[Texas Rangers 05] - Texas Vendetta (15 page)

The woman noticed Scooter’s silent appraisal of the room. She said, “It ain’t much, but it’s ours. We done it all ourselves. Grubbed it out of the ground, me and my husband, with the Lord’s help.”

Lige said, “Glory be to the Lord.”

That startled Scooter. He doubted that his father had given the Lord much thought when he robbed the bank in Kerrville.

The farmer said, “If you-all ain’t in too much of a hurry, you’re welcome to stay all night. Eat breakfast before you go on your way in the mornin’.”

Lige said, “That’s kind of you. We couldn’t go much farther before dark.”

Scooter observed that his father enjoyed other people’s cooking far more than his own. That was probably one reason he was eager to find himself a Cherokee woman, beyond the possibility of profiting from her head right to land in the territory. Scooter worried that somebody might have picked up their trail and be following it even as they idled at this farmer’s table, but Lige seemed not to share his concern. With a warm and solid meal in his belly, he appeared content to accept the world on its own terms.

There being no sign of rain, Lige elected to spread a little hay on the ground and unroll his blanket on top of it. “Ain’t nothin’ healthier than the clean outdoors with the stars for your ceilin’,” he said. “For five years the only stars I seen was through a high window with bars in it.”

“Pa, are you sure a farm is what you want? These folks have got one, and they’re as poor as church mice.”

“Because they ain’t got enough land. Me and you, we ain’t goin’ to settle for nothin’ small like this. We’re goin’ to have a big farm with a big house and lots of stock. We’ll have cornfields stretchin’ as far as the eye can see. I’ve had lots of time to plan it all out. I know just where everything is goin’ to be—the house, the barns, the fields.”

“All that is goin’ to take lots of money.”

“The reason most people don’t have enough money is that they don’t have the guts to go where it’s at and get their fair share.”

As they finished breakfast Scooter saw his father stick a roll of bills into the sugar bowl when the farmer and his wife were looking away. He said nothing about it until they had put the little farm behind them.

“You said we ain’t got much money, but I seen you leave a wad of it for them folks.”

“Do good where you see the need and the Lord will reward you. Next time maybe He’ll lead us to a bank where the teller ain’t a crook like that last one was.”

Sergeant Holloway held out little hope of finding Lige’s and Scooter’s tracks. Too many others had been made along the river road that led eastward from Kerrville, including those of the earlier posse. The sergeant was about ready to give up.

He said, “Anywhere there’s a telegraph, the local authorities will be on the lookout for Tennyson and the boy. These modern communications are the wonder of the world. Did you know a man can board a train in New York and get to San Francisco in less time than it takes to ride horseback from Fort Worth to San Antonio?”

Andy argued, “But we’re not goin’ to San Francisco, and most of Texas doesn’t have a railroad yet. Lots of places ain’t even got a telegraph.”

He chafed with impatience, but he was just a private. It was the sergeant’s place to make decisions.

Rusty recognized Andy’s anxiety. “We’ve come this far, Bill. Won’t hurt us to try a little longer.”

Holloway reconsidered, respecting Rusty’s long experience. “Wouldn’t want the captain sayin’ we quit too quick. Andy, how’s your trackin’ eye?”

Andy feared his reputation was better than his ability, for most people assumed his Indian background gave him an advantage in following trails. But a show of confidence might keep Holloway from abandoning the search. “Nothin’ wrong with my eyes.”

He had found long ago that he had better hunches than most people. He wondered if it might come from his association with the Comanches, who put a lot of faith in intuition, visions, and dreams. When the three riders reached a place where a flood had deposited a large bed of gravel at a bend in the river, he had one of those hunches. He said, “If I was wantin’ to cover my trail, right here is where I’d quit the road. A buffalo herd wouldn’t leave tracks in that gravel.”

Holloway said, “It’s your hand. Play it.”

