[Texas Rangers 01] - The Buckskin Line (12 page)

"You've got just as much land, but you're all too lazy to work it proper. As for money, I can't remember the last time we had twenty dollars cash."

He lifted his foot toward the stirrup, but Eph Gaskin grabbed the back of his coat. "You ain't goin' noplace."

Rusty whirled and swung a knot-hard fist at him. Gaskin's head snapped back under the impact. The other brother rushed in, and Rusty found himself entertaining two at the same time. The scrap lasted only a minute or so. When it was over, both younger Gaskins were sitting on the ground with bruises and contusions, showing no inclination to get up.

Fowler Gaskin shook his fist but dropped it quickly when Rusty took a step toward him. "I'm a crippled-up old man. The law wouldn't like it, you hittin' a crippled-up old man."

Eph Gaskin did not arise, but he growled, "We'll get you, Rusty Shannon. You just wait, we'll pay you back."

Rusty said grittily, "You'd better worry about how you're goin' to pay back Old Man Jones for the loss of the mule."

Riding away, he could hear Fowler Gaskin railing at his sons for letting "that redheaded son of a bitch" whip both of them. Rusty rubbed his skinned knuckles in satisfaction. It had been the best day's work he had done all winter.

It had been three days since the fight. Now Rusty hitched Chapultcpec alongside a young mule Mike had traded for. The young one had a double portion of stubbornness and only a small portion of the older mule's intelligence. It was constantly testing the limits of Rusty's patience, but at least it helped keep his mind occupied so he did not dwell on grief over Mother Dora or brood too much on the troubles brewing between North and South. These seemed far away except when Mike went to the settlement. Then they came close to home.

Rusty had the wagon half full of deadfall timber when he stopped to drink from a jug he had brought beneath the seat. His attention was caught by movement on the road from the east. Preacher Webb approached on a bay horse. The minister altered his course when he spotted Rusty down by the river. Rusty held the jug high so he would see it. "Water, Preacher? It ain't coffee, but it's wet."

"Much obliged." Webb dismounted and tipped up the jug for a long drink. "I never could understand why so many people insist on whiskey. Water is better by far." He wiped his mouth on the frayed sleeve of his coat and glanced toward the cabin. "Is Mike anywhere around?"

"He's gone to the settlement."

Webb's face looked pinched. "I must have missed him somewhere on the way. Wish I'd gotten here in time to head him off. Things are commencin' to get ugly."

"How ugly?"

"Ugly enough. There's been a lot of agitation stirred up against those who oppose secession. I'm afraid it's gettin' dangerous."

Rusty suspected Webb had heard about the fights Mike had had over the question. "He's always taken care of himself."

"He's never seen old friends turn into enemies before. It's been bitter enough to cause a few killin's."

The minister's apprehension was infectious. Rusty began to feel it, too. "It might do some good if you'd talk to him. He doesn't listen to me much. Still figures I'm just a kid."

"I'll go back to the settlement and look for him."

Rusty watched Webb ride off. His stomach had been uneasy since Mike had left, and it was worse now. Politics had brought on this trouble. This could be a happier world if it weren't for politics and politicians, he thought. He wondered if Indians had them, too. He decided they probably did. They fought among themselves just like white folks, sometimes with even deadlier results.

If he ever found himself in a position to rule the country, he would pass a law against politics.

Rusty waited for supper until almost dark, hoping Mike would come home. The work and the cold had made him hungry, however, so he finally fried up some smokehouse ham and made corn bread. He had almost finished eating when he heard voices outside. Stepping onto the dog run without taking time to put on a coat, he saw Preacher Webb and Mike dismounting from their horses. Mike had to hold to the saddle a minute to steady himself. His face was dark with bruises, his shirt torn and bloody.

Rusty hurried out to help. Mike waved him and Webb away. He said curtly, "I can get into the house by myself." Rusty guessed that he and the minister had argued. It was evident that Mike had been drinking, for no other way would he have said a cross word to his old friend. Rusty stepped aside and let him alone.

Mike stumbled getting up on the dog run but caught himself on a post. "Come on in where it's warm, Preacher. Me and Rusty'll fix you some supper." He weaved his way into the kitchen side of the double cabin and bumped into a chair. He promptly slumped in it.

