[Texas Rangers 04] - Ranger's Trail (2 page)

Now thousands of ex-Confederates, disenfranchised after the war, had finally recovered their voting rights. By a margin of two to one they had defeated the Union-backed reconstruction governor, Edmund J. Davis. They had voted in Richard Coke, a former Confederate army officer and one of their own. Perhaps that transition accounted for the large numbers of men standing along the street as if waiting for something to happen, Rusty thought. It did not, however, account for so many being heavily burdened by a variety of firearms.

Andy grinned. “Looks like the war is fixin’ to start again.” War had been a central fact of life among the Comanches, often sought after when it did not come on its own.

Rusty frowned. “I’m commencin’ to wonder what we’ve ridden into.” He reined his dun horse over to a man leaning against a cedar hitching post. “Say, friend, what’s the big attraction in town?”

The man straightened, fixing suspicious eyes on Rusty, then on Andy and Tom. “I reckon you know, or you wouldn’t be here. Did Governor Davis send for you?”

“
I wouldn’t know Edmund J. Davis from George Washington.”

The man said, “A lot of Davis’s friends have come to town includin’ his old state police. They’re all totin’ guns. I see that you are, too.”

Rusty kept his right hand away from the pistol on his hip, avoiding any appearance of a threat. “We brought our guns because we came a long ways. We didn’t know what we might run into, or who.”

“
Just so you ain’t one of them Davis police.”

Mention of the Davis police put a bad taste in Rusty’s mouth. “I used to be a ranger, but I never was a state policeman.”

The governor’s special police force—a mixture of white and black—had been organized as part of the state’s reconstruction government, replacing the traditional rangers. Excesses had given the force a reputation for arrogance and brutality, arousing enmity in most Texans. Rusty had always felt that a majority were well intentioned, but a scattering of scoundrels overshadowed the law enforcement achievements of the rest.

A new legislature had recently abolished the state police to the relief of the citizenry and the consternation of Governor Davis.

The man said, “Local folks are naturally stirred up about so many strangers bringin’ guns to town. Coke has been sworn in as governor, but Davis won’t recognize him. Word has gone around that he has no intention of givin’ up the office.”

“
But the people voted him out.”

“
He’s declared the election unconstitutional.”

Tom’s face reddened. “He can’t. That’s not legal.”

“
He claims he’s got the authority to say what’s legal and what’s not. Thinks he’s the king of England, or maybe old Pharaoh.”

The occupying Union forces had given their handpicked governor dictatorial power. He had instituted worthwhile improvements, particularly to the educational system, yet Texans resented his issuing punitive executive orders from which they had no recourse. Though Davis was a Southerner and a longtime citizen of the state, most former Confederates felt that he belonged to the enemy. He had fled Texas early in the war, eventually becoming a brigadier general in the Union army. The governor’s office had been his reward.

Now it appeared that he did not intend to give it up.

Tom said, “We hold no brief for Davis. We voted for Coke.” He glanced questioningly at Rusty. “At least I did.”

Rusty nodded. He, too, had voted for Coke because he felt it was time to shed the smothering reconstruction regime so Texas could work its own way back to order and stability.

“
Then I’d advise you to either join Coke’s militia or take care of your business and move out of town before the roof blows off of the capitol yonder.”

Pulling away, Rusty muttered to Tom, “I think I see why your sheriff friend asked you to come and bring help.”

“
I’ve known him a long time. I couldn’t turn him down.”

Tom’s loyalty to a friend was such that he had reluctantly left an ailing wife at home to come on this mission. Rusty’s loyalty to Tom did not allow him to refuse Tom’s request, though he had planned to be marrying Josie Monahan about now. He said, “We’re liable to get pulled into a fight that ain’t ours. That whole damned war wasn’t really ours.”

Like the late Sam Houston, Rusty had never favored secession from the Union, nor had he ever developed any allegiance to the Confederacy. One reason he had remained with the frontier rangers throughout the war was to avoid conscription into the rebel army. Even so, he had come to resent the oppressive federal occupation.

Tom frowned. “I wouldn’t have asked you to come if I’d known we were ridin’ into a situation like this. Maybe you and Andy better turn around and go home.”