Andy moved forward while Rusty and the sergeant waited so they would not add their horses’ tracks to any already there. He rode along the leading edge of the gravel deposit until he found the trail of two horses. A light shower had created a thin skim of mud. The tracks had dried hard enough to preserve them from the wind’s destructive touch. His hunch told him these marked the passage of Lige and the boy. He waved his arm.

“We’re on the money,” he shouted.

Rusty dismounted and studied the tracks. “One horse’s forefoot turns out a little, like he might’ve been crippled at some time.”

Andy said, “That’d be Scooter’s. I remember the old brown they gave him had a funny way of walkin’. Kind of paddle-footed.” He felt a rising excitement. “What about it, Sergeant?”

Holloway pointed his chin eastward. “We came to catch a bank robber. We’re not doin’ it sittin’ here.”

It occurred to Andy after a while that Lige had evidently not put much effort into hiding his trail. He probably thought he had followed the well-traveled road far enough to throw off a posse. Now and then the trail would disappear on hard ground or in thick grass, but Andy would manage to pick it up again a little farther on. Lige’s direction seemed well set.

Holloway said, “Looks like he’s headed almost due east. We can afford to lope up some. Even if we lose the trail awhile, we ought to be able to cut it again. Maybe we can gain on him.”

The second day they had not seen the trail in a while but were traveling on faith and hope. Spotting a small frame house, they stopped to water their horses. A gaunt, hard-used farm woman came out to greet them. The sergeant introduced himself. “We’re obliged for the water. We’d be glad to pay for it.”

She demurred. “I don’t see how I can charge you for water. It’s a gift from the Lord.”

The sergeant smiled. “The Lord didn’t dig that well for you, did He?”

“No, sir, me and my husband done that. But the Lord was lookin’ on and made sure we found water.”

Holloway handed her a silver dollar. “I’ll pay the Lord His share next time I get to church. Been any strangers pass this way the last day or two?”

“The only people been by here lately was a man and a boy. Fine folks. They taken time to hoe the garden for me. My husband is laid up and can’t work.”

Andy stiffened. “Did you hear any names?”

“I don’t recall that he ever introduced himself, exactly. And the boy just called him Pa.” She frowned, trying to remember. “Seems to me I heard him call the boy by name, but I can’t remember what it was.”

“Could it have been Scooter?”

Her face brightened. “I believe it was. You know them?”

Holloway said, “We do. Were they still travelin’ east when they left here?”

“They was. But I can’t imagine what interest you Rangers would have in God-lovin’ folks like them. Even after workin’ for their keep, they left some money for us.”

Kerrville bank money, Andy guessed. Tennyson could afford to be generous with it. It wasn’t his.

The sergeant said, “May I be so bold as to ask how much?”

“Close to fifty dollars. I wanted to give it back, but they was gone by the time I found it.”

Andy said, “It doesn’t make sense, him givin’ somebody money.”

The sergeant said, “It’s a waste of time to try and figure out people like Tennyson. They serve the Lord one minute and the devil the next. Tryin’ to stay in good with both sides, I guess.”

Riding away, Holloway seemed cheered. “He gave those folks most of the little bit he got in Kerrville. He’ll be needin’ more. We already wired Austin to send a warnin’ to all the banks. Next time Tennyson tries to make a withdrawal, he may find himself lookin’ down a dozen gun barrels.”

Andy felt a dark foreboding. “What about Scooter?”

“Let’s hope his daddy thinks enough of him to leave him out of harm’s way.”

Rusty brooded. “I can’t figure Lige. If it was me and I was on the dodge, I’d go west to where law is scarce. I wouldn’t go back where there’s a badge on every section corner.”

Holloway said, “Where law is scarce, there aren’t many banks either. A workin’ man goes where the work is. Or in Tennyson’s case, where the money is.”

Rusty said, “If I didn’t know better I’d say he’s headed almost directly toward my farm.”

Andy said, “He’d have no reason to be goin’ there.”

