he got to his feet.

“Everybody else turned in already?” Frank asked.

“That's right. It was a long day, and everybody's tired.”

“You seem to get along well with Captain Wedge,” Frank commented, wondering what reaction he would draw.

He found out quickly as Tolliver made a face, as if he had just tasted something bitter. “A man's got to get along with the law these days,” he said quietly. “Things ain't like they used to be.”

So maybe Roanne's hints that there was some friction between Tolliver and the Ranger captain had some basis in fact, Frank thought. But Tolliver was obviously determined to keep the peace, and again, it was none of Frank's business, so he let it drop.

He was tired, too, and looking forward to spending the night in a real bed after sleeping out on the trail for too many nights in a row.

 

 

Dog curled up at the foot of the bed in the upstairs room where Tolliver left Frank. He passed the night in a deep, dreamless slumber. When he woke up in the morning before dawn, as was his habit, he was refreshed, although his muscles were a little stiff from not being accustomed to sleeping on such a soft mattress.

Despite the early hour, the smells of coffee and bacon were in the air when Frank went downstairs. Ranch folk were nearly always up before the sun. He found Captain Wedge sitting at the table with Tolliver, Ben, Darrell, and Nick. Roanne came in from the kitchen, carrying a coffeepot. As she began to fill the cups in front of the men, she nodded toward an empty chair and said, “Have a seat, Frank. The food will be out in a minute.”

Frank pulled back the chair and sat down. He was aware that Wedge was watching him closely, but he ignored the Ranger's scrutiny and smiled at Roanne instead. “Good morning,” he said to her. “I hope you slept well.”

She returned the smile. “Very well, thank you.” She finished pouring the coffee and went back to the kitchen.

As the men sipped the strong black brew, Tolliver said, “What are your plans, Frank? You know you're welcome to stay here as long as you want.”

Before Frank could reply, Wedge said, “I was hoping Mr. Morgan would agree to come with me and the troop.”

Frank's eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Am I under arrest, Captain?” he asked.

Wedge waved a hand. “Hell, no. I thought maybe you'd come with us and help us track down the Black Scorpion and his gang.”

“You want me to help the Rangers?” That came as another surprise. Frank had thought that Wedge didn't like him, either because he was a gunfighter or because he was interested in Roanne—or both.

“Word gets around,” Wedge said. “I hear tell that you've helped out the Rangers a couple of times before.”

“That's true,” Frank admitted with a shrug. “A young Ranger named Tyler Beaumont befriended me, helped me out when I was in a bad way. I figured it was only fair to return the favor.”

“I realize I haven't done you any favors,” Wedge said, “but we could use a good man, especially if we catch up to the Black Scorpion. You wouldn't have to be sworn in as a Ranger. We could do it sort of unofficial-like.”

Frank pondered the offer. He knew the Rangers were most interested in getting their job done, and they didn't mind cutting a few corners if need be, like recruiting a notorious gunman to give them a hand. He didn't doubt Wedge's sincerity.

However, he was a little leery of accepting because of the uneasy feelings he had gotten about the way Tolliver, Roanne, and perhaps the others regarded the Ranger capain. If they didn't like Wedge, there had to be a reason for their attitude. On the other hand, just because Wedge might rub some folks the wrong way didn't mean that he wasn't a competent lawman and commander.

Those thoughts went through Frank's head in a matter of seconds, along with the admission to himself that he was curious about the so-called Black Scorpion. Wedge seemed convinced that the masked bandit really existed. So did Cecil Tolliver, although Tolliver insisted that it hadn't been the Scorpion's men who had jumped him and Ben the day before. Frank decided that he wouldn't mind finding out the truth of the matter for himself.

He nodded slowly and said, “All right. I reckon I can do that.”

“Good,” Wedge said with a nod. “I appreciate it, Morgan.”

The women came in then with heavily laden platters filled with flapjacks, bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, and biscuits. One thing could certainly be said for the Rocking T, Frank thought: The people here ate well.

After eating a large breakfast washed down with several cups of coffee, the men went outside. The Ranger troop had already eaten in the bunkhouse, and the lawmen were now saddling their horses and getting ready to ride.

Tolliver told Ben, “Saddle my horse, so I can show the captain where those bastards jumped us yesterday.”

“I'm going along, too,” Ben said.

“No, you ain't. There's work to do here on the ranch, and I'm countin' on you and Darrell and Nick to see that it gets done.” Tolliver frowned. “There's been too many times lately, boy, when I've gone lookin' for you and ain't found you. If you're sneakin' off to town to have a drink, I'll find out about it, you know.”