Disappointed, Andy said, “We ain’t hardly seen the city yet.”

Rusty said, “We’ve come this far, so we’ll wait and size things up. Then we can go home if we’re a mind to.”

Initially Tom had harbored reservations about the wisdom of the war, but once it began he had given his loyalty to Texas and the South without looking back. He said, “Davis got beat fair and square. If he was a proper gentleman he’d recognize the will of the people. He’d yield up the office.”

Andy said, “The Comanche way is simpler. A chief can’t force anybody to do anything. If the people don’t like him anymore they just quit payin’ attention to him. No election, no fight, no nothin’.” He snorted. “And everybody claims white people are smarter.”

Andy’s sorrel shied to one side, bumping against Rusty’s dun. Two men burst off the sidewalk and into the dirt street, wildly swinging their fists. Immediately another man joined the fray, then two more, cursing, wrestling awkwardly. Foot and horse traffic stopped. Onlookers crowded around while the fight escalated.

Andy asked, “Whose side are we on?”

Rusty said, “Nobody’s.” He saw little difference between the combatants except that some might be drunker than others. He said, “We’d best move on before some fool pulls a gun.” He found the way blocked by men rushing to watch the fight.

Faces were bloodied and shirts torn, but nobody drew a pistol or knife. Whatever the quarrel was about, the participants did not seem to consider it worth a killing.

A city policeman strode down the street, gave the situation a quick study, then stepped back to observe from a comfortable distance, hands in his pockets. Shortly a blue-clad army officer trotted his horse up beside the policeman. His sharp voice indicated he was used to people snapping to attention in his presence. “Aren’t you going to stop this?”

The policeman did not take his hands from his pockets. “A man can get hurt messin’ in where he wasn’t asked. Long as they don’t kill one another, I say let them have their fun.”

“
You are paid to enforce the peace.”

“
Not near enough. Ain’t been any peace around here since this governor business came up. You want to stop the fight, go ahead.”

“
The army is not supposed to interfere. This is a civilian matter.”

“
And this here civilian is goin’ into that grog shop yonder to have himself a drink. If anybody gets killed, come and fetch me.” The policeman turned away. The officer watched him in frustration, then turned his attention to the ongoing fight. A couple of the brawlers had had enough and crawled away to sit on the edge of the wooden sidewalk, there to nurse their wounds while the altercation went on. They were not missed.

Andy’s eyes danced with excitement as his fists mimicked the movements of the belligerents. He had been in plenty of fights himself, usually instigated by other young men making fun of the ways he had learned from the Indians.

Rusty knew a good scrap when he saw one. This was not a good one. It was slow-footed and clumsy, loud but not likely to produce anything more serious than loose teeth, bruised knuckles, and maybe a flattened nose. He decided the policeman had been right in leaving bad nature to run its course.

Onlookers’ comments bore out his assumption that some of the fighters were Davis men. Others supported Coke. The fight slowly staggered to a standstill. The Coke men appeared to carry the victory, such as it was. They moved away in a triumphant group, weaving toward the grog shop the policeman had chosen. Their opponents dragged themselves to the sidewalk and slumped there, exhausted.

The fight had energized Andy. He said, “Some folks take their politics serious.”

Tom Blessing nodded grimly. “With good reason. Davis’s men tromped on everybody that got in their way. Stole half the state of Texas. Now comes the day of reckonin’, and they ain’t willin’ to ’fess up.”

The three rode north up the wide street, Rusty warily eyeing the armed men scattered all along. He saw no reason anyone would shoot at him on purpose, but he had learned long ago that the innocent bystander was usually the first one hurt. The more innocent, the more likely.

They reined up short of the capitol building. Several men stood shoulder to shoulder at the front door, holding rifles. They had a military bearing but did not wear uniforms. Rusty surmised they were former Confederate soldiers who had not forgotten the regimens learned in war.

He said, “Looks like they’re guardin’ the state treasury.”

Tom said, “Too late for that. Talk is that Davis’s adjutant general slipped away with it and sailed for Europe.” He stepped down from the saddle and lifted the reins for Andy to hold. “You-all better stay here so we don’t accidentally provoke somebody into somethin’ rash. I’ll walk up there and see what the game is.” He unstrapped his pistol belt and hung it over the saddle horn as an indication that his intentions were benign.