Rusty remained outside, shivering from the night's chill. "Who did he fight with this time?"

"Isaac York. Isaac's strong for secession. Shanty managed to get hold of him after a few blows were struck. I took Mike out of there."

"I'll bet he wasn't happy about leavin'."

"He wanted to finish the fight, but I was afraid I might have to bring him home dead. Isaac was mad enough to kill him."

Rusty looked toward the door. "I'm obliged. Come on in, Preacher. Dad ought to be in a better humor after he gets some supper in his belly to soak up that whiskey."

Mike's eyes defied Rusty to offer criticism. Rusty held silent as he fried more ham. Preacher Webb tried to smooth Mike's ruffled feathers by talking of other matters such as the promise of ground moisture for next spring's crops, a new baby he had christened for the Mather family, the rumors about building a railroad into Texas.

None of them distracted Mike. "I ain't finished my discussion with Isaac."

Webb argued, "You know he has a crazy streak in him. He's dangerous."

"I'm an American, born free and raised to stay that way. Nobody can tell me what to say or think."

"A man doesn't have to go around tellin' everybody what he thinks. He can keep it to himself and stay out of fights that might get him killed."

"Isaac York ain't seen the day he could kill me, not in a fair fight."

Rusty thought of the old Indian and the woman. "What promise have you got that it'd be fair?"

Mike soon began to yawn. Rusty saw him to bed, then returned to the kitchen and the minister. "I wish we could get him away from here for a while. Ain't there Indian trouble someplace, or maybe somethin' stirrin' down on the border?"

"Not anything serious that I know about. I'll talk to Tom Blessing. He might cook up an excuse to get Mike away."

"Tom's strong for secession, too."

"But he's too decent a man to put politics ahead of an old friendship."

* * *

Tom Blessing showed up one frosty morning as Rusty prepared breakfast. Mike, still stiff and sore from his fight with York, was having difficulty getting out of bed. Rusty had not been eager to push him, for Mike's mood was not forgiving. He had been pulled away from a fight before it was finished, and it rankled.

"Come on in this house," Rusty called to Blessing. "Coffee's ready, and the rest will be in a few minutes."

Blessing paused at the kitchen door, then glanced back toward the room where Mike grumbled to himself, trying to get his clothes on. "Is he all right?"

"He's movin' kind of slow. I guess Preacher Webb talked to you?"

"He did. I'd already heard about Mike's set-to with Isaac. Preacher's right. Tempers bein' the way they are, it'd be smart to get Mike away from here 'til the secession election's over with and things quiet down."

"I'm afraid he doesn't realize how serious things have got. Preacher says there's been killin'."

"Other places. Not here ... yet."

"Even Sam Houston talks against secession. Why shouldn't Mike?"

"Nobody's goin' to kill Sam Houston. He's a Texas hero. But he's old now, and not many people listen to him anymore."

Mike struggled through the door about the time Blessing finished his first cup of coffee. His shirt was buttoned wrong. The left side of his face was swollen and colored a patchwork of blue and red. He groped for a chair to steady himself and winced in pain as Blessing shook his hand. "You're out mighty early. Sun ain't made it all the way up yet."

"I've come lookin' for a good man. Got a little job of work for him."

"I don't feel like much of a man this mornin'. Almost everything hurts, and what don't hurt ain't workin'."

"You'll be all right soon as I get you on horseback and you work the kinks out of your system."

"Where we goin'?"

"Not we, just you. I've had word from a volunteer company up close to the Red River. "They've got some green boys ridin' patrol to keep raiders from sneakin' down out of the territory. They need guidance from an experienced old-timer who won't turn tail and run from the first Indian he sees."

"I reckon I'm your man. What about Rusty?"

Blessing frowned. "I figured you'd want him to stay here and take care of the farm."

Rusty handed Mike a cup of coffee. Mike seated himself and poured the coffee into a saucer. He blew across it and poured it back into the cup but set it down without drinking. His eyes clouded with suspicion. "You sure they asked you to send them a man? Or is this just somethin' you cooked up to get me away from here?"

Blessing hesitated. "They need all the help they can get."