Ben flushed, looking angry and embarrassed at the same time. “I haven't been sneaking off to town, Pa. You know me better than that.”

Tolliver grunted. “I thought I did, anyway.”

“And you can't say that I haven't gotten my work done, can you?”

“I reckon not,” Tolliver admitted grudgingly.

Frank left them talking and went on into the barn to see about Stormy Dog and Dobie were lying in front of the stall where the Appaloosa moved around restlessly. Frank smiled and said to the horse, “You're ready to get out and stretch your legs, aren't you, old boy?”

Stormy moved his head up and down as if nodding. Sometimes Frank thought the horse understood every word that he said.

Within half an hour after breakfast was finished, the Rangers were ready to ride out. Frank joined them, leading Stormy over to the group, and then he swung up into the saddle. As he did so, the women came out onto the porch. He noticed that Roanne now wore a traveling outfit.

Moving Stormy closer to the porch, Frank asked, “Are you going back to San Rosa this morning, Miss Williamson?”

“That's right. Darrell is bringing my buggy around right now. I'll go part of the way with the Rangers and then on into town.”

“By yourself?” Frank asked. “The countryside seems a little troubled for that.”

Roanne smiled. “Pegeen and Cecil agree with you. That's why they're sending along a couple of hands to watch over me.”

“Be careful anyway,” Frank told her. From what he had seen of the Rocking T crew, they seemed like competent cowboys. He wasn't sure two of them would be able to fight off an attack by outlaws, though. For a moment he considered changing his plans and riding on into San Rosa with Roanne.

Then Captain Wedge raised his hand and called, “Move out!” his voice carrying clearly in the early morning air. With the hoofbeats of their horses sounding like rolling thunder, the Rangers rode out of the ranch yard and headed toward the spot of the ambush the day before.

“Go on, Frank,” Roanne said as he hesitated. “I'll be fine.”

“All right, then,” Frank said as he nodded. “But I'll see you again.”

“I certainly hope so,” she replied with a smile.

Frank put the Appaloosa into an easy lope and followed the Rangers and Cecil Tolliver. Dog padded after him, and Dobie barked a farewell.

The large group of men rode northwest toward San Rosa, following the river and raising a large cloud of dust. Frank looked over his shoulder and saw more dust rising behind them. That would be from Roanne's buggy and the mounts of the two men riding with her about a quarter of a mile behind the Rangers. Frank kept alert for the sound of shots. If he heard any, he would turn and gallop back to help make sure Roanne stayed safe.

In the meantime, he moved up alongside Cecil Tolliver and Captain Wedge at the head of the troop. Wedge was saying, “... gang looped around San Rosa after they hit that ranch. We lost their trail when we hit a rocky stretch a ways north of here. So you can see why I think it might have been the Scorpion's men who attacked you, Tolliver. They were right here in the area.”

Tolliver shook his head. “I don't believe it. They were Almanzar's men.”

Frank said, “What if Don Felipe Almanzar is the Black Scorpion?”

The question had been an idle one, but both Tolliver and Wedge looked sharply at him. “Damn it!” Tolliver exclaimed. “That might be the answer. I wouldn't put anything past Almanzar!”

“Well, maybe,” Wedge said. He didn't sound convinced, though. He went on. “Why would Almanzar turn owlhoot? He's got a pretty good ranch on the other side of the Rio, from what I hear.”

“It's in his nature,” Tolliver insisted. “He was born no good.”

Once again, Frank thought Tolliver was reaching pretty far in his attempt to blame everything on his old enemy. Tolliver would seize on any idea that made Don Felipe Almanzar look bad.

They reached the site of the gun battle a short time later. Landmarks were sparse in this flat, brushy country, but Frank recognized the place from a small clump of scrubby live oaks nearby. He saw the marks in the road where the buckboard had overturned, too.

Tolliver pointed out the same marks to Captain Wedge. “Right there,” he said. “That's where the buckboard wound up when it crashed. Ben and I got behind it and started bangin' away at the sons o' bitches with our Colts, and a second later Frank came gallopin' up and joined in on the fracas.”

“If you'll look there in the road,” Frank said, “you'll probably find bloodstains where the wounded men fell. Cecil's men probably didn't see the blood when they came out to recover the bodies because the light was already bad.”

Wedge nodded. “Let's take a look.”