Andy gazed southward back down Congress Avenue, where substantial buildings lined each side. Rusty assumed he was marveling at the variety of merchandise available here for anyone who had the money to buy it. That was the catch. Texas was just emerging from the economic devastation of war and its aftermath. Not many people other than opportunistic outsiders had much money to spend. Most of what Texans needed, they produced for themselves or did without. But Austin had been something of an oasis, money flowing more freely because of the Union soldiers and the state’s reconstruction government based here.

It dawned on Rusty that Andy’s attention was focused on two young women who stood in front of a nearby saloon. It was obvious they were not Sunday school teachers.

He warned, “Don’t let your curiosity get stirred up too much. I don’t expect we’ll be stayin’.” It occurred to him that he had taught Andy a lot about plowing straight rows but not enough about avoiding society’s pitfalls.

Tom returned, his jaw set grimly. “Governor Davis has got himself barricaded in the capitol basement with a bunch of his old state police. The Coke men and the legislature have got the upper floor.”

“
A Mexican standoff,” Rusty said.

“
Maybe not for long. Davis has sent a wire to President Grant. He’s askin’ him to order the troops in. Wants them to throw out the Coke crowd and keep him in office.”

That news troubled Rusty. “If he does, there’s apt to be an awful fight.”

Andy had no problem with the notion of a fight. “I wish old Buffalo Caller could’ve seen this.” Buffalo Caller was the Comanche warrior who had first captured him and kept him for his own. “He would’ve given a hundred horses to watch white men battle one another instead of fightin’ the People. And it would’ve been worth every one of them.”

Tom declared, “You’re white. That’s a scandalous thing to say.”

Andy said, “Was it to happen, I’d cheer for the old Texans to win. But not too quick. I’d like to see the fight stretch out a while.”

Tom shook his head. “Scandalous.” He looked back toward the capitol. “I’ve offered to do my part and stand with Coke. This ain’t none of you-all’s fight unless you want it to be.”

Rusty said, “We’re here now. We wouldn’t go off and leave you by yourself.”

Tom seemed pleased. “You sound like your old Daddy Mike. But I won’t be by myself, There’s several of my friends up there from way back. There’s a bunch of old rangers, too. Friends of yours, I’d warrant.”

Rusty’s interest quickened. “Rangers?”

“
Yeah, but like I said, it don’t have to be your fight. I wouldn’t want a young feller like Andy on my conscience. Or you, either.”

“
We came of our own accord. We’re grown men.” Rusty glanced at Andy. “
I
am, anyway.”

Tom nodded. “There’s a wagon yard down yonder. Would you take my horse for me?”

Rusty jerked his head. “Come on, Andy.”

Andy led Tom’s mount. Rusty guessed there must be a hundred horses in the several corrals to the side of and beyond the large wooden barn. A droop-shouldered liveryman slouched in the big open doorway, waiting for customers. He limped out a few paces and spat a stream of brown tobacco juice at a bedraggled cat, missing by a foot. A bit of the spittle remained in his stubble of gray-and-black beard. He said, “You’re supposed to be in there chasin’ mice. They’re fixin’ to carry off the whole shebang, barn and all.” He looked up at Rusty. “What can I do for you-all?”

“
Got room for three more horses?”

“
If there ain’t room enough we’ll just stack them like cordwood. I expect you-all are in town to see the excitement?” It was a statement, but he made it sound like a question.

“
We didn’t know about it ’til we got here.”

“
I ain’t takin’ sides, you understand, but I hope the Coke people give that Davis crowd a hell of a lickin’. I’ve had a gutful of them thieves.”

Rusty smiled. “Sounds like you
have
taken sides.”

“
I reckon, but if the shootin’ starts I’m keepin’ my head down. I taken a Yankee ball in my leg durin’ the war. Convinced me I ain’t no fightin’ man.”

“
But you’re willin’ to take money from either side?”

“
I take care of horses, and horses don’t know nothin’ about politics. I do business with any and all, long as the money is genuine.” He extended his hand, the palm up. “And paid in advance.”