[Texas Rangers 04] - Ranger's Trail (16 page)

Rusty remembered. He had been roughly Andy’s age. Tom had enlisted him in a frontier ranger company to get him away from home, saving him from killing the wrong man.

Tom said, “Even a justified killin’ can eat on a man like slow poison. Say you kill this Corey Bascom but destroy yourself in the doin’ of it. Do you think that’s what Josie would want?”

“
There’s no way to ask her.”

“
Deep down, you know.”

“
All I know for sure is that I want to see Bascom dead.”

“
Then at least go about it a right and proper way. Do it through the law.”

That, Rusty recalled, was more or less what Preacher Webb had said. It was as though he and Tom had conspired together.

Tom persisted, “You could do a lot of good, bein’ a ranger. There’s still Indian trouble up north. And what the Yankees called ‘reconstruction’ spawned enough outlaws to overstock hell. It’ll take some strong-minded lawmen to put them down.”

“
Is that why you let them make you sheriff again?”

“
I looked around and didn’t see anybody I thought fitted the job. Except maybe you, and you had your hands full with that farm.”

“
I still do. That’s the reason I can’t join the rangers.”

Tom’s frown deepened. “But you’d leave in a minute if you got a lead on Bascom.”

“
That’s different.”

The sound of a running horse drew Rusty’s attention to the wagon road that led from town. He saw a rider pushing hard, waving his hat. Rusty began to hear his shouting though he could not make out what the man was trying to say.

Tom stiffened. “Nobody’s ever come ridin’ in that fast to bring me good news.” He walked out to meet the horseman. Shiny with sweat, the horse slid to a stop.

The man shouted, though he was close enough that he would not have needed to. “Sheriff Tom, there’s been a shootin’ in town. And a robbery.”

Tom accepted the information with a grave expression. “Slow down, get your breath, then tell me about it.”

The rider had the look of a clerk, his shirt white except where sweat had soaked through and attracted dust. His string necktie was hanging askew. He leaned heavily on the horn of his saddle, struggling for air. “Two men. Strangers. Held up the general store. When Mr. Bancroft reached under the counter, they shot him.”

“
Kill him?”

“
I’m afraid so. He was still breathin’ when I left, but he looked like a goner.” The man pointed. “They rode out headin’ west, across country. I followed their tracks part of the way here. They was pretty plain.”

Tom grunted. “I ought to be able to cut across and pick them up.” He asked for a description, but the one given was vague enough to have fitted Rusty himself, and half the men he knew.

Tom looked back at Rusty. “See what I told you about lawlessness? It’s got mighty close to home.”

The words popped from Rusty’s mouth before he allowed time for consideration. “You want me to help you?”

“
I’d be much obliged.”

“
I’ll need to get back home and swap this wagon for my horse. Need to tell Andy and Len, too, or they’ll worry about where I’m at.”

“
I’ll swing by your cabin and pick you up after I get a line on them tracks. Want to say adios to Alice?”

Rusty had not had much to say to Alice during the trip. He knew nothing to say to her now. “You do it for me. I’ll be gettin’ started.” He climbed into the wagon and put the team into motion. Looking back once, he saw Alice standing in the dog run, watching him with a big question in her eyes.

Two men. Robbing stores was one of the Bascom brothers’ specialties, Alice had said. He knew it was wildly unlikely that they had been the perpetrators here, but the thought was intriguing enough to set his imagination to racing. He pictured himself confronting Corey Bascom. The thought set his skin to burning with impatience. Flipping the reins across the team’s rumps, he yelled them into a hard trot.

Approaching the home place, he wondered that he saw no one in field or garden. Long Red and Len’s horse were nowhere in sight. Len’s in particular was something of a barn lover, usually found within easy reach of feed. Rusty saw his bay grazing alone, near the shed.

He hollered as the wagon rolled past the cabin, but no one answered. He put the vehicle under the shed. Quickly unhooking the team, he pitched the harness into the wagon instead of taking time to hang it up properly. He caught the bay and saddled him, then hurried up to the cabin to fetch his rifle. He had taken only his pistol to Tom’s.

