[Texas Rangers 04] - Ranger's Trail (27 page)

Andy was too miserable to appreciate Rusty’s dark humor. He said, “Everybody kept tellin’ me. I thought I could change Scooter the way you changed me.”

“
Maybe it was in his blood. More likely it’s because he’s been mistreated all his life. Beat a young horse every day and he’ll outlaw on you. He’ll reach a point where there’s nothin’ much you can do except shoot him. Else he’s liable to kill you. That boy was ruined before you ever saw him.”

“
I guess. I just hoped for better.”

“
Look at the fugitive list the captain has. Most of the men on it had mothers and daddies who did the best they could to make somethin’ out of them. Somewhere, every one of them came to a fork in the road and took the wrong direction. Most of them will never turn around. They’ll stay on the devil’s road ’til it leads them to the cemetery.”

“
You figure that’s the case with Scooter?”

“
He’ll end up on the fugitive list, if he lives that long.”

After two days Andy felt much better. He expected Rusty to start home, but Rusty showed no inclination to leave. He said he was hanging on a few days longer, hoping some word might come about Corey Bascom. Andy suspected one strong reason was that he enjoyed the rangers’ company and the camp life that reminded him of other times.

Whatever the cause, Andy was comforted by Rusty’s presence.

The third day after Scooter ran away, Andy saw a horse gallop into the edge of camp, lathered with sweat. The rider pulled up in front of the headquarters tent and dismounted, so exhausted he almost went to his knees. In a weak voice he called for the captain.

The officer came out before the rider could yell a second time.

The man struggled for breath. “Indians, Captain. We got Indian trouble.”

Andy turned toward Rusty. He felt a cold dread. “I hoped I’d never have to face this.”

Rusty said, “You had to know it was bound to come.”

The captain called the company together. He asked Sergeant Holloway, “How many men could be ready to go right away?”

“
We have four out on detail. Leaving a few to guard the camp, we have a dozen available men at best, sir, including ourselves.”

“
Very well, send a detail to bring up the horses.”

Farley Brackett had not spoken directly to Andy since Scooter had absconded with the sorrel horse. Andy was conscious now of Farley watching him. He imagined the thought behind the critical eyes: that in a showdown Andy would not be able to go against his Comanche friends.

Rusty gave Andy a gentle nudge. “Somebody’s got to help guard the camp. If you don’t feel right about this, why don’t you stay? Tell the captain you’re still not up to a hard ride.”

Andy wished he could. “I took an oath. Whatever the captain gives me to do, I’ll do it.”

“
Would you feel better if I went along?”

Andy was not certain what his reaction should be. Rusty’s presence always gave him a feeling of security. But in this case it might indicate doubt about Andy. “You’re not a ranger anymore. It ain’t your fight.”

“
If there’s people bein’ killed, it’s everybody’s fight.”

Grim faced, the captain approached Rusty. “Shannon, we are shorthanded, as you can see. You have no obligation to us, and I would not be so bold as to ask you. But if you should decide to ride with us of your own free will, I would happily accept your company. I cannot promise that the state will pay you for your services.”

“
Half the time I
was
a ranger I didn’t get paid for it. I’m not askin’ for anything now.”

“
Spoken like a true Texan.” The captain looked at Andy. “Perhaps you should remain here.”

Andy said, “I heal fast. I’ll go.”

He knew the chances of Indians hitting this camp were remote. The report had them many miles to the north, where they had hit a group of cowboys on roundup and had driven off a substantial number of cattle as well as horses.

Farley said, “I can’t figure what the Comanches would want with cattle. Their preference runs to buffalo.”

Andy replied, “The cattle are for tradin’, not eatin’. They drive them north to the canyon country and swap them to Comanchero traders for white-man goods. They don’t know much about money, but they know how to trade. They’ve been doin’ it a long time.”

Farley grunted, malice in his eyes. “You’d be the one to know.”

Andy clenched a fist. One of these days, he thought, me and you are going to knock heads. I’m betting that mine is harder.