Anger roughened Mike's voice. "So you're fixin' to move old Mike Shannon out of sight because you're afraid Isaac York is liable to hurt him."

"Those boys up there really need you."

"No they don't. As for Isaac, I'd made a good start toward whippin' him when I was dragged off against my will. I'm stayin' here to be at his service if he wants some more of the same."

Blessing set his cup down half full of coffee. "We've all got your best interests at heart."

"You can serve my best interests by leavin' me the hell alone. Mike Shannon ain't ever run from a fight."

Rusty could think of several strong arguments, but he knew they would be futile. When Mike's eyes took on that defiant look, a four-up team of mules couldn't pull him loose.

Blessing said, "I thank you for the coffee." He pushed his chair back from the table.

Mike's voice softened a little. "You've come a long ways. You'd just as well have breakfast with us."

"Somehow I don't seem to have any appetite." Blessing shook Rusty's hand, then paused at the door to look back at Mike. "I'd give you some advice if I thought you'd take it."

"I won't seek Isaac out, if that's what worries you. But if he comes lookin' for me, I won't be hard to find."

Discouraged, Rusty followed Blessing out onto the dog run. "I thank you for tryin'."

"Isaac's as stubborn as Mike is, but I'll go talk to him. And you keep an eye on your daddy. Tie him up if you have to."

Rusty walked back into the kitchen. Mike looked up from his breakfast. "I think I can see Preacher Webb's fine hand in this. And yours too, like as not."

"None of us want to see you get hurt."

"What hurts the worst is knowin' you don't think I can take care of myself anymore. You figure I'm too old?"

"No, but this is a new situation. Preacher Webb says a lot of people are talkin' war."

"I've been to war before. I'm still here."

Rusty gave in to frustration. "Maybe I ought to go up to the Red River and quit worryin' about you."

"Maybe you ought to."

Rusty knew he would keep worrying if he went halfway around the world. "What am I goin' to do with you, Dad?"

"Nothin'. Just admit that I'm a grown man and let me do things my own way."

You always did
, Rusty thought, but he held his tongue.

Walking out to the barn, he began to wonder about his real father. If he were living today, would he react to the current situation the same way as Daddy Mike? Would he be for secession or for the union, and would he be willing to fight for whichever he believed in?

I wish I'd known you
, Rusty thought.
Maybe if I knew which way you'd have gone, I'd know which way to go myself
.

A young heifer heavy with calf had not been seen in a couple of days, then showed up with her udder swollen and her sides flatter than they had been. Rusty could tell that she had calved. She probably had hidden the baby somewhere in the timber along the river, where it would be fair game should a wolf or a coyote come prowling about. He saddled Mike's black horse, Alamo, and followed the heifer at a distance, hoping to find the calf and bring it into the pens, where it would be safe until it was stronger and better able to survive.

As he expected, the heifer led him to her new offspring. The calf lay in some heavy undergrowth where she had left it. The heifer tossed her head belligerently as Rusty dismounted and led the horse toward the hiding spot. Warily, for a new mother could be dangerous if anything threatened her baby, he eased close to the calf. It eyed him without fear until the heifer snorted and began to paw. It arose on shaky legs. Rusty caught and lifted it up, stretching it belly-down across the saddle. Its umbilical cord was dried but not yet lost.

He tried to soothe the heifer's anxiety with a calm voice. "Sook now. Sook." Holding the wriggling calf, he swung up behind the saddle and put the horse into a slow walk. The heifer slung her head, offering fight, then began to follow, bawling.

He was halfway back to the cabin when he heard a shot. In the crisp air the echo reverberated through timber along the river. He thought at first that Mike had fired at a varmint, but the report had not sounded like Mike's rifle.

He shivered with a sudden cold fear and put the black horse into a long trot, then into a lope. He came near losing the calf as it struggled and kicked. The heifer fell behind but kept coming. At the pens, Rusty slid to the ground and lifted the calf down, then looked fearfully toward the woodpile, where he had last seen Mike chopping fuel for the cabin.

"Dad! Dad, where are you?"

He heard no answer. He trotted toward the tall stack of dead timber and called again.

Hearing a muffled voice, he checked his stride, trying to determine from where the sound had come. He heard it again, a rasping "Rusty!"