He found no fire in the kitchen. On the table he saw a sheet of paper weighted down by a tin cup half full of cold coffee. He held it so that reflected light from the open door made the penciled message readable. He grumbled under his breath as he read it.

Deer Rusty
,

I take pensil in hand to inform you that Me and Andy are gone off to the Rangers. We didnt wait becawz we knowd you would raiz Hell. Dont worry about Andy I will sea that he dont get in no trubbl. With best regards, your verry good frend,

Len Tanner

No trouble. Rusty declared aloud, “Damn that Len.” If he was looking out for Andy, who would be looking out for Len? They both needed a guardian, one because he was still young and the other because he would never completely grow up.

Rusty sat down heavily in his chair and weighed the significance of this development. He could go to Andy’s ranger captain and argue that Andy was underage. But he had no idea to what company the youngster might be assigned or where it would be stationed. As for age, Andy could pass for his early twenties on the basis of his looks. Rusty could not prove him younger.

This threw a bad kink into his rope.

Tom was not far behind him. He reined up from a hard trot as Rusty walked out to untie the bay. He asked, “Len and Andy goin’ with us?”

“
They’re gone. Went off to join the rangers.” As he slid his rifle into the scabbard and swung onto the bay’s back he explained about the letter. “I could wring Len Tanner’s scrawny neck like a chicken.”

“
You already told me
he
was goin’. But Andy is a surprise.”

Rusty felt too disgruntled to talk about it. “Did you find the tracks?” Tom nodded. “A couple of miles south of here. They’re stayin’ off of the roads. Don’t want anybody seein’ them.”

Rusty had a bitter taste in his mouth. “Let’s be goin’ after them.”

He had noted that the young man who brought the message had not stayed with Tom for the long pursuit. Tom explained, “I sent him back to town. The wrong kind of help can get you killed.”

Tom led the way, angling southwestward. He cut the tracks in a short time. The fugitives were evidently depending upon fast horses rather than trying to cover their trail.

Tom said, “People noticed them camped outside of town last night but never gave them much thought. There’s always folks passin’ through. These were probably watchin’ to see where business looked the best. Since we don’t have a bank yet, the store must’ve seemed like the richest pickin’s. Old man Bancroft was a gentle feller. He ought not to have reached for a gun.”

“
Maybe they’d have shot him anyway. There are men like that. Didn’t get enough killin’ in the war. Or didn’t go, and now they’re makin’ up for it.”

Tom’s face twisted. “Which means we’d better be careful how we ride up on them. Bancroft’s funeral is one too many.”

“
Another one or two would be all right, long as it’s the right men gettin’ buried.”

Tom gave Rusty a long study. “You’ve got a hard look in your face. I don’t know as I like it.”

“
Been some hard things happened to me. Andy goin’ off like that doesn’t make it any easier.”

“
He’s not your son. He’s not even your brother. Sure, he’s still young, but he’s shown that he can think and do for himself. I wouldn’t mind havin’ him with us right now.”

“
I’m glad he’s not.”

The trail presented little challenge. A recent shower had left the ground soft so that the hooves had made deeper than usual cuts in it. Tom stopped to study a place where one of the horses had paused to urinate. He said, “They ain’t too far ahead of us. An hour or so, maybe two.”

Farther on, Tom pointed to a spot where the ground had been scarred slightly. “Looks like one of the horses stepped in that hole yonder and went down.”

Boot tracks showed that one man had walked around a little before remounting. Tom said, “Horse must not have broke its leg, but I’ll bet it’s limpin’ some. That’ll slow our boys up.”

Presently Rusty saw a single rider ahead of them. At first he could not tell whether the person was coming or going, but soon it became clear that he was moving to meet them. He was on a bareback mule, with wagon harness instead of saddle. He carried the long reins looped like a lariat.

Tom said, “That looks like old man Gillis. What’s he doin’ ridin’ a wagon mule?”

As Gillis approached, it was plain that he had been hurt. Blood had dried on the side of his face. A deep bruise had turned dark from his cheekbone up to the edge of his gray hair. Tom said to him, “You look like you’d been thrown off and drug.”

“
Two men stopped me. Swapped me a lame horse for my best mule. Taken it right out of the harness. When I tried to argue with them they hit me across the head with a six-shooter.”