The rangers pushed their horses as much as they dared, stopping to camp at dusk. Andy was tired, his head aching. Rusty, on the other hand, seemed rejuvenated. He said, “I feel like I never left the rangers. It’s like I’ve stepped back into old days at Fort Belknap.”

Andy said, “The captain would be tickled to have you sign on permanent.”

“
I might if it wasn’t for Corey Bascom. And the farm.”

“
People like Bascom generally come to a bad end. Sooner or later he’ll try to rob the wrong outfit and somebody’ll blow his light out. It doesn’t have to be you.” He realized that what he said about Bascom sounded more than a little like Rusty’s comment about Scooter.

Rusty frowned. “If it happens that way, well and good. But if it fell to me to be the one, well, … I owe him for Josie.”

“
Do you think you have to kill him before she can be at rest?”

“
No. Before
I
can be at rest.”

The ranch was little more than a rough cow camp, its few structures having picket walls and dirt-covered roofs. Its owners clearly intended it to be temporary. None of the cowboys had been killed, but the outfit had been shot up and had lost most of its horses, including several with saddles on.

The wagon boss walked out to meet the rangers. His left arm rested in a sling made of tarpaulin torn from a wagon sheet. His face reddened as he described the incident. “Caught us flat-footed, the boys all scattered around the herd. Took cattle, horses … even the camp dog followed and never came back.”

The captain said, “I’m sorry we don’t have a doctor.”

“
We taken care of ourselves.” The boss raised his wounded arm a little and winced. “This don’t hurt near as much as losin’ the outfit. I am madder than hell. At them, at us. I’m even a little mad at you for not bein’ here when it happened.”

The captain nodded. “I suppose you’re entitled. Would any of you like to ride with us?”

“
We ain’t got but two men still on horseback, but they’re rarin’ to go. It’s been all I could do to keep them from chasin’ off after the Indians alone.” He cursed. “A cowboy with no horse is a sorry sight to behold.”

The rangers tarried only long enough to water their mounts and for the two hands to saddle up and join them.

The wagon boss shouted as the riders moved away, “Give them hell, rangers.”

The cowboys led the way to where the attack had taken place. “Lucky none of us got killed,” one said. “They seemed more interested in gettin’ away with the horses and cattle than in takin’ scalps.”

Holloway told the captain, “If they’d just taken horses they’d be hard to catch up with. But the cattle will slow them down a right smart.”

The captain said, “That is our main hope. Otherwise they would probably be out of our reach already.”

Andy knew from experience that the raiders would abandon stolen horses only under heavy pressure, for these quickly became regarded as personal property. They would more readily abandon the cattle if they discovered close pursuit. Those, after all, had value to them only for trading.

He hoped they would give up the cattle and push on at a fast enough pace that the rangers would not catch them. Long ago he had been forced to a reluctant choice between white people and red. But his stomach churned with a dread that he might have to fire upon those he had for years regarded as his own.

He felt Rusty’s speculative gaze. Rusty, more than anyone here, should understand Andy’s conflicting emotions. Farley Brackett studied him with open distrust.

Andy might stretch the facts about his age, but he had given a man’s word. He would not back down from it.

A trail left by stolen horses could sometimes be difficult to follow, but to hide the tracks of a cattle herd was impossible. Andy could have followed it with one eye shut. The Indians must have been confident that the cowboys would not be able to follow and chastise them. It was possible they were unaware so far of the rangers’ reinstatement. In the past they had feared rangers more than the army or civilian volunteers. They had regarded rangers as a warrior society of unyielding determination and fearsome power.

The trail became fresher, the tracks cleanly cut, the droppings soft and still warm enough that Andy could smell them. For a while now the rangers had been coming across young calves the Indians had left behind because they could not keep up the pace. Andy heard cows bawling. His nerves tightened. He saw Rusty quietly slip the rifle from beneath his leg and bring it up to the pommel of his saddle.

The captain gave an order for the men to stop and tighten their cinches. A slipping saddle could be fatal in a running fight. He said, “If anybody feels like communing with his maker, this would be the proper time.”

Andy had a dark feeling it was too late to pray for what he had hoped most, that the Indians would slip away without confrontation.

Holloway asked, “Any orders, Captain?”