True to Morgan's prediction, the bloodstains were easily found in the clear light of an autumn morning, even though someone had kicked dirt and gravel over them. Whoever had taken the bodies had tried to conceal the evidence that there was a fight here, but they had been in too much of a hurry to do a good job.

Roanne's buggy rolled up, trailed by the two Rocking T hands. She hauled back on the reins and brought the buggy horse to a stop. “Was this where you were attacked, Cecil?” she asked her brother-in-law.

“It sure is.” Tolliver pointed to the ground. “And there's some of the blood the polecats spilled when we ventilated 'em!”

Roanne glanced down at the dark splashes on the road and then looked away, paling a little. She was a frontier woman and not easily spooked, but the sight of that much blood was still a little unnerving to her, Frank thought.

She lifted the reins and said, “Well, since you gentlemen don't need me here, I'll go on to town.”

Frank and Wedge touched their hat brims and nodded politely to her as she flapped the reins and got the horse moving again. The buggy started off up the road. Frank watched it dwindle.

“You can see the tracks that bunch left,” Tolliver said, pointing at the road again.

“There are a lot of tracks,” Wedge said. “This is a well-traveled route.”

“Yeah, but look how they're all together,” Tolliver insisted.

Frank wasn't as talented a tracker as the old mountain men, such as Jim Bridger and Preacher, had been, but he could read signs well enough to see that Tolliver was right. The profusion of hoofprints on the road made it more difficult, but he thought they could track the gunmen.

Wedge seemed more dubious. “We'll give it a try,” he said. He lifted a hand and waved for the troop to follow him.

A few hundred yards farther on, the tracks left the road and cut north. With Frank, Wedge, and Tolliver in the lead, the Rangers followed them. The brush made for slow going, but in a way it helped with the tracking because from time to time the men spotted a broken branch that indicated a man on horseback had forced his way past.

The morning stretched out, and the sun grew warmer as it rose higher in the sky. If this had been June or July instead of November, they would have been baking by now, Frank thought. The Rangers pushed on, with only an occasional stop to rest their horses.

Toward noon, Wedge reined in and grated, “Damn it.”

“What's wrong?” Frank asked as he brought Stormy to a halt.

“I recognize these parts,” the captain explained. “We're just about back to the place where we lost the Black Scorpion's trail yesterday.”

That seemed like too much to be a coincidence. Maybe there was something to the idea that Almanzar's men and the Black Scorpion's gang were one and the same. Either that, or Almanzar had had nothing to do with the attack on Tolliver and Ben and the Black Scorpion had really been to blame for it.

A frown creased Frank's forehead. This situation was anything but clear-cut.

The Rangers rode on, and a few minutes later they came to a dry creek bed that marked the border of a wide area of barren, rocky ground. “This is it, all right,” Wedge said bitterly.

The tracks they had been following disappeared onto the rocks. “How big is this stretch?” asked Frank.

“Half a mile wide, three or four miles long,” Wedge replied.

“The raiders had to go somewhere,” Frank pointed out. “If we ride along the edge, we're bound to find their tracks.”

“Unless they split up and left one by one at different spots. One man can cover up his trail pretty well. Then they could rendezvous somewhere else and regroup.”

Frank nodded. Wedge's theory sounded reasonable, but the only way to prove it was to check the edges of the rocky area. He was about to point that out when the captain went on. “But we'll check it out. That's about all we can do.”

“You'll have to do it without me,” Tolliver said. “I got a ranch to run, so I'll leave you to this chore. Frank, are you goin' with Captain Wedge or comin' back to the Rockin' T with me?”

“I think I'll stick with the captain a while longer,” Frank said, making his decision without any hesitation. “I've gotten a mite interested in this Black Scorpion fella.”

“I wish you luck, then.” Tolliver raised a hand in farewell and wheeled his horse to ride back the way they had come.

Quickly, Wedge issued commands, dividing his troop into two forces. They would circle the rocks in either direction, meeting up again on the far side. That would cut in half the time required to check all the way around the area.

“If you find any tracks, fire three shots,” Wedge instructed the Ranger sergeant in charge of the second group. “We'll come a-runnin'.”

“Sure, Cap'n,” the man said. “You do the same.”

The party split up and resumed the search. Frank went with the group led by Wedge.

They searched slowly and carefully, and it took until mid-afternoon before the Rangers rendezvoused on the far side of the rocks. Wedge's group hadn't found anything, and Frank could tell from the glum looks on the faces of the second group that their search had been equally futile.