Rusty rode up close to examine the wound. Gillis said, “If I hadn’t had this old wool hat on, it’d have broken my skull like an eggshell.”

“
Looks bad,” Rusty said. “I hope you’re not goin’ far.”

“
Headin’ for my son’s place, over the rise yonder. Him and my daughter-in-law will fix me up. But it makes me madder than hell, losin’ that good mule. How do they expect a man to farm without a good pair of mules?”

Tom said, “You’re lucky you didn’t lose more than a mule. They robbed a store and shot old man Bancroft.”

The farmer’s jaw dropped. “Old tightwad Bancroft? They must’ve found out he still had the first dollar he ever made. And most of the ones since.” He seemed to regret his words. “I hope he ain’t dead.”

Tom shook his head. “Don’t know. But I expect you’ll be gettin’ your mule back. I doubt your thief will want to ride him any farther than he has to. He’ll be lookin’ to steal another horse.” He pointed his chin westward. “Who lives yonderway past your place?”

“
Young folks named Plumley. Moved in last year and broke out new ground.” Gillis’s eyes widened as he pondered the possibilities. “I hate to think them young people are in danger. That boy’s come and helped me several times. And he’s got a mighty sweet little girl for a wife. I’d better come with you.”

Tom gripped the farmer’s thin shoulder. “No, you’d better go on to your son’s place and get took care of. Me and Rusty, we’ll see after them young people.”

The farmer gave him a better description of the thieves than the town clerk had done. One was tall and lanky with a bushy black beard. The other was of heavier stock and had a brownish mustache with a couple of days’ growth of whiskers. An instant before the heavier one had clubbed him, Gillis had seen a long, bluish scar on the back of his hand.

“
They both had mean eyes,” he warned. “I seen eyes like that in the war. A man with them eyes, there ain’t much he won’t do.”

Tom nodded at Rusty. “Then we’d best not give them time for more than they’ve already done.”

It would have been easy to have missed the Plumley farm had the tracks not led Rusty and Tom to it. The cabin was small, without a dog run, and had been built beneath a hill that hid it from the south. A modest field lay below the cabin. Corn plants stood inches high, for the growing season had barely begun.

Rusty pointed. “The corral yonder. I’d bet you that’s Gillis’s mule.”

No horses were in sight. The thieves were probably gone, but Tom was taking no chances. “That cabin has got no window in the back. We’d better ride up on the blind side.”

They dismounted fifty yards away and led their horses, pausing to tie them to a tree. They went the rest of the way with pistols in their hands. They paused to listen a minute before Tom pointed to the front door. Rusty noticed that it was ajar and that it opened to the inside. Oldtimers in the days of frequent Indian trouble usually made sure their doors swung outward so it would be more difficult for anyone to force his way in.

Rusty gave the door a hard shove with his shoulder and stepped quickly inside.

A woman cowered against a back wall. She brought her arms up defensively and screamed. “No more. Please, no more.” She covered her face.

Rusty’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the room’s poor light. The young woman was disheveled, her dress torn from shoulder to waist. As she lowered her arms he saw bruises on her face.

Rusty tried to say something to comfort her, but rage overtook him and left him unable to speak. Tom said gently, “We’re here to help you, ma’am. We’re not the ones who hurt you.” He showed her the badge on his shirt.

She buckled at the knees. Rusty caught her before she went all the way to the floor. He carried her to a wooden chair at the table. Tom said, “There’s a pint of whiskey in my saddlebags. You’d better fetch it.”

Rusty went out and led the horses up to the house. He fumbled in the saddlebags, found the bottle, and took a long drink before he carried it inside. He lifted a coffee cup from an open shelf and poured whiskey into it. He held it to the woman’s bruised lips. “Drink this. It’ll do you good.”

She choked but got the whiskey down. She began to calm. Tom asked her, “Where’s your husband?”

She seemed unable to look him or Rusty in the eyes. Haltingly she explained that her husband had left early in the morning to look for some strayed cattle. He had not yet returned.

In one sense it might have been a good thing he was gone, Rusty thought. He would probably have resisted the thieves, and they would have killed him.