“
Just one, Sergeant. When we see that they’ve spotted us, charge. Don’t give them time to take count.”

Rusty said, “Sounds like old Captain Whitfield. Bible in one saddlebag, whiskey in the other. He was hell on horseback.”

The Comanches had three men trailing the herd as a rear guard. They appeared surprised by sight of the rangers riding up over a stretch of rising ground. They hesitated for a moment, seemingly undecided whether to stand and give fight or to run and give warning. One carried a rifle. He threw a quick shot in the rangers’ direction and wheeled about, riding away at a high lope. His partners struggled not to be left behind.

The captain said, “We’ve caught them asleep. Let’s wake them up.” He motioned with his hand and spurred his horse into a run.

The rangers split around the herd. The cattle spooked at first, splitting off in various directions. Andy thought there might be a hundred or more. The animals stopped their forward movement once the rangers pulled back together beyond the herd.

Ahead, Andy saw dust kicked up by the remuda. The Indians were whipping them into a run. The two cowboys, eagerly responding to sight of their quarry, pulled ahead of the rangers. The captain tried to call them back, but they did not hear. Or perhaps they chose not to.

Rusty spurred his bay horse. He shouted at Andy, “Let’s try and catch up to those cowboys. They’re liable to get themselves into a fix.”

Farley Brackett pushed his horse into a run that put him a little ahead of Andy and Rusty.

The Indians stopped running. Having stampeded the stolen horses, they pulled together into a defensive line. Rough-counting by twos, Andy guessed they numbered twenty or so. They looked like a solid wall.

The captain shouted, “Don’t hit them head-on. Cut around the end.”

The flanking maneuver momentarily confused the Comanches, but the surprise did not last long. They broke out of the line and made for a stand of timber. Several hung back, fighting a rear-guard action. Rifles and pistols cracked, raising clouds of white smoke. Arrows whispered like wind in a stovepipe. Andy saw a couple of warriors on the ground. He heard a ranger cry out as he was hit. The vanguard of the Indians reached the timber and turned to mount a defense.

The captain shouted, “Smite them hip and thigh.”

The rangers lost any semblance of a line. They plunged into the timber by ones and twos. The combat was almost hand-to-hand. Gunfire racketed in Andy’s ears. He saw several Comanches who offered good targets, but he could not bring his pistol to bear on them.

He became aware that Farley had gotten himself isolated out to one side and had the full attention of three warriors. His horse was down. The ranger dodged among the trees, afoot. Andy wanted to laugh over his antagonist’s precarious situation, but he sobered quickly. Farley stood a strong chance of being killed. He forced down his resentment and spurred in that direction.

Andy wanted to give the Indians a chance to escape. In Comanche he shouted, “Get away! Run!”

One paused long enough to snap a shot at him with an old muzzle-loading rifle much too cumbersome to be effective from horseback. Two warriors disappeared into the heavier growth.

The third appeared determined to bring Farley down. Farley tripped over a deadfall limb. The Indian rushed his horse toward him, drawing back an arrow in his bow. Farley turned over onto his back, eyes desperate. His hands searched for a pistol that had fallen out of his reach.

Again Andy shouted in Comanche, “Get away!”

The Indian turned, swinging the point of the arrow toward Andy. Andy saw the face and recognized it. Holding his breath, his skin afire, he aimed his pistol, then let it drift to the warrior’s left. His shot missed. So did the arrow. The Indian turned his horse away and followed the others into the trees.

Andy trembled. His pounding heart seemed about to burst. The man he had almost killed was a friend to Steals the Ponies.

Ashen faced, Farley struggled to his feet. He picked up the weapon he had dropped and quickly glanced around. “Let’s get out of here before they decide to come back.”

Andy extended his arm. Farley grabbed it and swung up behind the saddle. He almost jerked Andy from the horse. Andy felt as if his arm had been wrenched from the shoulder.

Farley’s voice trembled in the aftermath of fear. “Where’s the rest of the rangers?”

Andy found it difficult to speak. “I lost sight of them in the trees. Whichever way we go, we’re liable to run into Indians.”