[Texas Rangers 04] - Ranger's Trail (12 page)

Bessie said to the other two, “Told him Corey ain’t here. He left, and I doubt he’s comin’ back. Ever.”

Andy said, “Won’t do him any good. Rusty’ll hunt ’til he finds him.”

“
Shannon ain’t a Monahan, and neither are you. What was that Josie woman to you-all?”

“
Rusty and her were fixin’ to get married.”

Bessie had no time or inclination to feel sorry for people outside of her own, but she recognized that this made Shannon a lethal threat. She had seen with Corey how much store a man could place in a woman whether she deserved it or not. The mood he was in, Shannon was as dangerous as a den of rattlesnakes. She hoped neither Lacey nor little Anse was foolish enough to try a move against him, not right now. Shannon could probably kill them both and not lose a minute’s sleep over it. She did not have to worry about Newley. At the first shot he would probably turn and run like a dog.

Shannon remounted his dun and returned, his eyes as threatening as before. “Whichaway was he goin’ when he left here?”

She said, “You know we wouldn’t tell you. Look for yourself. Maybe you can find his tracks.” She had little concern on that score. There were so many horse tracks around here that he could have no idea which were left by Corey’s mount.

Shannon said, “I’ll find him. Consider him dead, because I’ll find him no matter how long it takes.” He jerked his head at his two companions. They rode away in the general direction of Fort Griffin. That was the course Corey had been taking when she last saw him.

Newley was the first to speak. He had looked relieved when he found out Alice was still alive. “Ma, you let them go on thinkin’ Corey done it when it was really Lacey.”

She lashed him with the quirt. “Don’t ever let me hear you say that again. They’d have killed Lacey as sure as he’s standin’ there.”

“
But they’ll kill Corey if they find him.”

“
Corey can take care of himself better than Lacey. He’s a better shot. But we stand together, us Bascoms. We take care of one another, and we don’t point a finger at any of our own. Now gather close and listen.” She looked around as if she thought some outsider might hear. They had let Alice hear too much. “You boys have got a job of work to do. Lacey, you heard what he said. You shot the wrong woman.”

Lacey was immediately defensive, raising his hands as if he expected her to take the quirt to him. “You know we couldn’t get real close to the house. She looked like Alice, the best I could see in the lamplight.”

“
You was in too much of a hurry to get it over with and run. So now you got to do it again.”

“
They’ll have that place guarded better than it was before. I might not come back.”

“
If you don’t kill that girl there ain’t no use in you comin’ back. Time she gets through tellin’ what she knows, Texas won’t be big enough for any of us.”

Newley said, “Let me go do it, Ma.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I got other work for you and little Anse.” She knew about Newley’s infatuation. He had no intention of killing Alice. If he had the chance he might carry her away to protect her. “You heard what Shannon said. The only way to keep him from huntin’ down your brother is to kill him before he can.”

Newley betrayed strong misgivings, as she expected. Little Anse seemed eager. “How do you want us to do it?”

“
Any way you can. Trail after him. First chance you get, bushwhack him.”

“
What about them two that’s with him?”

“
Maybe they’ll split up. Even if not, they don’t have the killin’ fever in their eyes like Shannon has. Get him and they’ll probably give up the chase.”

Without enthusiasm Newley said, “We’ll do our best.”

Newley’s best wouldn’t be worth a Confederate dollar, but little Anse would give it a good try. “Get at it then. Saddle your horses. I’ll be puttin’ some grub together.”

In the house she paused in her task to look at a tintype on the mantel over the fireplace. It was of old Ansel. She kept it there as a constant inspiration to her sons and a reminder that they had to keep their guard up because the world was against them as it had been against their father.

“
You was always weak, Anse,” she said. “I’ve tried to make your boys stronger than you ever was, but I swear sometimes I have to wonder. Maybe they got too much of your blood and not enough of mine.”

Rusty stopped once they were out of the Bascoms’ sight. “I’m afraid I just made a bad mistake.”