When the sergeant had said as much, Wedge cuffed his black Stetson to the back of his head and looked disgusted. “Whoever they are, they've given us the slip again,” he declared. “They must've done like I said and snuck out of here one at a time.”

Wedge didn't look to Frank for agreement, but Frank nodded anyway. “Are you going back to San Rosa?”

“I reckon. Not much else we can do except wait for the Black Scorpion to hit somewhere else and hope we can get on his trail again.”

“I'll ride with you, if that's all right.” Frank found himself eager to see the settlement of San Rosa. The fact that Roanne Williamson would be there had nothing to do with it, he thought.

But he wasn't sure if he believed that.

Wedge said curtly, “Suit yourself.” Whether his brusque attitude came from his disappointment at losing the trail or his dislike of the idea of Frank visiting San Rosa, Frank couldn't have said. Nor did he particularly care.

The riders made their way back to the road. They had been out all day, eating a cold lunch of jerky and biscuits from their saddlebags, and it would be late in the afternoon before they reached the settlement. Frank was looking forward to supper, although he doubted if it would be as good as the meals he had gotten at the Tolliver ranch.

They were still several miles from San Rosa when the crackle of gunfire suddenly sounded to the south. Frank and Wedge reined in sharply, and the members of the Ranger troop followed suit.

“What in blazes?” Wedge exclaimed. “Sounds like a small war going on down there.”

“Is that shooting on this side of the river,” Frank asked, “or the Mexican side?”

Wedge shook his head. “Hard to say. The Rio's a couple of miles in that direction. We'll go check it out.”

The brush wasn't quite as thick here, so the Rangers were able to move through it easier than they had earlier. The shooting didn't last long before it died away into an ominous silence. Frank glanced over at Wedge and saw that the captain's face was set in grim lines.

Smoke began to rise in the sky ahead of them.

Wedge grated a curse. “There's a little farm down there, I recollect. The Black Scorpion must have raided it!”

“Why would an outlaw raid a farm?” Frank asked. “There wouldn't be enough loot there to make it worth the bullets.”

“That's the sort of bloodthirsty mongrel the Scorpion is. He wants everybody on both sides of the border to be scared of him, so that he can come and go without anybody helping the law track him down. Every so often he raids some farm or small ranch just as an example of his power, to keep all the other settlers in line.”

Frank's jaw tightened. Such wanton destruction rubbed him the wrong way. He found himself hoping that the Black Scorpion was real and that he himself would be with the Rangers when they caught up to the bandit leader and his gang.

The Rangers pushed on quickly, and after a few minutes of riding toward the smoke they came in sight of its source: an adobe house that was blazing brightly inside. The thick earthen walls wouldn't burn, but the roof and the interior would, and that was what was happening. Off to one side of the burning building were several sheds and corrals that seemed to be untouched.

Frank expected to find the bodies of women and kids, perhaps, and he wasn't looking forward to what he might see. As the Rangers galloped up and reined in, however, Frank spotted only the sprawled shapes of a couple of men. That was bad enough. Maybe worse, in fact, because if a family had lived here, the other members might still be inside that burning house.

Wedge put that worry to rest by saying, “Looks like the Hernandez brothers tried to fight back and got wiped out. It's a damned good thing they didn't have wives and kids, or it would have been really bad.”

“They're the only ones who lived here?” Frank asked.

“Yeah. Just a couple of harmless pepperbellies.”

The dead men were lying facedown, with the rifles they had dropped on the ground nearby. Wedge and Frank dismounted. The captain used the toe of his boot to roll the Hernandez brothers onto their backs. Both had lean, wolflike features that were distorted by the grimaces of pain that death had frozen onto their faces. Judging by the bloodstains on their clothes, each man had been shot once.

Wedge brushed back the tails of his black coat and shifted his gun belt a little. Staring toward the south, he muttered, “The Scorpion thinks that running back across the border will keep the Rangers from coming after him. Well, he's wrong.”

“You don't have any jurisdiction in Mexico,” Frank pointed out.

“If you're worried about that, you can turn that spotted horse around and ride out, mister,” Wedge snapped, scorn dripping from his voice. He looked at the Rangers and added, “As for us, we're going after the men who did this!”

A cheer of agreement went up from the troop.

Wedge swung up into the saddle and kicked his horse into a run toward the Rio Grande, which was only a few hundred yards away. The Rangers followed him. Frank watched them go, then looked at Stormy and Dog and sighed.

“Sometimes I'm a damned fool,” he said. With that, he mounted up and rode after the Rangers, thinking that neither the Appaloosa nor the big cur had disagreed with him.