Holloway said, “You can bet Tennyson knows what he’s doin’, or thinks he does. He wouldn’t be travelin’ this direction without he had cause. I’d give a month’s pay to know what it is.”

The third day Andy lost the trail and could not find it although he crisscrossed several times, returning always to a generally eastward direction. Toward dark the three Rangers came upon a family of movers camping with a tarp-covered wagon and a trail wagon hitched behind. The wagon tongue was pointed west. A young boy herded half a dozen cows and a bull. Andy could only guess at the disappointments that had put these people on the road to new country and a fresh start.

Holloway hailed them in an easy, smiling manner. “How far you-all headed?”

The man was straightening harness. “Pecos River or bust. We hear there’s cheap land out there.”

Cheap for a good reason, Andy thought. Charles Goodnight had called the Pecos River “the grave of a cowman’s hopes.” But settlers were starting to drift out that way regardless. So long as there was new land, there was always a chance, or at least the illusion of one, even where it didn’t rain enough to grow much more than greasewood and prickly pear.

The Indians were not alone in following dreams.

As he had with everyone else they met, Holloway asked if they had seen a man and a boy traveling east.

The mover said, “We did. They rode into camp just as we was fixin’ to have supper last night. Ate with us and rode on. Nice-actin’ folks, they was.”

The woman said, “Shy kind of a boy, though. Acted like he was scared to talk. I reckon he hasn’t been out among strangers much.”

Rusty asked, “Did they give any names?”

The man thought about it. “Not that I remember, and we didn’t ask. I always figure if a man wants you to know what his name is, he’ll tell you. If he doesn’t want to, he’s probably got a good reason.”

Holloway politely turned down an invitation to stay for supper, explaining afterward that the people didn’t look as if they had enough that they could afford to share. He said, “At least we’re travelin’ in the right direction. If we can find where those folks camped last night, maybe we can pick up Lige’s tracks again.”

The effort proved fruitless. They came across evidence of several campsites where fire pits had been dug and wood burned for cooking. Some were fresh enough to have been used within the last night or two. But Andy found no tracks he could identify as the paddle-footed brown’s.

Holloway looked discouraged. Andy feared he might decide to quit. He had another hunch, that they were closer than they had been since they started, even if he could find no trail. But hunches would not carry a lot of weight with the sergeant. He was inclined to believe only what he could see, hear, or feel.

The land became increasingly familiar. Andy realized he had ridden over it with Rusty, looking for strayed cattle. Rusty acknowledged that they were not far from his farm.

Holloway asked, “Do you want to go by and see if everything is all right?”

Rusty said, “I haven’t been gone long enough for much to’ve gone wrong. Unless Fowler Gaskin has come over and carried everything away.” He had to explain about Gaskin.

Holloway understood. “I used to have a neighbor like that. He finally threw a conniption fit and died. You never saw so many people smilin’ at a funeral.”

“I doubt the Lord is anxious for Fowler to show up. He’ll probably outlive us all.”

Rusty’s horse stumbled over a rough spot on the trail. “He’s tirin’ out. I expect they all are. How about we ride over to Sheriff Tom Blessing’s and see if he can get us a change of horses?”

Holloway frowned. “We’ve already stretched pretty far past our district.”

The Rangers did not have to stop at county lines. They were free to operate anywhere in the state. However, efficiency required that they remain within their own appointed areas of responsibility unless in pursuit or on a specific assignment.

They stopped at Rusty’s farm. Nobody was there, a relief to Rusty. “I was half-afraid we’d find Fowler takin’ up residence while I was gone. He did it once before when I was off chasin’ after Indians.”

The fields were as desolate as when Andy had last seen them in the wake of the hailstorm. Some plants were making a feeble try at regrowth, nature’s eternal effort at survival, but they were stunted and doomed to be killed by frost before they could mature. In contrast to the fields, the garden showed signs of fresh work, freshly risen greenery.

Rusty said, “Shanty’s been over here.”