Andy said, “I didn’t see you do anything wrong.”

“
I talked when I ought to’ve stayed quiet. They thought Corey had killed Alice. I let them know otherwise. Now they’re liable to make another try for her.”

Evan said gravely, “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

Andy said, “We’d better get back to Alice before they have a chance.” Rusty nodded. “You two go. The Monahans may need all the help they can get. I’ll keep after Corey. Maybe I can catch him before he finds out Alice is still alive.”

Andy frowned. “By yourself?”

“
He’s by
him
self.”

“
You don’t even know which way he went.”

“
No matter where he intends to go, I’m bettin’ he’ll stop at Fort Griffin first for supplies. Maybe I can pick up his trail there.”

“
How long do you figure on bein’ gone?”

“
Don’t look for me ’til you see me comin’.”

Andy gave Rusty a worried study. “You ain’t slept, hardly, since Josie died. You’re worn out. If you do catch up with him, the shape you’re in, you may not be a match for him. You could get yourself killed.”

“
I lost a lot of sleep in my rangerin’ days. Never got killed yet.” Rusty stepped down and tightened the cinch. Josie’s image came to him suddenly and unbidden. He swallowed hard and turned to Evan. “There’s somethin’ I want you to do.”

“
Anything you ask.”

“
It won’t be hard.” Rusty’s eyes burned. He blinked away the tears that came to cool them. “When you get home, you take Geneva in your arms and hold her like you’ll never let her go.”

He could hardly expect Corey Bascom to be waiting for him on the street in Griffin Town, but he watched closely just the same. He saw everything that moved. He rode up to the saloon where he had stopped the time he had asked directions to the Bascom place. He found the same dour bartender wiping dust from glasses and placing them on a shelf behind the bar.

The bartender gave him a critical study. “I know you, but you look different.”

“
I’m huntin’ for Corey Bascom.”

“
I told you the last time where he lives.”

“
He left there. I thought he might’ve come this way.”

The bartender grunted thoughtfully and went back to dusting glasses. “Any special reason you’re lookin’ for him?”

“
He killed a woman.”

The barman stopped what he was doing and studied Rusty with a more critical eye. “
Your
woman?”

“
She was.”

The man turned to retrieve a bottle from a shelf. He poured a glassful and set it in front of Rusty. “The look on your face tells me you need a drink.”

“
What I need, I won’t find in that bottle.”

“
But it might help. Drink it.”

Rusty took the contents of the glass in two swallows. The initial burn was followed by a healing glow.

The bartender said, “I don’t ordinarily mix myself in other people’s problems, and I sure don’t go around givin’ out information on other people’s business. But I reckon this case justifies an exception. Corey was in here late yesterday. Bought supplies at a store down the street, then he stopped in here and got him two bottles of whiskey. Said he needed them for the road. Sounded like it was goin’ to be a long one.”

“
Do you know which way he went after he left here?”

“
No, swear to God I don’t. I never watched him. There’s lots of trails out of here. He could’ve gone south toward the Conchos and Mexico. Could’ve gone east, toward Arkansas, or even north, toward the Indian nations. There ain’t no tellin’. With all the travelers who come and go, I doubt anybody paid him much mind.”

The barman poured another drink. “Down this one. For what you been through, you ain’t hardly started.”

Rusty hesitated, then tipped the glass.

The barman said, “Couldn’t nobody blame you if you went and got yourself staggerin’ drunk.”

“
But then I couldn’t do what I came for.” Rusty paid him for the drinks. “Do you know what kind of horse he was ridin’?”

“
It was a black one. That’s all I can tell you.”

“
Thanks for the help.”

He went down the street to the general store. The clerk, like the bartender, was meticulous about not minding other people’s business. He was evasive until Rusty told him he knew Corey had bought supplies. He admitted, “Yeah, I sold him some stuff … coffee, bacon, salt, cartridges, and a wool blanket. I took it he was figurin’ on a long trip, but I didn’t ask any questions and he didn’t offer any information.”

