[Texas Rangers 01] - The Buckskin Line (30 page)

"You'll not find him here."

"I don't disbelieve you, but it is our duty to make a search."

"Then do your duty, and be damned." She turned abruptly and disappeared back into the house.

Rusty told the captain, "He'd be a fool to stay here. If we didn't come for him, Dawkins would."

"That's why we need to make a show of searchin'. It's got to look good on our report. Then Dawkins won't have any complaint comin'."

"He'll complain anyway. You heard what he said about gettin' rid of this family. He means it."

Geneva took a sharp breath. "Get rid of us? How?"

"However he has to. Whatever it takes."

She grabbed Rusty's arm. "You-all wouldn't let him do that. Would you?"

The captain said, "Not while we're here, but we're spread too thin to stay."

"We have a sheriff."

"He's got this whole county to worry about. He can't set up permanent camp here. Looks to me like you-all are in a fix." Whitfield looked regretfully at the girl. "I'm afraid with Dawkins it's gone deeper than patriotism and a difference over the war. Your brother has made a personal vendetta out of it."

Rusty protested, "It didn't start with James. It started when Dawkins hung Lon and Billy."

"It doesn't matter where it started. What matters is where it has got to now."

Rusty took Geneva's hands in his own. "I told Dawkins I'd kill him if he hurt any of you. I don't think he believed it. I'm not sure I believe it either."

The captain asked, "Is there any place you folks could go to get away from here for a while?"

"Before Pa died we promised we'd stay here no matter what."

Rusty said, "It's a promise you can't afford to keep. On account of James, you're all in danger if you stay here."

"Mother won't hear of goin'."

Vince Purdy had stood with his hands in his pockets and his head down, listening quietly. Now he interceded. "When everybody made that promise, we didn't know your daddy was fixin' to be killed. Everything is different now."

Geneva gave Rusty an anguished look. "But we've got nowhere to go. We can't live out in the brush like James. There's the young ones to think of."

Purdy took his granddaughter's arm. "We'll try talkin' to your mother. Don't know that it'll do any good." He walked with her up the steps and into the house.

Rusty faced the captain. "I'm not goin' anywhere 'til I know these folks are safe. I'll resign from the company if I have to."

Whitfield frowned. "The conscript officers'll come for you. They'll send you off to Virginia or Tennessee or someplace a long ways from here."

"They'll have to catch me first."

"You want to hide out like James Monahan?" The captain shook his head. "You don't have to resign. I'll assign you to stay and watch after these folks 'til they're out of harm's way. Our main duty is to protect the settlers."

"What if Mrs. Monahan refuses to go anywhere?"

"You'll have to persuade her. The sooner the better."

Rusty dreaded facing Clemmie. When she folded her arms and stuck out her chin, a mountain would be easier to move. He forced himself up the steps and through the door. She was in conversation with her father and Geneva, but her eyes cut him like a knife.

"You're not welcome in this house. We don't need you here."

He took off his hat. "You need me more than you know. I suppose they've told you?"

"That Caleb Dawkins thinks he's goin' to get rid of us? It'll take some doin'."

"He can do it. The war hasn't left enough law around here to stop him. Some of you are liable to get hurt, maybe killed."

"Maybe it's Dawkins who'll get killed." She threw her thin shoulders back and pointed at the door. "Git out!"

Geneva nodded almost imperceptibly, her eyes telling him this was not the time to argue with Clemmie. Rusty backed to the door, turned and went out onto the porch.

The captain asked with his eyes. Rusty said, "She ain't in a mood for talkin'. Maybe she'll see different in the mornin'."

"We'll have to leave in the mornin'. Got to see if we can overtake those other men."

The chance was slim to none, but Rusty understood. "I don't reckon you could leave Tanner here with me?"

"There aren't but five of us now. Four with you stayin' behind. Can't do it, Shannon."

They made camp on the south side of the barn, where the walls would protect them from the chilly north wind. Tanner built a small fire and warmed his hands. Whitfield had assigned him the night's first guard tour. Though their horses were penned, they were vulnerable to theft by either Indians or reckless white men.

Vince Purdy came down from the house, carrying a small cloth sack. "Thought you men might like to make a little coffee before you turn in. Brought some. Can't brag on it any. It's mostly parched grain with just enough coffee in it to give a little flavor. There's a war, you know."