“
Did you see which direction he went leavin’ town?”

“
With customers like the Bascoms I make it a point not to see anything they do after they walk out this door. For all I know, he just evaporated.”

Rusty recognized the futility of further questions. He walked back out to his horse. He rode around the tall hill on which the army post stood and hit the military road that led southward toward distant Fort Concho. Fresh wagon tracks covered any trail Corey might have made, if he had even ridden this way. Rusty swung back to the Clear Fork and looked at the wagon road that led eastward. It had the same abundance of fresh tracks as the other. The north road toward Forts Richardson and Sill would be no different.

He came upon a pair of heavily laden freight wagons creaking their way down from the north, the hubs badly in need of a greasing. He asked the first teamster if he had come upon anybody riding a black horse. The teamster considered, then said, “A troop of them dark-complected cavalry soldiers is all. Talked like they was lookin’ for Indians, but I suspect they wasn’t lookin’ very hard.”

Rusty scouted around until dark but knew his search for tracks was futile. Corey could have put on wings and flown away for all the trace that could be found now. He returned to the saloon, weary and sick at heart.

The bartender knew by the look on his face. “I told you. You ready for another drink?”

Rusty placed two coins on the bar. “A whole bottle.”

He rode along the Clear Fork a while until full dark caught him. He unsaddled the dun, staked him on a long rope, then considered fixing a little supper. He had not eaten anything today. He built a fire but decided he was too weary to cook any of the bacon he carried. He opened the bottle and took a couple of long drinks.

He stared into the flames, feeding in dead wood to keep the fire going. The need for sleep weighted his eyelids and the whiskey churned his empty stomach, but he feared the dreams that might assault him. He concentrated on the flames. They went in and out of focus as he turned to the bottle from time to time. An old arrow wound in his leg began to ache. It often did when he was tired.

He kept seeing Josie’s face in the flickering coals. He imagined Josie’s voice, assuring him they would not have to wait much longer. He dwelled at length on the plans they had made for a long life together. Gone. Torn away from him in an instant.

After a time, from grief and sleepiness and the whiskey, he became confused. Was it Josie’s face he saw, or Geneva’s? Somehow they started looking alike.

He had loved two women, and he had lost them both.

Sleep overwhelmed him. He sprawled on the ground and fell away into a troubled darkness.

The bottle tipped over. The whiskey trickled out and soaked into the dry earth.

He boiled a can of coffee and forced himself to broil some bacon on a stick for his breakfast. At least the Clear Fork’s water was good. A lot of water in the rolling plains was barely fit to drink. He felt better rested, but his head hurt from the whiskey. He wondered at the weakness that had allowed him to drink it. Normally he seldom drank, and on the rare occasions that he did it was more for sociability than for enjoyment.

Josie’s image was much on his mind, and he was less alert than he should have been. At mid-morning he became aware that two riders had fallen in three or four hundred yards behind him. He gave them little thought at first because the trail showed signs of frequent travel. But after a time he noticed that when he slowed, they slowed. They seemed deliberately trying not to catch up to him. He sensed with rising alarm that they were waiting and watching for the right place to overtake and trap him.

He wondered who they might be. He considered the possibility that Corey had doubled back to the family place and brought one of his brothers to help.

Under other circumstances Rusty would be content simply to elude those who followed him. The thought that one might be Corey made this situation different. He began looking for a chance to swap places with his pursuers, to employ a double-back trick Indians sometimes used against those who would trail them. Corey might be too shrewd to fall for it, but the chance was worth taking. All Rusty wanted was to get close enough to place Corey in his sights.

He edged into the timber that lined the creek, trusting that it would hide him from the two riders’ view. After a couple of hundred yards he crossed the creek and rode back in the opposite direction. He hid himself in heavy foliage and dismounted, drawing his rifle from its scabbard. He placed his hand on the dun’s nostrils to prevent it from nickering at the other horses should it feel moved to do so. The dun was not particularly sociable with its own kind.