"We hadn't noticed," Tanner said. He accepted the sack, opening it and smelling of the contents. "I wouldn't trade one cup of good old-time coffee for a gallon jug of whiskey. One of these days when the war is over I'm goin' to buy me a whole barrel of coffee beans and boil enough to float a boat from here to the river."

Purdy tried squatting on his heels, but his arthritic knees would not allow it. He sat flat on the ground. Rusty suspected he would need help to get up.

He asked, "You reckon Miz Clemmie will be a little more inclined to listen once she's slept on the idea?"

Purdy shook his head. "I raised me a real stubborn daughter. I'm afraid the only way to get her off of this place would be to tie her up and drag her away. But she'd turn around and come back if she had to crawl on hands and knees. Too bad James wasn't a better shot."

"We'll all have to keep talkin' to her."

"Me and Geneva been talkin', but Clemmie ain't listenin'. Looks to me like we'd best do some talkin' to the Lord."

Rusty said, "Pray for Him to drop a hailstone on Dawkins, one the size of a washtub."

Rusty stood the last watch before dawn. He observed the dimming of the stars and the first sign of light in the east, grateful that the night had passed without incident. Dawkins had probably known the rangers would be at the Monahan farm. However fanatic he might be, Dawkins would not want to risk confrontation with five armed and determined men.

Tonight, however, there would be only one. Two, including Vince Purdy. Rusty had no idea how well the old man could shoot. He knew he had been in the revolution against Mexico, but that had been nearly thirty years ago. He had scrapped with Indians in more recent times, but for all Rusty knew he might never have hit one. In all the Indian fights he had ever heard of, far more shots were fired than people wounded or killed on either side.

He watched as Whitfield and the others saddled their horses. The captain said, "I wish there was more I can do. Maybe Dawkins'll change his thinkin' when the dust has settled better."

"He's got blinders on, like a mule. He can't see but one thing at a time."

Whitfield wished Rusty luck and led out. Tanner lingered a moment. "We're never goin' to find them other fellers. Maybe I can talk the captain into comin' back here once he sees that."

"Even if he did, he couldn't afford to stay. Dawkins'd just wait him out."

Glumly Rusty watched the riders angle away to the northwest to intersect the horse tracks. He hunkered at the rebuilt fire, sipping from a cup of lukewarm liquid that had to pass for coffee in these short-ration times. He arose as he saw Geneva coming down the steps and walking toward him. He tossed out the little that remained in the cup. It had gone cold anyway.

She said, "Why don't you come to the house? I'll fix you a decent breakfast."

"Your mother wouldn't want me there."

"
I
want you there." She touched his arm. "You can't just camp out here while you wait for her to change her mind. She may never change it. Come on." She caught his hand and tugged.

He made a weak show of resistance, then gave in. "All right, but if she comes at me with a chunk of firewood . . ."

"She won't. She'll try to freeze you with her eyes, but she won't draw blood. I think deep down she knows you did what you thought was right. She just thinks you were wrong."

"So do you, don't you?"

Geneva did not reply.

Unlike the night before, Clemmie did not order him out of the house. She simply glared at him, then left the kitchen to him and Geneva and one of the younger girls slow in finishing her breakfast.

Clemmie came to the door as Rusty finished a bit of salt pork, dragging it through gravy and following it with half a biscuit. She leaned against the jamb, studying him critically. "Me and Lon and Papa and the boys built this house with our own hands. If you think I'll let Dawkins scare me into leavin' it, you're mistaken."

"He doesn't strike me as a man who makes idle talk."

"It'll be a cold day in hell."

Rusty spent the day puttering around the farm with Vince Purdy, patching a broken place in a fence, putting several fresh shingles into the shed roof to repair hail damage. Every little while Rusty would look eastward toward the Dawkins farm, wondering where Dawkins was and what type of vengeance simmered in the man's twisted mind. It seemed inconceivable that he would risk injury or death to women and children. Yet Dawkins was fanatical about the war and hated the Monahan family. Passion could easily drive such a man across the boundary between reason and madness. Daddy Mike had encountered fighters in the Mexican War and Indian campaigns who lost all sense of caution or compassion in the fury of the moment. Isaac York had been such a one.

Purdy offered, "You can sleep in the room with me tonight if you don't mind an old man's snorin'."

Rusty demurred. "Clemmie wouldn't get much rest, knowin' I was under the same roof. I'll sleep in the shed like I did before."

He did not expect to sleep much. He intended to stay awake and on guard in case Dawkins came. But weariness overcame good intentions. He dozed off slumped on the edge of his cot.

He was awakened by a shout and a flash of light, the sound of horses moving. Fighting off a lingering drowsiness, he instinctively jumped to his feet, jamming his pistol into his waistband and grabbing the rifle he had loaded and left ready. He stumbled outside, nearly falling in his haste. Flames licked at the front of the house. Horsemen fired through the windows, shattering glass. In the flickering light of the blaze he saw someone emerge from the front door with a blanket and try to beat out the flames. Whether man or woman he could not tell. Horsemen raced down upon the figure and forced a retreat back into the burning house.

Against the flames he managed to outline a rider and bring the sights of the rifle to hear. The rifle roared, and a man shouted in shock, almost falling, leaning over the saddle horn as he lost himself in the darkness.

The flames swept upward, hungrily spreading across the front of the house. Rusty tried to reload the rifle as he ran. Two horsemen bore down upon him. He dodged, swinging the rifle like a club but missing. He raised the pistol and fired once.

Vince Purdy came around from the back of the house, firing a shotgun. A horse squealed and pitched and almost lost its rider.

Someone shouted, "We've done it! Let's go!"

Sprinting toward the house, Rusty saw Clemmie burst out upon the porch, carrying a rifle. She fired into the horsemen. With a squall of pain, a rider fell to the ground. He arose, hopping. A companion reached down and pulled him up behind the saddle. They raced past Rusty, almost running over him.

Another horseman spurred to the porch steps as Clemmie tried vainly to reload the rifle. He fired at her, and she fell. Rusty shot at the rider but knew the bullet went wild.

Flames were spreading across the porch toward Clemmie. Rusty dropped his rifle and hurried up the steps, arm raised to shield his face from the intense heat. Clemmie pushed up onto her elbows, her nightgown beginning to smoke. He lifted her and carried her into the yard, away from the blaze. He felt wetness soaking through his shirt. It was Clemmie's blood.

She pointed back toward the house. "The children! Get the children out of there."

For a fleeting moment Rusty considered trying to fight the fire, but he saw that it had grown too intense. "How bad are you hit, Clemmie?"

"Leave me. Go see that the children get out."

He set her on the ground as gently as he could, then ran back to the house, again shielding his face with his arms as he hurried onto and across the porch to the front door. The thick smoke choked him. The doorknob burned his hand. Inside, the flames lighted the house brighter than daytime. He saw Geneva and one of her younger sisters, carrying all the clothing they could hold in their arms.

"Get out of this house!" he ordered.

The smallest of the girls carried the family Bible. Geneva had probably thought of that.

Flames turned them away from the back door. Rusty saw that the front door had become completely engulfed. "This way, out a side window."

He raised the window and propped it with a stick. Geneva and the girls pitched out the clothing they had retrieved, then Rusty helped them through the opening. Geneva said, "There's more clothes in that chifforobe. Hand them through to me."

"This house is fixin' to fall down around us," he said, but he opened the doors to the upright chest and grabbed everything he could reach.

The fire was roaring, engulfing the house. It was unthinkable to go back inside. Geneva asked desperately, "Where's Mother?"

"Around front. You-all come on. She'll want to know that everybody got out."

The girls cried, and Geneva's voice broke as she called for her mother. The answer came in an urgent shout from Purdy. "She's out here."

Clemmie lay where Rusty had left her, her anxious face lighted by the dancing flames. The smaller girls ran to her, sobbing. Purdy grabbed them. "Your mama's hurt. You're liable to hurt her more if you touch her."

Geneva knelt at Clemmie's side and took her hand. "How bad is it?"

Clemmie tried to answer but had difficulty in speaking. Purdy said, "Bullet hit her in the side. Might've busted a rib or two, but I don't think it got any of the vitals." He looked up as the porch collapsed in a shower of fire. "That's the wound that'll hurt her the most, I think, losin' the house."